6 March
Light at the Bottom of the Stairs

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So, we have come through once again.

The time of darkness is over for another year - the four months of November, December, January and February - or more exactly October 21 - February 21. We are now in the time of growing light. Four months of expanding days up until the summer solstice.

These mornings, once again, there is vestigial light as I descend the stairs after listening to Radio 4's 6am news bulletin at the beginning of the Today programme. By 6:30am, the street lights turn themselves off. I drive into work my face full of sun - at least I do when there are no clouds around.

It's also the time of birthdays galore. The run is ushered in by my parents' wedding anniversary. Then we have cards to buy for the birthdays of my cousin Joe, Ross's dad Trevor, Ross's mum Glenda, Ross's brother-in-law Andy, my goddaughter Mary and, finally, my brother-in-law Ian. Thank goodness that we pay neither council Tax nor Water Rates during February and March.

I had a delightful time on the last Sunday in February leading the Children's meeting at Southport Quakers. For once the group really gelled and even the more boisterous of the young ones settled and really focussed on the task of making butterflies out of a variety of materials. The boys settled for intricate pattern making whilst the girls lavished care and attention on fabrics with contrasting textures and vivid colours. The results were very pleasing.

And then, over the subsequent days, I received a number of emails from parents expressing delight at the cumulative work we have been doing over the past eighteen months. And it felt even more worthwhile.

None of which prevented me from being incredibly grumpy as I was overtaken by a cold/rheum. I spent most of the weekend languishing in and around bed, cursing life, the universe and everything. Typically, by Monday, I was feeling somewhat better and, though my voice was a thing of shreds and patches, I was an odds on certainty for work on Tuesday. How nice for Connect that I used my extended time off as convalescence to avoid sick leave. Pah!!!

Luckily I did not use this as a reason not to attend an RLPO concert at the Metropolitan Cathedral. Conducted by Vasily Petrenko, it included Rachmaninov's All-Night Vigil (Vespers) and the world premier of John Taverner's Requiem. I went with Roland. We both heard the Rachmaninov together (but in the Anglican Cathedral) a couple of years back. I was glad to hear the work again and the Phil choir were on top form.

The Taverner was preceded by a message from the composer read out by the RLPO's Chief Executive telling us that Taverner was in intensive care after a heart attack at the back end of last year but wished us all well. Well, it certainly got him the sympathy vote.

As for the work, I'm not sure. The concert was last Thursday and I've just listened to the Radio Three relay this Wednesday. The radio performance was clearer. I heard more of the two vocalists, Andrew Kennedy and Elin Manahan Thomas, and the cello solist, Josephine Knight. The choir seemed brighter and the orchestral strings more balanced. However, I lost all sense of space.

In the cathedral, the choir were at the far side of the building and so were and sounded recessed. Behind them again were the brass - so they sounded even more at a distance. To the left of where we were sitting was percussive bells and gongs. To the right were a pair of timpani. This sense of positioning also had meaning in aural terms and particularly in the central Dies Irae which came across on the night as a manic dance, a demonic hunt, a raging tempest of sound. This was tamed by the radio. The outer movements on the night sounded mushy and blurred. The radio presentation was crisper but felt as though all the performers were sitting together. Swings and roundabouts.

I wasn't as bowled over as I had hoped to be. Maybe the illness didn't allow for last minute changes. Maybe I'll like the piece more on subsequent hearings and I do hope that it gets more outings - possibly the same programme at a Prom in Westminster Cathedral. So, I'm going to give it three stars because it was good but I can't give it more out of respect for the man because I'd wanted it to be more than it was.

That brought to an end a quite musical February which included a concert, two operas and two concert performances of operas. I could also have gone to a lieder recital (but didn't), Gilbert and Sullivan's Mikado given by Crosby G&S Society (but didn't), a concert from the Crosby Symphony Orchestra (but didn't) and a local piano recital (but didn't).

