Genius

The mist didn't clear yesterday but it did today. As we drove to Aldeburgh this morning to do some more Christmads shopping the sun came out, blinding me a few times as the car faced directly into it. I'd avoided Waitrose as I assumed it would be heaving, but when we got to Aldeburgh it was dead, nobody around. The beach was deserted, I could park right outside the cinema, and there was no fighting your way to the tills. What's going on? Did everyone assume it would be busy and stayed away? We made the most of it, and because the beach was empty of dogs as well as people I let Hugo off the lead for his first run in over a week, not counting his great escape. The shingle is not the easiest place for a gallop but that didn't stop him. It was lovely to watch him flying around, coming as soon as I whistled and then careering off again. I could almost see him smiling.

I'm thrilled to bits to see that the cinema is broadcasting live a performance of Rachmaninov's 3rd piano concerto from the Berlin Phil under Simon Rattle's baton. Is he still there then? I thought he was moving to the LSO. Anyway, the pianist is Daniil Trifonov, and if there's a better pianist in the whole world I'd like to meet them. He loves Rachmaninov, though I can take him or leave him, and I've already seen a recording of him playing this piece. He's extraordinary to watch, like a child with his lack of barriers and defences, just pure raw emotion, a lot of talent and an awful lot of sweat. His very straight hair drips constantly as he plays, but it's not a distraction for him or us. Looking at him when he speaks, which he doesn't do much, is like looking through the innocent pools of a child's clear eyes, no guile, no falseness. I saw him at the Wigmore Hall earlier this year when he shared the stage with Gidon Kremer, another icon, but I'd have preferred a whole evening of Daniil. So, bliss to come.

We met a big butch hare on our evening walk as the darkness gathered and the trees continued to drip. If there's a downside to living in the countryside it's got to be the mud. You never get used to it. Where there's fields and tractors there's mud, fact of life. I steered Hugo along the dry parts of the lanes and he came home relatively clean for once. With a dog in winter, the washing machine is rarely off. He saw the big hare just a few feet away, and I could feel his lead vibrating, such was his reaction. He wanted to go, and he's a strong boy despite his slightness, but I held him fast. There'll be plenty of hares to chase when his legs are better. At least I know they'll almost certainly get away.