Rare Bit Blogging

Stars shine tonight

A moon full and bright

The frost’s bitter bite

There’s no more fight

Be gone all spite

Reindeer in flight

They pull with all might

Sleep is in sight

Put out the light

Goodnight, goodnight.

I was out all day Friday. I went to Sowerby Bridge followed by Hebden Bridge, Halifax, Slaithwaite and finally Marsden. My student couldn’t come to me for her lesson and I needed to go to SB anyway so I decided to make a day of it and offered to teach her at her home on her lovely new harp before doing the rounds.

I’ve got a church wedding before Christmas in SB. I wanted to check out the access and get my bearings beforehand. It’s an 11am ceremony so I need to be on the ball. I’m a bit jittery about playing in churches in Winter anyway.

Even though I had checked my route prior to leaving, Google maps proved to be unpredictable. It took me through Slaithwaite and up Scapegoat Hill. I’ve always disliked going up this incline as it’s narrow and occasionally, big lorries get stuck there. Maybe those drivers were using Google maps too.

Up and around the bend I went. An extra wide SUV was coming down towards me. The driver seemed unwilling to back up so I obliged but I got cramp in my left calf from holding my foot on the pedal. There was a car behind me too. The SUV eventually passed after much stubborn huffing and puffing. So much for Christmas spirit.

On I went. The route looked familiar and I felt reassured. Then I recognised where I was heading – Ripponden. I was filled with a sense of dread. 2 years ago, at the same time Mum and her sister died, I tried to help a woman who was desperate to play the harp. She came for a consultation lesson a few years ago but the timing wasn’t right for her to have regular lessons. She contacted me in September 2023 – she had been diagnosed with cancer. Her urge to play was still strong. We arranged for my teaching harp to be left with her so that she could play a little.

I delivered the harp on an icy winter’s morning. I couldn’t find her house. Ripponden has a network of narrow winding lanes. I eventually found her house, set the harp up and gave her a brief lesson. It was the only lesson she had since her condition deteriorated quickly. Her one wish was for me to play at her funeral. I couldn’t refuse.

All these memories came flooding back yesterday. My psyche remembered that traumatic time in vivid detail. Up went my shoulders and I struggled to breathe.

Safely out of Ripponden, I started to relax a little. Oh no you don’t, said Google maps as it proceeded to direct me up even more twisting single track lanes which were waterlogged in places. There were nauseatingly vertiginous drops to the right.

I got to SB and clambered out of my car, relieved to arrive at the church. It was locked but at least now I know which route NOT to take!

I was agitated before I left. I dropped a jar half full of pumpkin seeds which smashed spectacularly – glass and green grains went everywhere.

When I got back, I did these breathing exercises which really helped me discharge the stored emotions and energy:

1. The “Soft Throat” Breath (very gentle)

Sit or lie comfortably. Put one hand lightly on the front of your throat or upper chest — just for reassurance. Take a slow inhale through your nose. Exhale through your mouth like you’re fogging up a window — soft, warm, unforced.

This relaxes the larynx muscles that clamp when we’re overwhelmed.

2. Humming (the vagus nerve’s best friend)

Even 10–20 seconds helps.

Close your lips gently. Hum on a long, low note. Don’t push sound — think “quiet fridge vibration.” If you can, rest one hand on your sternum while you hum.

The vibration releases throat tension from the inside.

3. The “Say Nothing” Stretch

This is incredibly simple but powerful.

Tilt your head very slightly up — just enough to feel the front of the throat lengthen a little. Take slow breaths for 20–30 seconds. Keep your jaw soft, lips parted.

Many people try to swallow emotion down; this gently reverses that reflex.

4. Jaw Release (because jaw and throat tension are linked)

Place the tip of your tongue behind your top front teeth. Let your jaw hang slightly open. Breathe three slow breaths. If you feel like swallowing, let it happen — that’s release.

5. A grounding phrase for the throat

You can say this quietly or just think it:

“I don’t have to hold it all right now.”

