October 25 - All change!

No blog for a few weeks simply because things have been more than a bit crazy. 

When I last blogged I was in Spain, since when I have been on a flying visit to UK (pun intended) and thence to Peru and am shortly to return to Spain and re-enter Peru in January 2016.

At the start of this month (October) I had decided that I needed to return to Peru as I was missing Nick and felt that I had resolved some of my issues sufficiently to move forward. The space and calmness afforded by Cehegin had done its work.

I had also planned a UK break from Oct 08 – 19, and then my good friend Andy was to come to Cehegin for a holiday.

In the middle of this the Ministry of Culture announced that the next “Convocation” to select the Artistic Director of the Trujillo Symphony Orchestra was to take place from October 15 and I realised that I was eligible.

However, given the complexity and lunacy of airline ticketing, it turned out that the cheapest route for me to Peru was from Heathrow although that route had a first call of Madrid!  Flying from Madrid being MORE expensive!

So I decided that I would curtail my UK visit and fly from LHR on the 14^th.

Leaving Cehegin

All well and fine, but then I had to quickly settle my rental situation In Cehegin, and as per my rental contract actually had to pay the rent up until November 14 and loose my deposit. So calm turned to a fairly fevered few days as I cleaned the house, defrosted the old fridge – a 24 hours nightmare! And prepared to leave.

Patricia my landlord, very kindly said we could do the handover at 05:50 on the 8^th and that she would then give me a lift to the bus station for my trip to UK. Just as well as I had two big bags and a rucksack full of my worldly goods.

Sad to say goodbye to Cehegin. Of course in the middle of all this the purchase of my house had collapsed as the owners – 4 sisters and brother – had not proved their right to inherit the proceeds of the sale as the house was owned by their deceased sister. They had had 5 years to do this! I had to get a solicitor to get my deposit back, which was done in 2 days as the sellers were in such disarray. Sad but fortunate (as it happens.)

So armed with my bags I went to catch the 06:20 bus from Cehegin to Murcia. The bus station was deserted and Patricia was very worried that I had got the time wrong and that there was no bus!

I reassured her, but to her credit, she drove off and then sneaked back and parked at a distance from the bus station, thinking I couldn't see her, and waited until the bus arrived. How lovely.

From the first bus I had 10 minutes to lug my luggage to the ticket counter at the Murcia bus station and buy my ticket for the bus to Alicante Airport. Done with a minute to spare!

I had made a plan for my UK (now much foreshortened) trip which took in Brighton and Hove, London, Hereford, Birmingham and then Heathrow.

I had arranged with Andy that he would meet me at the local train station of Portslade.

On arrival at Alicante airport I managed to misread the indicator and hauled my luggage the entire length of the terminal to check in desk 145 only to find that was a flight to Gatwick but with Easy Jet and I was booked with BA, so I then hauled the bags all the way back to desk 19!

Checked in and only when in the departure lounge found out that all flights from UK were delayed due to action being taken by the French Air Traffic Controllers, so the 2 hour 20 minutes flight was now taking 3 hours and 20 minutes. Suffice to say I got to Gatwick late and then had a fun time lugging luggage from north terminal to the railways station at the south terminal, with unhelpful train staff telling me that I couldn't take my trolley into the railway station and that there was a train for Portslade due in 3 minutes and of course, from the furthest platform. Collapsed into a seat on the train, wasn't told I had to change at Hove (but the connecting train was from same platform) and arrived 2 hours late to Portslade.

Arrival in UK.   Hove .....  Hereford ....... Birmingham

 Andy of course had been tracking my flight and realised I was delayed and estimated my ETA, so all was well. Had a relaxing time with Andy, but didn't go to London as planned as had really bad back ache. Sunday saw me National express bus-ing it to Hereford for my usual Sunday night dinner and sleepover visitation with friends, Michael and Tim and then had lunch on Monday in Hereford with Tony, one of my oldest and dearest friends before taking the train to Birmingham. I have known Michael for 46 years and Tony for around 38 years. Amazing!

