Filler 36

As if it weren't obvious, the recent spate of "Random" posts had no real plan except to keep myself minimally entertained by posting whatever rubbish came to mind. Still, there was at least a vague intent to keep them going for awhile, perhaps 10 or 20 instances, more concerned with frequency than quality. Alas, a nasty cold has put the kibosh on what passes for my creativity since last weekend, and a few well-intentioned compliments threw me off the minimal balance I might have laid claim to, with the result that, well, here we are some days later and not a peep.

The randomness may or may not get back on track soon; time will tell. In the meantime there has been little to relate until this evening, which brought an outing to the Wigmore Hall to see Ian's piano teacher perform two sonatas by Dussek, a little known composer whose market she has pretty much cornered; a number of Chopin concert favourites that didn't go altogether to plan; and the quite astonishing Fandango by 18th-century Spanish monk Antonio Soler that to most intents and purposes could have been written 200 years later, which Maria played with dazzling virtuosity. The rest of the concert should have been forgettable after that; and we all wish it had been.

Shit happens, as one of Ian's employees succinctly put it afterwards at dinner in St Christopher's Place.

Work, meanwhile, feels beyond onerous just at the moment, and my convalescent energy levels are not properly up to it. Arguably I went back too soon, but it's an awkward balancing act -- I was, by my assessment, not nearly sick enough to justify time off; but, it turned out, not really well enough to be of much practical use during time on. Thankfully things are improving: my brain still feels mostly mired in mouldy treacle, but I can, if given no other choice, shine occasionally. And though I really know fuck all about almost everything to do with finance, there are a few work things that I know more about than anyone else on Earth, which -- within that tiny corner -- makes pretending to be knowledgeable surprisingly easy, even when operating strictly on emergency power.

Bleah. Listen to me blow my own wilting trumpet. What a dispiriting concert that is.

Bed, fool. Stand not upon the order of your going, but go at once.
Posted by matt at September 15, 2005 11:44 PM