Rare Bit Blogging

I had quite a tough gig yesterday, my first paid gig since mid September. I’m a little ashamed to say I quoted quite low for it, but the event was for a good cause. I replaced a broken string a few days earlier. I got there and paid £5.40 for parking. I unloaded and took my gear up to the first floor, along some corridors and through the main room to the conservatory where I was to play. Times 3. It was a tough get in.

The gig went well and I was on form with good focus, energy and expression. It was a long set at 75 minutes without a break for the arrival of the guests and the reception. I was pleased to have the stamina. Chatting with guests, organisers and venue staff was fun. Then someone told me it wasn’t necessary to pay for parking that day. My heart sank. It was a relatively insignificant chunk of my fee but when I consider the number of hours I needed to practice to be able to perform at that level as well as admin time before the gig, insurances and travel, I’m almost certainly at a loss. So that fiver mattered. At this rate, playing for a living isn’t viable.

I did consider that if I had 3 gigs like this a week, I’d earn enough but it’s finding the gigs that’s the problem. I’d likely burn out within 6 months, but at the moment I’m burning out from lack of work and the underlying worry about that.

Money didn’t use to concern me that much. So long as I had enough to survive I was fine because I was doing what I love. Since turning 50, and with the steep increase in the cost of living, that has gradually changed and, unfortunately, music is increasingly becoming a job 😔 With retirement not so far away I need to make sure I have enough savings set aside to keep me going.

I’d say 95% of enquiries amount to nothing. I’ve thought about lowering my fees but then I may be undercutting others and it really isn’t the way forward.

My heart sank even further when I received this email when I got back, exhausted from the gig and my early start:

There goes my one and only November gig. There’s no point crying over lost gigs but Gizzajobmate!

And before you know it, it’s mid October! I have no idea where September went. Well I do – along with polishing my CV and applying for more jobs, I started a thorough decluttering session, which means the living room is still slightly chaotic with files and folders and bags and boxes while I decide what can be sold or donated to charity. I made almost £30 selling some books and CD’s I know I’ll never use. I made a further £36 selling clothes I rarely wear, and there’s another pile poised to pose for a promotional photo session.

On a day I was feeling particularly brave, I cleaned the outer panes of the attic Velux windows. I had put the task off for years, mainly from fear of falling off the top step of the ladder as well as dread that the algae wouldn’t come off, but I did it and it did.

It was quite scary but I took my time. I only have the insides to do now. Having 5 big Velux seems like an indulgence, especially when it comes to cleaning them, but the light they bring to what was a dark gloomy room is worth it, especially during the winter months.

I waved goodbye to my Welsh friend who has relocated to the USA. We met at Aquafit and we walked together a lot. I’ll miss her along with the Welsh connection.

To balance this, another Welsh friend who now lives in California came to visit and we enjoyed a cheeky walk up West Nab before dinner at a local pub. It was great to catch up with her.

The most exciting event of the past few weeks though has to be a day trip to London. Yes, you read that correctly. I braved the motorway and the train and whisked myself off to the capital to see the Anish Kapoor exhibition at the Hayward Gallery.

I arrived safely at Kings Cross after some considerable catastrophic thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong. None of them did.

I couldn’t face the underground so I happily strolled through the streets between the station and the Southbank. Fortunately it was a dry sunny day. It astounded me that, mere minutes from the manic hustle and bustle of Kings Cross, I found myself in quiet side streets punctuated with pretty squares and green spaces.

I had researched a good coffee spot

and it was excellent.

I took a wrong turn. All of a sudden I was bombarded by banners promoting smash hit shows and surrounded by throngs of people. I kept going.

I found myself outside Somerset House right beside the Thames. The name was familiar and it looked interesting so I walked towards the courtyard.

For such a monumental edifice, it was surprisingly peaceful. I enjoyed watching the water spurting jubilantly from the ground.

I crossed the bridges a couple of times to absorb different perspectives, and I stared in awe and amazement at the city around me.

I looked up a lot on the footbridge

and I saw some interesting sights.

I had my picnic sat outside the National Theatre.

It was close to the Hayward where I was meeting my friend who was accompanying me to the exhibition. It was a relief to see a familiar face and engage in some stimulating conversation.

The first room was bursting with part of a giant cartoonish balloon. It was squashed into the brutalist concrete space like a rampant tomato. It looked jolly and gaudy with a mildly menacing flavour.

