In the Air

The Aldeburgh Festival comes to an end tonight for another year, and what a splendid fortnight it has been. I've sat through several concerts, both as an usher and a punter, and have to confess to my own amazement that the highlight has been the two Britten operas, A Midsummer Night's Dream and Billy Budd. They say some music is an acquired taste, but I've never given these works a chance before. Billy's aria, "Look! Through the port comes the moonshine astray" is so beautiful I almost weep to think of how I might have missed it, only attending the opera because I heard this piece earlier in the year and couldn't believe it was Britten. Well, I've found him now and I'm ready to explore with a newly-opened mind, catch up on lost time.

I see that it's been 10 days since I last blogged. That must have been around the time that my best friend announced that she'll be going to live with her daughter in Exeter. I think I saw this coming when Chloe first said she would be relocating there from London, but I put it out of my mind as you do with horrible things you don't want to face. The news last week knocked me for six, and will probably knock me for six times six when it becomes reality. I'm back on terra firma emotionally now, and will remain there for as long as I can. A therapist I knew used to talk about AFGO - another fucking growth opportunity, but as you get older you don't need shocks and traumas, only certainty and constancy. At least I do. But being shaken out of your comfort zone is probably not the worst thing that can happen to you.

And so there's been a bitter-sweet quality to the things we've done recently: a trip to Aldeburgh in the gloaming for a Midsummer's Day concert on the beach as night fell and the sea and the sky merged into an opaque stretch of inky grey; a trip on the hottest day to Woodbridge to visit the open gardens after a picnic lunch; accepting an invitation to a local gallery, the Print Room, for their first concert in their new Music Room in a 16th century barn; to Aldeburgh again, the cinema this time, for a showing of My Cousin Rachel. That evening was memorable for the fish and chips we ate on the beach, and the seagull that swooped over my shoulder and pinched my whole piece of haddock out of my hand. Everything we do together is punctuated by much laughter, irreverant giggles and fits of hysteria that will not be quelled until one of us walks away. And now one of us will.

I spent today on a friend's houseboat moored at Woodbridge Marina, watching as the neap tide swept in and made access to the gangway impassable except with an icy wade. There's something both exciting and soothing about being on water, feeling the gentle sway and watching the river come alive with small boats, and then hearing the errie cries of the the evening wading birds. As I left to come home I passed a boatyard with several small sailing boats for sale, and for two pins I'd have bought one and introduced Hugo to the joys of Swallows and Amazons. Luckily it was closed and I departed before I got too carried away.