I don’t go out much these days.

It is a bit hard to admit, especially since I work in Arts Funding and half my wages come from the Arts Council but I don’t really like the cinema, I get a bit stressed at the theatre, most music just annoys me, books seem to be utterly pointless, art galleries just seem to be a really long, slow, pointless walk to the cafe, parties are just awful, gigs are tedious, the newspaper is transitory land fill and watching organised sports events is, always has been and always will be, a waste of everyone’s breath.

I have not always been like this, I started to feel this way after Loz died and I can’t really shake it off.
Apart from the bit about sport.
That really is a waste of time.
One day the world will wake up and realise what an utter waste of time and effort it is.
One day.
Then we can all go and plant trees and save the world.
Until then we have the world cup to look forward to I suppose.

Anyhow, today I was moved to tears by the power of music.
It really caught me by surprise because I am really careful about not putting myself in a situation like that.

Richard Trethewey was singing with the Camborne Silver Band today.
I had forgotten what a glorious noise a Silver/Brass band makes, properly shaking and quivering every nerve. Camborne Band are realy GOOD at being a band.
Don’t google them, see them live. Brass bands have to be seen live.
It just doesn’t work the same way on screen or through speakers.
Like speedway but different.
They had great control as well, just placing the music perfectly in the space.
Richard was singing Brenda Wooton songs. I remember her work from the early 80s when it was really unfashionable in my social group.
Cramps, Cure, Cult: yes, Brenda Wooton: no.
He was doing a really great job too.

Something in the words, the grace he was giving the song, the way he worked with the band and the band were working with the voice and the response of the audience, who clearly loved the song and had never heard it performed in quite that way before, was just so magical.
I was not alone, there were people crying all around the room. It was an exquisite shared experience of real simplicity and subtlety.

Prole1 buried his head in my neck and snuggled right in. he was all warm and small-boyish and wrapped his arms around my shoulders.
Prole2 squeezed in and kissed my cheek then laid his face against mine as the music flowed over and around us.

Prole2: Ask him.

Prole1: Ok. Dad? Can we go home and play Xbox?

Me (crashing back into the room and trying to choke the words out) Can we just listen to this?

Prole2: Told you he would say no.

Anyhow.
The wrestling is on tonight.
The only telly I really like.

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