The next room was mostly a study of black. In the world of art and sculpture, Kapoor has claimed the rights to the blackest version of black – Vantablack. There was quite some controversy about this so now he isn’t allowed to use a certain shade of pink owned by another artist. I doubt if it matters to Kapoor, considering the palette of the other spaces which featured his works.

There’s something undeniably playful about Kapoor’s work. I picked up on some bouncy castle vibes from the giant balloon

and the sprawl of the pigment chateau with octopus tentacles drew me in.

The last room was by far the most sinister with scenes from a recent carnage. It seemed as though the blood, viscera and entrails were about to start oozing from the openings of their container.

Light relief was to be found on the gallery rooftop where large mesmerising metallic mirrored works merged effortlessly with the city skyline. Our reflections were twisted and inverted. We moved and the perspective changed.

It was a brilliant exhibition and I’m so glad I caught it just in time.

We walked through the city. My friend is well aware of my aversion to crowds so I appreciated the route we took, zigzagging through backstreets and across quiet courtyards, tranquil havens a stone’s throw from the hectic heartbeat of city.

We ate at La Fromagerie. It wouldn’t have been my first choice given the name and my dislike of cheese, but there were plenty of cheese free choices accompanied by the most amazing sourdough, and the service was exceptionally warm and friendly.

Sated, we sauntered to the station in plenty of time for my train.

London in a day – who’d have thought?

It’s been a tough few weeks with some vertiginous highs and lugubrious lows. In terms of weddings it’s been my quietest summer yet, which has felt incredibly uncomfortable. 2 years ago I had 42 weddings. This year there’s a mere 15. I keep an eye on wedding trends and whilst I’m delighted that saxophonists, violinists and guitar/vocalists are having a field day, playing a non trending instrument leaves me in an uncomfortable position. I’m hardly going to take up the sax am I?

So I thought I’d apply for some jobs. To my great surprise I was offered 2 interviews. My interview technique was rusty to say the least (non existent actually) and the first interview was a good experience. I made some mistakes and learnt from them. The second interview really surprised me. I prepared both interviews very seriously but for the second one, I became emotionally invested. I only realised this with hindsight. I really wanted the job.

My diligent preparation served me well and even though I was terrified, I thought I’d done myself justice. I got an email the day after the interview to say I didn’t get the job. I had a wedding the following day. I had to keep it together. Inside I was imploding.

Upon reflection it was because I’d put so much of myself into both the presentations I had to prepare. It did feel like a rejection of my very self. I politely asked for feedback but I didn’t get any. It would have been really helpful. I spiralled into a toxic web of negativity which lasted a week but I’m over it now. The job went to someone who was a better fit. That’s all. This was just practice.

There is a poignancy about pushing myself out there as I get older. I feel I have a lot to offer and I have lots of experience, but I also come with an acute awareness of my shortcomings and weaknesses and I wonder who would want to employ all of me, not just the best bits. What about the flaky me, the exhausted emotional post menopausal psycho-bitch who usually gets locked up securely in the car until the end of a gig when everything’s packed away and she can rant and rage (not always – sometimes it’s sing and laugh) all she likes on the journey home. Who would have that?

I would and I do.

My birthday was a bit of a flop. I went for a walk and sat on a huge boulder

and I stopped thinking and worrying for an hour. Then I cooked myself a deliciously simple dinner and I watched a film. I decided to give myself the rest of the week off. I needed to recharge. No job searches. No planning. No practice. Just a shortlist of programmes to watch if I felt like it. After 4 evenings of zoning out, my brain turned to mush and the late nights were taking their toll. It felt like Christmas and not in a good way. I fell asleep with a book in my armchair and napped a lot. I wanted to work out but my body wasn’t on the same page and I overdid it. Talk about disconnect.

I got myself a last minute appointment to get a much needed haircut. I hadn’t been since last November! It was good to go to Leeds but I’d had enough after 2 hours. City girl I am not.

By Friday I was ready for some work and I’m building my stamina up again for this month’s weddings. I feel refreshed and my ears and heart are very much ready for some music.

Last week was great. The heatwave was most welcome and it only got too much for me on Friday afternoon. My mood was buoyant and I had loads of energy. I did 4 workouts, I walked every day and I practiced each morning.

In contrast, this week has been really difficult. My mood plummeted along with the temperatures. It was time to take stock of my situation.

I went about my business as much as possible and despite feeling like a person of no particular value, I managed to give a reasonably good introductory lesson to a new student. She loved it so that’s the main thing. It’s worrying how my mind can twist things so negatively when life is challenging.

