O re-arrange...

Long ago when all the world was young - 61 years ago to be exact - I was introduced to Benjamin Britten's Hymn to Saint Cecila, in which the words, slightly disembodied because of the music, "oh rearrange ..." were repeated in the line I was singing - just in case the title of today's blip makes you fret, oh kind reader, that I am losing my marbles altogether ... And for interest, I'll just recall that the occasion of my learning this choral piece was a Choral Camp, run by one of my music teachers at school, Iain Turpie, held in the old primary school of Campbeltown Grammar. I'd just left school, so I guess this felt like a last fling of school music making, and we worked our socks off learning a screed of challenging music and giving concerts around the area. 

But to today. The rearranging  part came with the fact that I had an appointment with the sports therapist for another massage in the middle of the afternoon, and it turned out such a gloriously sunny day that we couldn't bear not to be out in it, so we went a walk at midday and everything was a bit late after that...

I was incredibly dozy in the morning - indeed for much of the day. The new anti-nerve-pain pills, I reckon. Still, I did a washing and carefully disported it around the damaged whirligig, avoiding any imbalance of weight - and it dried completely, which was satisfying. I also had a nice long chat to my #1 son about the sporting exploits of my grandsons, so it was after coffee that we went out, heading down to Toward and taking the chance of being there in the middle of the day when the road is quieter to walk along the shore road from the school to the Ardyne. The photo comes from near the start of the walk - I love this bit, with that long-suffering tree on the left still standing after several gales; there are clumps of daffodils further along and offshore small gangs of ducks and the odd diver murmer to each other as they bob up and down on a tiny swell, mainly from the remains of the Rothesay ferry's wake. We walked halfway out the Ardyne too, met a friend from church, and then both felt we'd never get back to the car, probably from lack of lunch.

Back home, I made luxurious scrambled eggs with some new ultra-golden-yoke eggs and some strong cheddar grated in and bunged it into warm rolls - a messy but satisfying swift lunch. Himself went off to church to practise and I went for the massage - a fierce affair, which had me groaning theatrically but was very effective. Back home, I tidied up a bit, did some Italian, and tried the first draft of an upcoming sermon without looking up any commentaries. I'll go back to it in a few days and see what I think of it. 

I've just seen - and resisted being drawn into - the start of the 30 year old or so film of Romeo + Juliet (sic) with a very young Leonardo di Caprio as Romeo, where all the "bright swords" are instead bright pistols with the brand name "Sword" prominently displayed, set in Verona Beach instead of fair Verona ... I used to show this to my classes, and I vividly recall one afternoon as darkness fell outside and I'd just watched the closing scenes with a very difficult class of fourth year non-exam pupils. They wouldn't let me put on the lights at the end, wanting just to leave in the dark of the room with the curtains shut because half of them - boys and girls alike - were in tears. Truly, teaching English was the best of jobs!

And now it's time to go - it's past midnight. Again. I'll never learn ...