March is going to be a quieter month particularly as I've decided not to go to the Royal Northern College of Music's staging of Maurice Ravel's L'enfant et les Sortilèges and L'heure espagnole (I looked at the two works on video and felt that I didn't want to spend the money, time and effort in getting to Manchester to see them) and English Touring Opera's performance of Carlisle Floyd's Susannah (I listened to it on CD and felt much the same about making the trek to Buxton). Given the after effects of the cold, I'm also unlikely to make the trip up to Southport for either the Hoghton Players performance of The Gondoliers or the Southport Bach Players singing Karl Jenkins's The Armed Man.

By Saturday, my cold was in full flow. Nevertheless, I rose from my bed of aching sinuses for the chance to view young Phil give a live address from Athens over the Internet at an international celebration of the Eurovision Song Contest. But something technological failed and I couldn't make the link. So I'll never know if he was on before the turkey or after. I'll never know if the dance routine involved someone ripping his skirt off.

So, I went back to bed and moped.

I cancelled Mothering Sunday. My dad is 83 and just getting over one cold so I didn't want to be the one to give him another and put him off his feet for a month.

I did get to listen to the final episode of Radio Four's Classic Serial Fortunes of War by Olivia Manning. Round about this time of the year, they tend to do something which extends over a few weeks. Previous years have given up The Pallisers by Trollope and The Raj Quartet by Paul Scott.

I didn't catch the television series some years back. I liked the earlier episodes set in Budapest during the early years of the Second World War; it was interesting to hear about the activities of the British Council abroad. Later episodes in Athens and then Alexandria became less satisfactory.

Hidden away among the bit part players was Alex Lanipekun whom we last saw on TV's Spooks. Obviously, Alex is getting well in with the BBC - a good move for any aspiring young actor. Once you are in the regular BBC repertory company, a regular diet of classic drama will come your way for year after year.

I also finished off reading A Very English Agent by Julian Rathbone. It wasn't very good at all. Quite disappointing after a promising idea - to look at the social and political history of the UK through the eyes of an agent provocateur. Peterloo as told by the man who fermented strife and then fired bullets to rile the troops into action. The Cato Street Conspiracy told from the inside by a double agent. Shelley's murderer (no he didn't simply drown) confesses. Well, the idea was better than the telling. It all got too clever for it's own good. Parodies of James Bond were inserted for no good reason. Then we are off to the world of George Smiley. Then a preposterous parody of the beginning of Dickens's LIttle Dorrit which gets the author in a tangle. Then a footnote to tell the reader that the author has got himself into a tangle attempting a parody of the opening of Dickens's Little Dorrit. Somehow, a teenage George Eliot also makes an appearance.

Eventually, it's all too much and too clever by half. I lost interest. I nearly lost the will to live during the extended and highly boring section on Shelley. Two stars at best.

My two latest listening projects involve CDs. Radio Three's morning programme has two regular presenters, one whose presentation style I like, Rob Cowan, and one whose style I don't, Sara Mohr-Pietsch. It's a purely personal thing, you understand. Anyhow, Sara Mohr-Pietsch is on at the moment so I'm using the time to listen to CDs of Malcolm Arnold's symphonies. And, overall, I'm deciding that I don't really like them and so I'm going to sell them.

The second project comes courtesy of the operabase website. They have an interesting feature which is a variant on the On This Day idea. They list the performers and composers who were born and died on this day and also the works which were premiered. I've taken to listening to the works as listed on the anniversary of their premier. So far I've done Mascagni's Zanetto, Bizet's Carmen, Boito's Mefistofele and I'm just finishing off Bellini's La sonnambula.

This week has been a week of Ross working each day.

Our life together continues to change.

Three years ago, pretty much every morning, I would get up on my own and be out of the house before Ross woke up. Since Christmas, we have breakfasted together more often than any time since the onset of his ME. We listen to music. The curtains are open. There is light.