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bronze_ribbonsTo my immense and admittedly outsized relief, the England World/Will Darling Adventures epilogue the author posted to her chat and newsletter contingents this week is funny and lovely and doesn't make me go EW(E). It did put paid to some of the Fen stories I'd started sketching out as a possible eleventh-hour NYR treat to someone who frequently commented on my fics back in the day (i.e., more than a decade ago. Strewth . . . )
. . . and I have all-too-characteristically bunnied myself twice since starting that sentence, so it's back into the "When I Have Time" folder for "Unruffled" and "Obvious Competence." "In on the Joke" (in which Daniel da Silva and Peter Wimsey get on each other's nerves) and "Professionally Foreign" (where they oh-so-elegantly fray everyone else's nerves) remain in that folder.
. . . and this is all pastry frisbee where the near future is concerned anyhow. (AKA, will I get around to these before 2023, if ever? You'd be better off betting on Le Peace Treaty, Imagine Neverland, or Nth Power, which all happen to be horses running at Laurel Park this Thursday.) But it's nice to have a bundle of frothy-bubbly knife-sharp possibilities tickling certain corners of my brain while HQ contends with heavier stuff. Which put me in the mood to listen to Elgar's Cello Concerto this afternoon while addressing postcards, which in turn put me in the path of an article about Julian Lloyd Webber's love of the piece, and -- ohhh:
On a far more frivolous note, I've been thinking that the woman on the cover of Proper English reminded me of someone, and I finally realized this week that it was Gustine from the 2020 season of La Plus Belle Voix.
. . . and I have all-too-characteristically bunnied myself twice since starting that sentence, so it's back into the "When I Have Time" folder for "Unruffled" and "Obvious Competence." "In on the Joke" (in which Daniel da Silva and Peter Wimsey get on each other's nerves) and "Professionally Foreign" (where they oh-so-elegantly fray everyone else's nerves) remain in that folder.
. . . and this is all pastry frisbee where the near future is concerned anyhow. (AKA, will I get around to these before 2023, if ever? You'd be better off betting on Le Peace Treaty, Imagine Neverland, or Nth Power, which all happen to be horses running at Laurel Park this Thursday.) But it's nice to have a bundle of frothy-bubbly knife-sharp possibilities tickling certain corners of my brain while HQ contends with heavier stuff. Which put me in the mood to listen to Elgar's Cello Concerto this afternoon while addressing postcards, which in turn put me in the path of an article about Julian Lloyd Webber's love of the piece, and -- ohhh:
Lying on his deathbed, 15 years after the concerto's completion, Elgar "rather feebly" tried to whistle the first movement's haunting 9/8 theme to his friend, the violinist William Reed.
"Billy," he said with tears in his eyes, "if ever you're walking on the Malvern Hills and hear that, don't be frightened. It's only me."
On a far more frivolous note, I've been thinking that the woman on the cover of Proper English reminded me of someone, and I finally realized this week that it was Gustine from the 2020 season of La Plus Belle Voix.
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