Martin was waiting for me at the University station in Birmingham and he and Jean had planned a very lovely dinner party that evening so that I had a chance to meet up with one or two other mutual friends. Tuesday was a trip to the dentist, a filling had fallen out and a problematical tooth needed some attention, a trip to the Library and then a couple of pints with Martin in the real ale pub par excellence “the Wellington”, Fish and chips in the evening then a bit of relaxing television until I was taken to the bus station for my 00:01 bus to Heathrow.

Leaving UK

Bus went via Coventry and Warwick, terminals 1-3, terminal 4 and thence to an almost completely deserted terminal 5 at 03:10. My flight to Madrid was at 06:20 and was the first take-off of the day, transited at Madrid and again at Lima and arrived to Trujillo at 22:30 the same day and took a taxi to the pre-booked hotel. Journey time door to door 29 hours.

Migraciones - Lima Airport ..... One unforeseen complication was that, having cancelled my residency visa last May, I am only allowed to be in Peru for 183 days in 2015 and therefore must leave on 18 November (unless I have a contract for employment before that date) as I have only 35 days left of my 2015 quota.

Whilst I was in England, Nick was in Cologne at the worlds biggest food-fair, where a team from DanPer was exhibiting. It was Nick's first trip to Europe.

Thursday I rested, and fortunately the hotel had a bath so could soak. Had lunch with my good friend and conservatoire director Carlos and patiently awaited the arrival of Nick back from Germany on Friday early morning.

A Pervian civil servant is a master of the first part and never heard of the second part!

LTCL in Orchestral Conducting

The farce begins.

I put in what had now grown to a 40 page application for the Artistic Director of the Symphony Orchestra post. This was: an official form, a declaration of honesty, my CV, all my diplomas in both music and management, letters proving my various work roles and letters of recommendation from UK, India and professional musicians. All of which had to be translated into Spanish – hence 40 pages (20 + 20).

Nick and I had worked on these papers all weekend. I had studied the requirements meticulously and I know that I met them sufficiently to be granted an interview. So feeling confident I put in my application on Monday 19^th.

You can (actually you can't) imagine my shock and disappointment to see that along with the other five candidates we were all judged on our paperwork to be NO APTO (not appropriate) and the process was cancelled. Maestro Alvarez had not applied, actually despite his 30 years experience he couldn't apply, as he had no diploma in conducting!

I wanted to know why I was not granted an interview and was unable to get a satisfactory answer so I have an interview with the Director of Culture tomorrow (Mon 26) to try to get an answer as my first attempt led me to believe that they had made an error (a personnel officer stated that probably I was rejected because whilst I have a diploma in conducting  I had no (Peruvian) municipal orchestral experience – she was shocked when I pointed out that it was not a requirement this time, but was last August. 

So had they used the wrong requirements for the selection process? 

Had an error been made? 

If it has, this will never be admitted.

MOZART - Sorry NO APTO  - you do not have a diploma in conducting

Actually under the rules as they stand, I think that Sir Simon Rattle, Bernard Haitink, Gustav Dudamel and many many other famous conductors would also have been adjudged NO APTO as all might have failed the administrative procedure.

Talent, musicality, professionalism count for nothing. The joke gets better. Had any of us been granted an interview we would have been interviewed by a panel of three administrators, non of whom know the first thing about music, orchestras, conducting or the like and this great interview would have lasted a maximum of 15 minutes. The same amount of time as was allotted for secretaries, cleaners, ticket sellers, an architect and a lawyer, who were also being interviewed the same day by the same panel.

So the Director of culture had better have a good answer tomorrow otherwise I am off to see my good friend Luis, who is the arts journalist for “La Industria”, one of Peru's most famous daily papers.

If there is to be another third and final (?) convocatoria, and assuming I can apply I think this will not be before January 2016.

