Why the British talk about the weather

My first real brush with the outdoors this year involved a weekend at what will be this year's Midsummer Camp venue.  The last weekend in April and, although not especially cold, it never really stopped raining.  Blind optimism, poor judgement and bad luck caused me to turn up with a strange tent and no car to retreat (or escape in).  And I quickly discovered that my tent had no fly-sheet.

The following weekend was to be the Body Land Movement dance event in Cambridgeshire (see recent post).  I was looking forward to this but confess I didn't fancy another wet camping experience, even though we had been allocated a yurt and the site boasts a kick-ass sauna. And there was another reason why I was apprehensive.

A highlight of the wet weekend in Suffolk was watching a mediaeval band, in costume, playing wonderful music. An experience made all the sweeter by the knowledge that I was about to be rescued from a second wet night in a horse shelter.  One of the players complained of cold hands so, in a fit of mediaeval chivalry, I proffered my hand-warmers.  These garments, a gift from my daughter, make playing outside possible at all times of year.  And now I'll be without them until I return to Suffolk in mid-June.

But just as it looked like the rain would hold off, in spite of near-zero temperatures, and the dance weekend would go ahead, news reached us from Cambridgeshire.  The river had burst its banks, flooding the woodland where we were to camp and hold the workshops. The dance floor and the main infrastructure was unaffected but parking, camping and walking about would be impossible.

Now, only two or three weeks later, we have blazing sunshine and temperatures in the mid twenties.  And who knows what it will be like in September when the re-scheduled event takes place? So, if there's nothing else to talk about in Britain, there's always the weather.

That's the kitchen on the right.  Drinks by the pool, anyone?

Gloves for playing outside

Last night was the first performance of The threepenny Opera at Norwich Playhouse and, having been engaged as a clarinettist (and later, “by the way, could you bring your tenor along too?”) I’m playing tenor sax and flute in the pit band. The show, with music by Kurt Weill and words by Bertolt Brecht, is immensely enjoyable. The only downside was freezing half to death in the dress rehearsal on Monday night. ‘It will be warmer tomorrow evening with an audience’ I thought. But when Tuesday arrived I regretted my optimism. Although plenty of people came along to watch, the temperature seemed to drop steadily over the course of the evening. I shall wrap up warm tonight.

As I sat in the kitchen this morning, mending the leather gloves that make cycling a viable means of transport in the Norfolk winter, I remembered that the clarinettist/alto saxophonist to my left had put on a pair of fingerless gloves during the interval but confided that she had never tried to play in them before. As a veteran of playing outdoors I suggested that the problem of playing in fingerless gloves is this: when you make the hand shape required to play, the material at the palm of the glove bunches up and collides with the keys. For string players the problem is similar, the only difference being that the gloves tend to deaden the strings. With a larger saxophone performance is possible but a little clumsy. Playing klezmer clarinet in the things is a non-starter.

The solution came when my daughter, who is handy with a pair of knitting needles, decided to make herself a pair of hand-warmers. When I saw them I immediately put in a request for a pair in my size. I was sent off to the market for wool and the appropriate needles and then waited (and waited and waited). Finally the moment came and I've never looked back. No more the Hobson's choice between rapidly stiffening fingers and the unintentional pressing of the wrong keys at outdoor gigs. The gloves are basically a sleeve of wool with a hole for the thumb at one end. They keep the wrists and the backs of the hands warm without creating awkward folds of material in the palm area. They work a treat and I'll be taking them to the show tonight (along with my thermals). For a show based on The Beggar's Opera they are just the thing.