Post Christmas post

Christmas has been a pretty dreadful affair this year. Mum and Dad were both ill, the house was declared an isolation zone, and all festivities were consequently cancelled. Dad was crabby, Mum was upset and I could have banged their silly heads together. It made going home a little redundant but I'm glad that I did it. I got some reading done (Part of Beowulf and the end of The Devil in Amber) and had some time to think about future projects. It also provided something of a contrast with the week before.

That was a bit of a bit of a roller coaster with rekindled affections, quite a bit of drinking and a really good evening with Dunc, Verity and Laura crammed in. The latter ended with a very late and very tuneless sing song around the computer (it is a variation on the Victorian theme).

I walked back to Cowley via Abingdon Road and Donnington Bridge. There was a thick white frost and a swirling fog. I stopped and looked down into the black water. I felt a deep sense of ambiguity as I stared into the rushing current. A fascination with the idea of the drop and a wonder at the silent beauty of the night around me. A desire to be and a desire not to be. I guess we all get that.

I'll be in Sri Lanka for three weeks as of tomorrow so I may try to update this while I'm away.

Gary Nelmes

Humphrey Institute of Music

The aim of the Institute was to bring as many of my friends (without children) together in one grand location as possible; to play music, to drink good wine, to eat good food, to smoke good cigars, to read and to get some fresh air.

All in all I managed a large manor house with:

Sixteen people, two acoustic guitars, two electric guitars, two bass guitars, a drum kit, two clarinets, two flutes, four whistles, a grand piano, two tambourines, a lute and a hurdy-gurdy.

The Humphrey Institute of Music (Dec 8th-14th 2007) has proved to be my most triumphant organisational success so far. The personnel, the venue, the finances and the events worked to almost embarrassing perfection. I kept organisation to a minimum and farmed out responsibility for key tasks to people more capable (or more interested) than me of executing them. The catering was a massive task in itself and a potential drag for anyone who didn’t enjoy it. Leaving the two major events with Beccy and Gareth gave them a core role, freed me to keep an eye on the over all shape of things and ensured a really very good standard of catering.

The musical organisation was also a potentially difficult area. I’m not really a musician so leading from the front was not an option. Duncan was the designated leading ‘muso’ and did a brilliant job; but on the days he was sick we managed to create something interesting mainly because I was not the main focus of attention. I think people felt free to be creative and that was really good to see.

I had hoped that it wouldn’t break down into a band/audience situation and I don’t think it did. Julia did fantastic work with the woodwind people. I really was awe struck that they came into the main lounge and got through Heart of Gold with barely a squeak out of place. I was also frankly incredulous that Jackie managed to get a tune out of the hurdy-gurdy. Hats off!

The music was the binding theme of the event from the start but I was amazed by just how pervasive it was. Aside from the big (and slightly raucous) renditions of Fairytale of New York where everyone joined in there were little knots of music all week. The Julias played beautiful piano and flute in the mornings. Dunc and Andrew did amazing brotherly guitar things before dinner. The black tie Bottle Orchestra squeaked through a brace of tunes between courses and Beccy and the multi talented MDJ did acoustic versions of New Wave Punk classics in the early hours. I should probably apologise for my early morning experimentation on Matt’s drum kit but it was great fun.

Somehow, the atmosphere and the aesthetic of the thing were just perfect. The house felt like home to me after a couple of days and we fell into a routine. The formality of the Black Tie Dinner is always something I love and the girls all looked stunning. Sparkling eyes, lovely outfits and beautiful faces all set off against the background of the chaps looking suave and manly. I love all that stuff.

The weather somehow also managed to be perfect. The rainstorms of the weekend gave the manor the character of a warm glowing refuge at the heart of dark (or at least perpetually crepuscular) nature. Paul seemed to be able to summon a fire from nothing (even a two level one at one point) and I hold my Neolithic manhood cheap by comparison. Somehow (and this is also slightly less than butch) I was slightly reminded of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. ”You’re wet; I think you better come inside…”

Ah… it sets the mind racing doesn’t it? Rocky Horror, Clue, Murder Mystery, Art (enormous Pollocks), Dance, Wine. So little time…

Fairytale of Maesycrugiau

It was Friday evening
In Maesycrugiau
When Nelmes he said to me
“Pack up, it’s time to go.”
Then he sang Redemption Song
One final screech right through;
I turned my face away
And burned a book or two.

But what a week to see!
From sixteen down to three:
The house was reeling
From wine, guitar and flute.
It’s nearly Christmas
But no festivity
Gives half as good a time
As the Humphrey Institute.


They've got drinks big as sinks
They've got booze in the hall,
They’ve got guests glassy-eyed
As the stag on the wall.
When they first take your hand
Through that manor house door
They promise that soon you’ll be begging for more.

We made noise in no hurry
And covered in slurry;
When the band finished playing
We cried out for more.
The chilli was stinging,
All the drunks they were singing,
We started at lunchtime then drank through the night.

The ghosts in the panelled Jesus room
Were singing through the cold,
And the hurdy-gurdy pined
For Heart of Gold.

How they’d jump up and spank
On an amplified plank,
Sipping port on the sly in resplendent black tie.
Don’t crank up the tension
With stray jazz suspension –
On your feet! Raise a glass! Don’t pretend it's the last...

The ghosts in the panelled Jesus room
Were singing through the cold,
And the hurdy-gurdy pined
For Heart of Gold.



And now they’re gone too soon:
From room to empty room
There drifts a haunting tune,
A chord that can’t sustain.
Our revels disappear,
Melted and dissolute,
But what a founding year
For the Humphrey Institute!

The ghosts in the panelled Jesus room
Were singing through the cold,
And the hurdy-gurdy pined
For Heart of Gold.

© Gareth Prior 2007