I have now to concentrate on the fact that, as I didn't get the job  I must leave Peru on November 18.......... cue: sleepless nights.

Ecuador

Celebration

The day of my “rejection” meant that the 21^st which was to be a celebration of Nick and I being together for 3 years was rather dampened, nevertheless we spent the next day (22^nd) going out for lunch, me getting sun burn and have a good a day as possible.

Great lunch in Squalos

Solution

After discussion with Nick, friends here and in the UK, a solution has been found.

I am going to return to Spain, the landlord Patricia has agreed that I can stay on in the house in Cehegin and so I return on November 12/13. Nick will join me in Spain for his holiday from December 19 to January 3. (We had originally thought of a holiday in UK but visa processing times preclude this - 3 weeks for UK visa, 7 days for Schengen visa and Nick is away in the USA in November so can't apply before November 20.

I will return to Peru a few days after Nick and then be eligible for a 183 days visa, which gives us the breathing space to restart our life together and for me to start some enterprise and request residency again.

Friendship

But I am so fortunate to have the love and support of Nick, also  special mention in dispatches to Martin, Andy and Tony in the UK, help and support from many people here in Peru. Including offers of help with lawyers in order to ensure that Trujillo gains from my presence (not my words but those of a colleague) ……. and of course I still have a core group of students who have missed me and want to restart their studies with me ASAP.

So, all in all, it has been a rather eventful October………….. (and there is still 5 days to go!)

August 24 - Sep 5 Works in progress

I had intended this to be a short blog. 

 I lied. 

Hey ho.  

The path of good intentions ........

Today  (Sunday 6th) temperatures are back to a very comfortable 20°C and it rained continuously from around 7pm until the small hours.  The rain, slow and steady, is much needed as the countryside is completely parched and it is hoped this change in the weather will spell the end to a very prolonged drought.

Mary off for a walk!

But, pity the poor organizers of the Fiestas de Cehegin, yesterday also heralded the start of 10 days of partying as Cehegin celebrates its patron festival.  And they do not need rain! A fun fair is arriving and events build up to the main events of the 9, 10 and 11, when, on Wednesday night, the Statue of Mary de las Maravillas is taken for a walk from the parish church to the big convent church in the town, feted for a day, and then taken for a walk back on the 11^th.  So important is the Feast day that it is a declared public holiday for the municipality.   

 The Spanish, famous for eating dinner late, around 10pm usually, also party late and most of the popular concerts do not start until 1am.   I am assured they will be packed out!  I will celebrate with attendance at concerts given by the town band and choral society tonight and tomorrow at a more modest 8pm.

There is some significant other breaking news, but I am keeping that until next time when I hope it will have some definition. Watch this space.

The Biog

My outpouring last time, gave rise to a burst of writing and 3 chapters of my biography got written in draft and I started to experiment with a way of writing using a “fictitious” me called Tom  it makes some stuff less painful - especially later on and then playing around with writing in the first and third persons and also as pure narrative. Hope it doesn't confuse too much!

I now have to ponder and think which works best or if I just continue to use a real mix of the three depending on whole it flows.  Lets see.   All new ground.  

 (I am wondering whether to continue chronologically or thematically polishing off each shadow on the stairs like a serial killer!)

 Feedback on these incomplete, draft extracts of he first three chapters, greatly appreciated ……..

(Fotos added to relieve boredom - not part of the final work)

Ok, here goes .....

 

Silhouette  made on Brighton Pier

1. This is Tom [and voices off].

This is Tom.

Hello Tom.

Tom could be any name, in any town but not of any time.

Tom is a “now” man.  Tom is a man of his time and out of his time.

Tom is cursed.

Tom is a hostage to fortune. [insert your own cliché here]

Tom, born in the mid-fifties, a British baby boomer.

Tom today has started to ask questions. [not before time]

Tom, wondering just how he got to be part of this mad conjuring trick. 