You may feel warmth, a sigh, or even a tiny wave of emotion — all normal signs of the throat releasing.

————

Then I went for a gentle grounding walk in the dark. The hoot of the owl nearby in the cemetery was reassuring.

It was an extremely uncomfortable experience but I’m so glad I did it. It’s easy to avoid potentially challenging situations but they’re where growth lies. I AM still capable!

It’s the last Sunday night in November 2025. I survived another Black Friday. Only Cyber Monday to go now. Don’t you think Christmas is being pushed more and more aggressively each year? It’s still November and it feels like Christmas is tomorrow! Did you remember your sprouts?

To dodge the relentless festive marketing messages, I went out for a longer walk today. It was a ruthlessly cold, thermals, 2 jackets and my warmest hat kind of morning but the sun was shining. I had very little energy. I was slow and I stopped a lot but it’s getting out that matters.

Yesterday it rained most of the day. I confess that I brought my trusted Christmas tree down from the attic and, in a moment of weakness, decorated it. I’m a sucker for sparkles at this time of year. The rain, darkness and endless grey dreary days make me default to magpie mode. My kitchen instantly looked more cheerful and the fairy lights chase away some of the winter gloom. It’s getting earlier each year – I mean, tree up in November? Me?!!

December is quiet until Christmas week. My mind keeps taking me back to Christmases I enjoyed, when I had festive orchestral concerts. I let myself get carried away on the wave of Christmas cheer. I’m not one for big gatherings. I think that’s why alcohol featured so much in the past, to ease the social awkwardness of post gig get togethers as well as the void which ensued. There’s none of that now. I occasionally eat too much fruit and if I’m feeling really rubbish, there’s always peanut butter.

Each Christmas I try to make some gifts, usually something edible. I love cooking and baking but I’m not particularly gifted. It stresses me out too. Deciding what to make is hard enough, then working out the quantities and logistics adds to the pressure. It’s the thought that counts though, right? I reassure myself as I scrutinise the misshapen festive cookies I test baked on Saturday.

Other than an early January wedding, my regular teaching and a few fayres, I have very little work at the beginning of next year. I’m going to need to act fast or I will be in trouble. Thing is, I don’t know what I can do other than weddings and teaching. I’ve inadvertently pigeonholed myself. Oops. Another thing is, I don’t really like going out this time of year, especially with my harp. Big oops!

On a lighter more positive note, I am feeling an inner shift albeit very subtle. I have trouble letting go and I carry so much unnecessary shit around with me but this morning, before going out, I wrapped some choice words around a small carefully chosen stone and set light to the paper. It burnt really well and I felt some weight lift from inside me.

I know I’m fixated on my problems but I do count my blessings. I know so many people are struggling. The greatest gift is compassion for others and, perhaps a little harder to offer, for ourselves.

I changed my mind about going to the concert in the end – it was at 8pm and when I realised exactly how tired I was, I was tucked up by 7pm ☺️ Before I turned in, knowing full well I needed some creative inspiration, I booked a ticket to see this year’s Turner Prize at Cartwright Hall in Bradford, less than an hour away.

I arrived early since I wanted to walk around the grounds surrounding the Hall. It was a quiet Tuesday and the park was a gem. It even had a lake and small botanic gardens. Geese and grey squirrels were fearless – it must get really busy on a weekend.

I was irresistibly drawn to the water gardens

which were peaceful and relaxing. I sat on a bench in the sun and felt myself get warm again.

I had a coffee in the downstairs cafe before entering the main building. Cartwright Hall is very impressive and reassuringly old. Anish Kapoor’s familiar mirrored egg offered a reflective welcome at the main entrance.

Volunteers handed out leaflets containing useful insights about each of the 4 artists. They helpfully suggested options on navigating the exhibition and pointed out the videos introducing the artists and their work.

I decided to start with art, namely a flag and a collection of dolls and photographs by Rene Matić. I didn’t really get it and found the doll cupboard quite creepy. (No photos, sorry). I went back into the foyer and watched a short video about them. I was still flummoxed and only when I got home and did some research did I get the gist of Rene.

