From 3am to midnight, today at Snape (and Minsmere) has been about the various versions of Oliver Messiaen's Les Oiseaux. Several people got up that early, it seems, for the dawn chorus and survived to tell the tale. Not me. Anyway, Pierre-Laurent Aimard is apparently the best interpreter of Messiaen's music, and so I was intrigued, but not excited, to be at a concert given by him at lunchtime today. The music is not easy, but the hall was packed and there were actually people standing at the back. It only lasted 40 minutes, but it was very impressive, and when he finished with some unbelievably crashing chords right at the lower end of the piano and kept the sound going for more than a minute afterwards I felt the goosebumps on the neck alright. The place erupted, feet stamping, hoops of approval. It was going out live on BBC Radio 3, so I may listen again. But I was anxious to get back to my boy who I'd left in the car. Would he be crying, unhappy at being left alobe? No, he was fine, relaxed and sleepy on the back seat. I gave him a biscuit, and told him how wonderful he is.
Earlier we had walked along the Alde as has been usual this past fortnight, Hugo off the lead and behaving very well. We met Ralph, an 11-month-old whippet whose owners asked me in despair if he'd ever be like Hugo. He was crazy on the lead, and crazy off it too they said. They stroked Hugo, they patted him, they asked all about him and praised him to the hilt. I thought they were going to ask if I'd swap him for Ralph. Eventually they sighed, said good bye and how much they'd enjoyed meeting Hugo, and left rather wistfully, dragging an ebullient, boisterous Ralph behind them. Who'd have a puppy when you could have a well-trained adult with a perfect personality? Lucky me eh?
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