Tom, feeling like a ball in some clowns juggling act being carried out on a tight rope.  

Tom is nearly sixty and mystified. 

Tom feels he is a rabbit pulled out of the wrong hat. [Would the rabbit know if it were pulled out of the right hat?]  

Tom always looking for the “way out.” No, not assisted dying, but the door into “meaning”. That world everybody else seems to be enjoying.

But not Tom. [not superficially anyway]

If you are a guy. If you are a baby boomer, Tom could be you. Like Tom, this is your history.

Hello. 

Welcome.

Tom’s credo. The great cosmic joke: You’re born. You live. You die. [Drum roll and cymbal clash]  Ta-daah! The end. [Bemused laughter and hesitant applause]

It hadn’t always been like that.

Tom used to be “happy” shuffling around inside a God shaped hat, preparing himself for heaven, the Promised Land.  [Happy is a concept that eludes Tom most of the time.]

You’re born. You live. [You pay God’s insurance premium –weekly instalement plans available.] You die. You go to heaven. Neat. The meaning of life – solved.

Tom had more than fully paid his insurance policy [Low Church Anglican, High Church Anglican, Russian Orthodox] and Tom would have kept paying until the day he would be pulled from the hat to meet his maker.

For Tom this is no longer God’s cosmic joke. Sitting alone in a monkish cell, Tom understood this glib joke. Tom turned the key in the lock and out went God. Just like that. Tom joined the real world, that offered freedom, happiness, the cosmos. [Divine intervention? A road to Emmaus moment?]  And another yet to be understood joke.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

If only life ran like an autobiography, neatly, in chapters, from birth to death. Writing this would be so much easier, logical, “oh yes, that was due to the incident of Tom, the old man and the Florentine biscuits in chapter 6”  or “the death of Mar Gregorius in chapter 13”  or “the great family secret of chapter 4” well sorry, no.

What we have is a large can of spaghetti. [Yuk.]

A large can of spaghetti in tomato sauce [Heinz?] one of only three things Tom simply couldn’t think about, let alone eat, without feeling instantly queasy [and a good thing too. The other two?   Later maybe.]

Taking the large family sized can of spaghetti, we remove the lid and pour the contents cold, into a bowl. That unbelievably hideous orange sauce, those white worms, cold and semi-congealed and the noisome smell!

Disgusting.

Before you is Tom’s life in a nut-shell, [a bowl actually] a coagulation of mixed metaphors.  [Guessed what comes next?]  ………………………………………………………… 

2. Chosen.

On the Sands at Isle of Wight (1957).

“You know Mummy loves you very much”

Isn’t that taken as a given? Mummy is there. End of story.  I know this.

“Well you are very special. Mummy chose you. Yes, I went into this room and there were six babies and from the six I chose you. You Tom, with your head of bright red hair, your cheeky smile and your gurgling laughter.” 

I had always known this, I had heard this story since I was a babe in arms, it was almost in my DNA; the room, the six cots, the choosing.

Everybody knew it, Mum, Nan, Auntie Edie, and Auntie Ciss. 

I was different, special because I was the “chosen” boy with the red hair. I was special because I had a Silver Cross pram, a Rolls Royce of prams, way above my station. It was my entitlement. I was chosen.

“Of course you wouldn’t remember, you were only six weeks old, and all that red hair fell out replaced by the mousy brown you now have.  

Did I ever wonder “Why?” or “How?” Of course not silly, I was about three when I first remember being told and often over the years I would ask for the “choosing story” my history, my re-birth. Being walked through the park in my Silver Cross pram. 

I may not have wondered “Why?” or “How?” but they (along with the other four "serving men") had a room on the stairs. The door was locked.

I did feel special. I came to realise that not many people were chosen. Most just had to rely on what the stork delivered. “Mum, where did I come from?”  Easy, “you came from the room with six cots!”  Problem solved.  Who needs birds and bees [or storks?]