I decided to watch the next video about Mohammed Sami before experiencing his work. An Iraqi artist based in London, he was an artist in the more traditional sense. The video showed him hanging and priming his canvas. No team of assistants here. The paintings were powerful and had an anonymity and a touch of the impersonal despite being highly emotive. There were eerie scenes of conflict and devastation and ambiguous titles left much to the interpretation of the visitor.

Next was Nnena Kalu. Her works reminded me of Joana Vasconcelos’ Valkyrie. Big piñata style figures wrapped in thick layers of multicoloured tape hung from the ceiling. Her obsessive drawings of vortexes were compelling and looked as though they’d been done in an intense Spirograph session.

To complete my art circuit, I returned downstairs to see Zadie Xa’s work. I can be easily pleased when it comes to art and I did go a bit gooey when I walked into the room, which was like a tranquil holographic disco of rainbow colours, mysterious figures, shells, bells, and whales, with a discreet audio accompaniment. There was even a reflective gold floor. I loved her fabric patchworks which reminded me of brightly coloured stain glass windows. I found her work spiritual and quite moving.

Is there a clear winner? Not in my mind and I’ll be intrigued to find out who will take this year’s title. £25,000 will come in handy but even as a runner up, consolation prizes of £10,000 will ease any pain from not seizing the prestigious first prize.

Runs until 22 February 2026. Well worth a visit.

Winter arrived properly last week with plummeting temperatures and the heavens opening at every opportunity. I can handle cold and dry, cold and wet less so.

I’ve been busy practicing some festive requests and I had a lovely wedding on Saturday but my heart just isn’t in it. I took yesterday off and tidied up as well as starting a much needed decluttering project. I did a little this morning too and my house does feel lighter.

Today is dark and grey. I did my morning mobility – my shoulders were incredibly stiff after Saturday – and after a full body workout, I went for a walk punctuated with a bit of skipping and jumping. It’s a bit lighter outside than in my house but at 3.30pm, it’s already getting dark.

I didn’t sleep well last night which is unusual. I’m very fortunate that I can usually sleep for England, but not last night. I feel restless, unsettled. Change is afoot and inhabiting the liminal space is uncomfortable.

I’m gearing myself up to go out again soon. The Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival is on and I’d like to go along and listen to other musicians. It feels important to attend a performance, a reminder of what it’s all about. I’m sure I’ll report back, unless the safe warm duvet wins the day.

I played for an outdoor wedding this morning. I don’t often play outdoors as our weather is so unpredictable and conditions can be unkind to instruments. Somehow though, this wedding slipped through the net.

It’s 24 October 2025, not an outdoor wedding kind of date. When the couple booked me, it was a scorching hot June evening. Of course I could play outdoors, especially since there’s a covered bandstand!

As the heat of summer ebbed away, I started to fret a little about the wedding. In all honesty, I thought it would rain and I also thought that the couple would realise exactly how cold it was unless we were blessed with a late October heatwave.

I started weather watching 5 days before the wedding. Rain? Brilliant! Phew! 2 days before I checked the weather for the venue. Cloudy with sunshine. Shit. Temperatures? 7 degrees at 11am, ceremony time.

In an attempt to calm myself, I reasoned that I had surely played in colder churches. I have a 1030am church wedding this December so it’s practice for that too. I asked colleagues for advice.

I deployed a strategic plan which included a hot water bottle, thermals, 2 piping hot flasks, extra gloves and wrist warmers, a towel, and rubber mats for my harp and amp.

On the drive to the venue, I debated feigning an accident, being struck with a case of food poisoning or suffering a vehicular malfunction. The faintest hope I had that they’d decide it was too cold was dashed upon arrival. They were setting up outside.

With a leaden sense of resignation, I took my gear up, shivering as I went. It was damp and the tall trees obscured any rays of warm early morning sunshine. Were there heaters in the bandstand? Were there heck.

