Gently Does It

Now feeling unconscionably pleased with myself for getting to the gym this evening. And it looks like I went about things sensibly enough to avoid injury. Held myself to a sensible 40 minutes on the peddling machine, whatever it's called, having estimated I could probably manage a bit more than 35 minutes as long as I was feeling okay after the half hour. Noticed I was mildly trembly when getting off, but managed to do a bit on the weights nonetheless. Hoping I won't feel any worrying aches & pains on the morrow.

To be honest, I doubt whether I would have got myself in action were it not for the fact that today's filming for the show didn't quite go to plan. A couple of the cast for the items intended for the afternoon have come down with covid, so we needed to postpone. We got on with setting up the sound for the items, both outdoors, so a bit challenging and needing advance preparation. But we'd basically finished by 3.00-ish, so it was 'Home, James, and Don't Spare the Horses', to get a stack of jobs done in time for a relatively unencumbered evening.

Oddly enough I felt a strange sense of something like freedom as I was sweating away just now. 

In A Silent Way

Eid al Adha, 1443

Attended a fairly packed prayers at Masjid Darussalam for Hari Raya Haji this morning and celebrated the occasion at home with family in the afternoon. Then Noi went off to Melaka with Rozita for a couple of days. Now in an unaccustomed quiet considering what lies ahead. As usual, plenty.

Filming And Fasting

09.45

Fasting today ahead of Hari Raya Haji. Feel a bit low on energy, which isn't very helpful since we're also busy filming for our drama production. Hoping to stay on top of things but can see a struggle ahead.

16.40

Wrapped up a very successful day of filming. Now headachy, very.

20.25

Considerably revived after an elegant sufficiency of teh tarik, longan & cake. Helps to have the twinkling lights twinkling away again.

I've been thinking lately of getting back to the gym, now that it's been two weeks since my second booster injection and I'm officially allowed strenuous exercise again. I did wonder this morning if I might try a session later today. However, I've come to the conclusion that with over 14,000 steps  and 47 floors climbed in the course of the filming it would be pushing it a bit too hard to attempt anything else. So I'm just going to take it gloriously easy, thank you.

Somewhere Else

Spent eleven minutes in a better place earlier today. Transported from the school's SAC to Copenhagen, sort of. 

Sheer Delight

As I noted briefly back in mid-June, progress on the second volume of The Complete Poems of A. R. Ammons has been somewhat halting. In fact, after getting back here I've hardly opened the tome. Which led to a vague feeling that poetry was lacking in my life.

Fortunately that lack was addressed today by Carol Rumens's offering over at her Poem of the Week page in the Graun. To be honest I was astonished (and sort of delighted in an odd way) that I'd never read John Clare's Clock a Clay before. I regard myself as more than a bit of a Clare fan, so how I've contrived to miss this gem is beyond me. When I checked in my Oxford Authors edition of the poems it was in there, so there's no excuse.

But that leads me to the happy thought that once I've pushed my way through to the end of the Ammons's volume I might well tackle the Clare collection in earnest and unearth further wonders. Come to think of it, I've never read a poem by Clare I didn't enjoy.

A Change Of Pace

Just made a start on Kazuo Ishiguro's The Unconsoled after completing the extremely funky Blue Moon. Talk about a contrast! In the opening pages Ishiguro's narrator gets his ears bent by an astonishingly loquacious hotel porter for several pages on the gripping topic of how many pieces of luggage it's possible for him (the porter) to carry without placing them on the floor and why he follows a code that dictates porters should not put the bags that they are carrying down. In the equivalent number of pages in Child's novel no doubt Jack Reacher would have dispatched at least two bad guys (usually more) in highly satisfying and inventive ways.

The funny thing is that I'm already gripped by Ishiguro's narrative. Funny thing, fiction. 

In The Flow

It's been a long time since I've been involved in running rehearsals for a production for the stage - and it will continue to be so. We got clearance for public performance a little back, but too late to actually take advantage of the return to something like normality (essentially due to budgetary constraints - too complicated to explain.) However, we're busy preparing for something we'll put out on film and the biggish scale means this one is starting to feel like something being worked on for the stage. The most recent rehearsals have felt uncannily close to what we'd normally be up to for live performance, to the extent that I've sometimes had to check myself commenting on likely vocal audience reactions and how they might affect pacing.

I hadn't forgotten the fact that I deeply enjoy such rehearsals - despite the work involved - but it was good to feel that depth again. To be honest I can't quite figure out what I find so rewarding, other than the simple pleasure of watching good work from talented performers - but I don't try too hard to think it through, preferring just to sit back and enjoy the experience. I suppose I achieve something close to what psychologists think of as a state of flow. Lucky me.

A Man In Need

Nominally a day of rest. For me a day largely spent working, inspired by the fact I really, really needed to. Having no choice is deeply motivational, eh?

Holding On

Here's a little inspirational, or maybe cautionary tale, whatever, from last night:

So there I am attempting to talk to someone from HMRC, the British tax people, on the phone. Anyone who's ever bravely attempted to do so will know there are lots of numbers you can ring on just about any issue, but you'll be put on hold for an age before you get through, and if you do get through the fellow at the other end is by no means guaranteed to be particularly helpful. So I'm phoning in the early evening, when it's late morning over there, and I've given myself a reasonable amount of time to wait, equipping myself with a bit of work to do while I do so.

To my surprise I get through to the department I need in just over half-an-hour. Not too bad. But the guy at the other end sounds a bit slow and a bit baffled. It takes a good four minutes just to complete the security check and he's got no idea at all how to answer one of my key questions, despite being the advisor who's supposed to handle the fact I'm questioning why I should pay more tax in a situation when I am very sure indeed why HMRC has got it wrong. In fact, he himself sees quite quickly they've got it wrong (because, though a bit complicated the issue is hardly mind-boggling stuff, and understanding this stuff is, I assume, his job) but he's still stuck on key details - like what I need to do next.

So he suggests it's best to transfer the call to another guy at another department. I'm a tad puzzled as to why the other guy will know more given that the title of his department isn't so obviously connected to the situation I'm in, but I agree. Foolishly. I sort of assume I'll be transferred right away but realise over the next minute I'm simply on hold again and starting the whole process from zero.

A good hour goes by. (Not so good, to be honest, but I'm sensibly getting some marking done.) I tell Noi I've pretty much given up and will end the call at 9.00 pm, since we're intending to eat soon after. I sort of forget about cutting the call and it's 9.05 when I decide to do so. At which point, to my astonishment, I get through. And, to my greater astonishment, this guy is satisfyingly knowledgeable and clear. He grasps the problem instantly and tells me what's best to do and how the whole thing will play out over the next two months, with me getting a fair bit of money back. Very reassuring.

I suppose there's a moral or two to this tale, but I'll settle for accepting the fact that once in a while it's worth waiting patiently on the phone despite the appalling muzak you must endure.

Looking Back

Just watched (again) P. Ramlee's classic movie Madu Tiga from the early sixties. Felt nostalgic for a Singapore I never knew. Never such innocence again (and certainly never so politically incorrect. Can't imagine an out and out feminist watching Jamil's escapades with his three honeys/wives and her not throwing something at the screen. Pretty funny to imagine such a viewing in itself.) 

Was reminded of the older Carry On films which I loved as a kid. Gosh, I miss them.