At some point, the story got expanded and I got to know a little of the “why?” maybe I was around six or seven, by then it was just Mum and I versus the world.

The “choosing” had a prequel that included the fact that Mum had had a baby on January 1^st, it was in the paper. The first baby of 1956. I still have the picture and the little stork card that was sent to friends and relatives heralding the arrival of Stephen.   Sadly, he had a hole in the heart and died within a few short months.  “Well, I was told that if I wanted another child I would have to go and chose one. So, because of Stephen I chose you”. 

I was chosen from the Mayday Hospital, Croydon. Was I the silver lining? The consolation prize? Or just the chosen one.

Well I am Tom and I am adopted. “Oh, how nice.” But there is a shadow on the stair already.……………………………………………………….

3. Stockwell

17 months and 1 day! (25, Jan, 1958)

A radio playing classical music.

I am in kitchen. 

I am standing on a chair, a knitting needle in hand, conducting the radio. I am four.

Me, Mum and Dad lived on the first floor of a terraced house in Hargywne Street, Stockwell, South London with rooms roughly partitioned with hardboard. 

It was Aunt Edie’s house.

How I got from Croydon, where I was chosen, living in a flat that overlooked a park [Trees, swings, autumn leaves] to that terraced house in Stockwell is a blank [for now] but there I was conducting the radio orchestra. Where did that come from? According to mum I had never seen an orchestra and as to the conducting. I don’t remember a television.

Aunt Edie was actually Mum’s step-grandmother, a strict, pint-sized narrow minded harridan.  The flat was a charitable gesture of some sort and we were reminded of that fact often. Gratitude was expected and exacted.

There were four rooms, front to back; front bedroom, back bedroom, back parlour, kitchen, a toilet then stairs to the garden.

We had to go downstairs for the weekly ritual bath using a tin bath that normally hung from an outside wall and, when in use, was placed over a drain in the middle of the kitchen floor.

From Aunt Edie’s kitchen was a lean-to that contained a huge and ancient mangle. I can still hear my screams as I managed to trap my fingers between the two huge rubber rollers. The house had a small back garden, complete with Anderson shelter and backed onto the wall of the local hospital.

Up the road from the house was a rag and bone man’s yard, every day out he would come on his horse and cart ringing his hand-bell, calling “an‘ol’yon”  [any old iron].

Dad was mainly absent, he worked as a merchant seaman. I have hardly any memories of him except perhaps once being swung in his arms in the back gardens, avoiding the Anderson shelter. He had a fag in his mouth.

I had two pet rabbits, Pinky and Perky, until after a Sunday lunch cooked by Dad. During his long absences he did not send money and we lived off the begrudged charity of Aunt Edie. Meals of mashed potato for me and nothing for Mum being frequent. But, somehow Sunday was a day for a treat and that treat was usually a bottle of Tizer [“the appetizer”] bought from the corner shop, with its hard black screw-top and bright orangey-red fizzy liquid.  I was a king with my Tizer. Sunday specials or Saturday night treats were to be a feature of life for many years to come.

In Dad’s absence Auntie Edie, ruled the roost. Did she know more about this man, who wasn’t (often) there, on the stair?

........................................................................... as they say ...... to be continued.

By the way........

Had a lovely Birthday, cooked myself a Paella and received loads of birthday wishes via facebook, emails and SKYPE.   Thanks.  Some pics of my lunch ...

Ready to go! Simply take round rice, parsley, peas, red pepper, pimienton (hot), salt, black pepper, paella spices, saffron, garlic, onions, plum tomato, lemons, chicken, clams, squid, mussels, prawns (raw), gamberones (huge 20p each) ...... juggle them around a bit and "tadaaaar" ....... PAELLA ......... my new signature dish! Wash it alld own with a bottle of Spanish Cava and life is good. 






Made better by a SKYPE call from Nick Tirado whilst eating! "HAPPY 59th BIRTHDAY TO ME"

Birthday cake for one!

and the Dell arrived!