I took my harp up 45 minutes before play time, unpacked and gave him a perfunctory tune. I didn’t want to stress him anymore than necessary and he was already quite sharp. I put the heavy cover back on and I waited.

I genuinely don’t know how I did it but I kept it together and actually played well. My focus was razor sharp. Survival mode I guess. That and the brisk early morning chilly air.

After the ceremony I threw the covers on and moved inside as quickly as possible, aware that the warmth of the room in which I was playing for the drinks was in significant contrast to the bone penetrating damp coolness which had the guests all a-shiver. I didn’t retune. No way! My harp had been incredibly tolerant and forgiving of my misdemeanour!

The groom came to thank me and mentioned how cold he had been during the ceremony. I politely bit my lip.

Needless to say I’ll be updating my contracts with a clause for outdoor performance stating a minimum temperature of 16 degrees.

I haven’t had much time to write. I’ve been quite busy with wedding fayres (more on that anon) and I’ve had a couple of new students begin their journey with the harp. I’ve been feeling quite tired. I recognise the lethargy which accompanies the arrival of Autumn. Much as I love the bright green acorns which feel like crunchy marbles underfoot and the smooth glossy chestnuts, the crisp fallen leaves and the fascinating fungi

and tantalising toadstools, an instinctive part of me wants to restock my freezer, batten down the hatches and make like a squirrel. See you in March? I wish!

My close friends came to stay in September and we had a cultural blast at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, soaking up each piece from an inspiring new exhibition by William Kentridge. It was so good, I’d go back in a heartbeat.

See my Instagram for more photos and a couple of videos.

We went on to the Hepworth where there was a playful exhibition by the late Helen Chadwick. It was fun and cheeky and it evoked all the senses, including repulsion at a giant Perspex tower filled with putrefying foodstuffs. I wonder who got the job of topping it up and more importantly, of emptying it after the exhibition finished. There was also an obscenely enormous chocolate fountain.

Mid September I had my harp serviced near Wrexham and to while away the waiting time, I went for a woodland walk at Erddig. I’m sure I visited as a child but I have no recollection.

And so to work. The past 2 wedding fayres have been abysmal with barely any engagement. I love playing the harp but the older I get, the less I feel like hoiking it in and out of the car, especially if it doesn’t bring in any business. I honestly don’t think it’s my playing. I practice a lot, regularly, even when my heart isn’t really in it. I turn up anyway. My bookings are right down for 2026 and I’ve done something I’ve never done before – I’ve accepted bookings for weddings taking place in 2 and even 3 years time. It’s that bad!

Freelancing is difficult at the best of times but it seems extra tough at the moment. Last week a student had booked a lesson on Wednesday and on the Monday she cancelled. None of my income is secure and while I’m ok financially, I won’t be if I’m not careful.

By mid August, a familiar sense of dread starts to descend to accompany the subtly shortening days. When September arrives I feel a little better since a fair few warm bright days remain before the clocks go back heralding the cold dark months.

Try as I might to see the positives of autumn and winter, I still struggle every year. My hands and joints have felt great this summer. It’s been a really good vintage and the feast of long warm sunny days have been a balm for my being.

I had to adapt my exercise routine mid July. I bought some 8kg dumbbells in April as I’d hit a plateau. I could manage some of the basic exercises with them. It’s so empowering feeling my body get stronger as I get older. However I started getting hand and wrist pain and realised I wouldn’t last long with a busy August. They’ll still be there when a quiet spell arrives.

I’ve been doing some deeper work on myself. I felt stuck in my grief process amongst other issues. It’s never easy to undertake this work but it’s vital in moving forward.

Yesterday was particularly rough after some poignant discoveries about my core complexes. I wrote, did some painting, went for a walk

and did some more painting before going to my creative writing group. On days like these practice is nigh on impossible. Being around people really helps even though solitude can seem preferable. What emerges during the writing process is always surprising.

My tailbone is 95% better and I did a bit of running in the rain and some plyo by the stream this morning. That really puts me in a good mood and helps me focus. The slide is a regular event but not the disc.