To the ROH again to work with Ballet Black. It’s days like these that I love my job, to the extent that I almost envy myself doing what I do. Imagine being paid to play on a glorious grand piano in a cavernous studio at the Opera House with a studio full of gorgeous dancers doing lovely balletic things to the music that’s coming out of the piano.
Imagine, on a bright Sunday morning in February, being able to play music that you’ve always loved in an almost perfect acoustic, to a discerning but appreciative audience. Imagine drifting along briefly afterwards to the top floor cafteria at the top of the world in Covent Garden, and bumping into David Fielding (left), and a host of other people you know and love (going back over 20 years, in some cases) as well as meeting new people, who will undoubtedly be part of that wonderful constellation of friends & colleagues that sees you through the next 20 years as well.
Imagine cycling back down the Strand and through a demonstration in Trafalgar Square (incidentally, I didn’t know what the demonstration was about, but I was
staggered to hear a folk song that I have on a very arcane cassette of
Albanian folk music that I bought in Zagreb 25 years ago blasting out
of a car on the Strand. It all makes sense now I realise that the demo was to
do with Kosovan independence), and up the Mall towards Buckingham Palace on one of the most glorious sunny days of the year so far (see pics).
Imagine being able to stop off at Clapham Junction on the way back, to have coffee with another old friend & colleague, in which work, pleasure & friendship are so mixed up, there are just no lines anywhere.
Not bad for a day’s work, I reckon.