In an effort to distract myself and cheer myself up, I managed to haul myself to the cinema on Thursday morning to see Tuner.

It appealed to me because of the musical theme. I gave it 6/10 – there were some interesting ideas, an excellent cast and some great acting but it became hackneyed and I rolled my eyes at some of the cheesy musical cliches as well as the forgettable finale.

I made an important telephone appointment yesterday and I accepted some volunteering. I also managed a workout. I spent the rest of the day pottering in the garden, tidying up as much as I can. Exposure to soil and the physical nature of gardening helps and by 7pm I felt I’d done a decent day’s work, even though it still looks quite chaotic. Natural is perhaps a kinder way of putting it.

Practice is out of the question this week. My next wedding is at the end of the month. Both the latest fayres were successful from the perspective of on-the-day engagement and I enjoyed playing. I had genuinely positive chats with 5 sets of people (“we’re definitely going to book you”) but as yet no replies to my emails. I have retreated into my cave to recover and regroup.

I can’t survive like this artistically or financially. I did some maths and I don’t think I’ve ever earned minimum wage. I did even more maths and at this rate, I’m going to run out of money in 10 years time even if I scrimp and save more than I already do. I don’t feel sorry for myself – it’s just an honest assessment.

If you asked me what my ideal job is, I’d tell you I’ve already done it – being an orchestral musician. I loved it so much that most of the time, I couldn’t believe I was being paid. So that’s a really positive note right there. No regrets. The money was always secondary.

I am convinced there’s enjoyable work out there for me that will offer me just enough financial security. I also know I’m going to have to explore several different avenues and learn to spin more than one plate.

In the meantime, I walk to gather my thoughts and cultivate any lightbulb moments of inspiration.

I saw on the news that the NHS is offering rewards to people who walk 26 miles a month. What about those who walk that in a week? Do we get bonus rewards (say a voucher for free broccoli) for our workouts?

In May, fed up after a couple of months of maintaining a reasonably well mown but rather dull lawn, I decided I’d try rewilding some of it. I loved it as soon as I did it. It looked harmonious and it made me smile.

It took a while to decide in which direction I’d take it but I reassured myself that, like a bad haircut, it’d grow out. I was momentarily worried that the neighbours would think I was being lazy but it actually takes as much effort as mindlessly mowing once a fortnight. It definitely uses less electricity and it takes more thought and intention.

After a month I noticed that some new and exciting species had joined the resident white and purple clover:

A couple of months later the tall grasses are looking wild and hazy, and when it’s windy they really come to life.

This morning when I looked out, there was a flash of red. Look what decided to come and live in my garden:

Having a guest to stay last weekend prompted a yard tidy and I bought 3 bright cheerful geraniums

and this week a fiery dahlia joined them in a colourful chorus

This year the peonies were prolific

and the magnolia grandiflora has several gigantic buds about to burst into aromatic bloom.

By this morning another poppy has popped up! What next?

I had a brilliant weekend. A good friend came to stay which proved to be the very antidote I needed to chase away much of the residual negativity following recent events. I love entertaining and having guests means a really good clear out, a proper tidy up, a deep clean and a fresh start.

I had prepared a simple dinner and we chatted, well, like old friends. Suddenly it was 11pm.

Saturday’s activities started with a jaunt up breezy Pule Hill and a good look at Simon Armitage’s Snow, carefully carved into the stones halfway down.

It’s such an enigmatic setting for a poetry reading. On the way down we encountered this remarkable looking insect:

Then on to the open day at Dark Woods coffee near Slaithwaite where we refuelled in the busy mill.

It was getting hot so back we went to HQ to rest and refresh before an early dinner at Norman’s.

My first taste of their small plates last summer was unforgettable and I had been keen to find an excuse to return.

It was almost full at 5pm. We ordered from a mouthwatering menu. I don’t drink alcohol and I wanted something refreshing but not overly sweet. Our waiter suggested a Botivo spritz.

It complemented the plump juicy Gordal olives perfectly:

Plate upon plate of appetising delicacies arrived at our table. Look:

Replete from our feast, we walked steadily up to West Nab. The barn owl swooped enigmatically nearby.

Sitting on the magnificent stones at the summit watching the sun set as perfectly as a scotch egg yolk was a great way to celebrate the summer solstice.

Most visits chez Rare Bit involve a good few hours at Yorkshire Sculpture Park. A haven of creativity immersed in nature, it never fails to deliver on so many levels.

