“My Sunday”!

For someone who prides himself on always getting up with the birds,today has been a very slow start for me.From not settling down until past one,I assumed that I would stir at my usual six in the morning.In fact,my body clock seems to have visited the departure lounge of Heathrow,gone gone no where but has inherited Jet Lag.

So,I eventually wake up at seven,I hear a rather desperate sound from one of the dogs,and I realise that I have slept until ten.So,it’s no big deal,said I,I’m a saga age now,I qualify for a lie in.Now as I was going out ver this rather bizarre personal narrative,my dogs were getting quite frantic.You see,to them,or at least of one,routine is in the form of a Talmud.They have their breakfast at seven,not ten.To say I felt guilty is stretching no the emotion toon to far,but I suppose I felt a pang of conscience that I had left them with empty tummies and without relief.Now,the contents of their breakfast isn’t that interesting,suffice to say ,it involved Chicken.Anyway,with tummies full,they assumed that a walk would follow,but my man flu has put paid to that.

Here in the Dorset town where I live,it is a lovely day,quite the worse of times to have overslept-although,is their a good time?-and I reflect that Autumn does have its own unique attraction to it.As the day progresses,I will begin to start to gather together the things for my hospital stay on Tuesday.Staying on a ward where the average age is around eighty does my self esteem a power of good on the one hand,but,it begs the question that I have had bowel disease for over ten years now which is a fair percentage of my life-u fortunately,my functional maths skills won’t stretch to working out the exact percentage of my life thus far that I have had bowel disease.As I write this,I ask myself why I’m writing it,then I ignore that and just write it anyway.

So,following those preparations for ,as I affectionately like to call it,”The smelly Ward”,I intend to grapple with the beast that is,my piano.We have unfinished Schubert,slightly boiled Bacharach,some reproductive genes from Genesis,hail and thunder and scattered clouds from Weather Report,then coffee.

After coffee,I will be barking at Bach,shopping with Liszt,and fingering with Finzi.

Now,that is my plan,but ,and it’s a big but,my beast might not co-operate with that and bite my Bach,my sell by date could well be well and truly up with my shopping goods,and a hurricane could render my Weather report a total wash out.

What I do know is,when I get back from hospital ,the beast that is my piano will be there,smarting that after 30 years,she as avoided major surgery,and she has always had the upper hand.Talk to any modest Pianist and I reckon that they will say the same.
That is me at 11:30 and after a short trip to purchase items for hospital that I have forgotten ,I will try to charm the beast.Wish me luck.

Thank you for your interest in my muse.



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