We started in the Chapel where a cascade of thick Rapunzel-like braided tendrils streamed out of the window above.

Inside the cool chapel, the scene was slightly more menacing:

Then on to the Weston, bypassing Damien Hirst’s humongous statues, where there was an intriguing exhibition called Rise featuring rope.

We spent a lot of time in the park looking at the outdoor sculptures. We didn’t see everything but we did see the latest work by Damien Hirst. Regardless of whether you love or hate his works, they definitely incite discussion.

Finally we went to the Underground Gallery to view Hold This Earth, a new exhibition by indigenous North American artists.

It was way too much for me to take in so I’ll be returning to have a proper look. Meanwhile:

I’m still feeling quite raw after yesterday’s county court hearing. The joiner who did such an appalling job of fitting my kitchen a year ago made a claim against me for not paying him the full amount. I made a counter claim in response for his shoddy workmanship and sh**y attitude.

We had mediation in March but we couldn’t reach an agreement. After months of gathering evidence and preparing the case I was very much ready to bring matters to a conclusion. Despite having a strong case, I felt uncertain. I was right.

In the end, after some to-ing and fro-ing and extreme discomfort on my behalf, we were encouraged by the judge to call it quits. It’s a relief since this matter has been at the forefront of my mind for over a year now and I was desperate for closure. I’ve let so many areas in my life slip, especially my career.

One minute the judge was kind, then he laid into the claimant for not formatting his evidence correctly. He proceeded to inform me that he hadn’t even received my evidence bundle. I handed it in at the court office personally! In any case, if the additional documents I’d emailed subsequently were anything to go by, I hadn’t followed the (easily missed) formatting instructions either! With hindsight, it’s interesting that we both missed these crucial instructions.

I was shocked and disappointed. It meant he didn’t have any of the information I had painstakingly pored over for hours, fastidiously fact checking and sifting through minutiae which dredged up uncomfortable feelings from that traumatic time, carefully adding the case number to each document, re-reading, re-reading. I felt overwhelmed, sick to the stomach. It was as though my whole world was being pulled down from beneath me. Weeks of work, arduous hours spent at the laptop for nothing.

After the judge left us in the courtroom to attempt to resolve matters between us to no avail, he came into the oppressive chambers a third time and proceeded to tell us that if we didn’t resolve matters there and then, another trial could take months. We’d have to pay for an independent expert to inspect my kitchen and even then it was likely I’d lose. It could affect our credit scores. He also said that if we wanted to adjourn, he could decide in favour of the claimant since he didn’t have my evidence bundle. He really laid it on thick.

It would have been foolish to press the matter further. We both reluctantly agreed to call it quits. It was devastating but there was nothing else to be done.

It took a while for things to really sink in but by today, I’m glad it’s behind me. I can genuinely say I don’t care about this cursed kitchen anymore, or this house for that matter. It’s just a house. It no longer feels like home.

I woke up thinking I’m ready to move on from here. It’s time for a new chapter. A fresh start.

It’s been a tricky Spring so far. Bookings have continued to fall and I’ve been preoccupied with the exciting and more often terrifying prospect of exploring different ways of earning a living. I love playing and music has always been the central focus of my life, but never has there been a more challenging time in terms of bringing in paid work. I must’ve played 10 fayres recently resulting in no bookings, so I can’t help questioning if there’s something wrong with my playing. I don’t think there is but perhaps people pick up on my underlying despondent energy. I’ve come to the conclusion that fewer people are getting married and the cost of living crisis is truly taking its toll. This has in turn taken its toll on me.

I have a busy fortnight now and I’m deeply grateful for that. Of course, my car decided it was a good time to play up and it started to make a worrying grinding noise last week. I took it straight to the mechanic who said it’s the clutch. He can’t fit me in until next week. I found it somewhat unhelpful when he said it might do another 100,000 miles or it might just pop tomorrow and when he advised me to use it as little as possible. The car survived last Saturday’s wedding so if I can do tomorrow’s very local gig, Monday’s church ceremony and get to the hotel to play for the wedding breakfast, I’ll be delighted and my car can enjoy even more time off.

I took my mechanic’s advice and walked to all my meetings and appointments this week. 25 miles so far and I’m relieved my feet and body are still strong enough. I chose a good week to go carless:

Yesterday was the best though. Straight after teaching I walked to my appointment in Marsden:

The hills were alive!

In the words of Isak Dinesen “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea”. Got 2 out of 3, and moorland water is a fine substitute for the ocean.