The Music Lesson.

Never let it be said that Fhina doesn't listen - Hope the colours are gentler on the eyes, darling Suldog?   Mwah!

And so, on the morning I was due to travel to London with GJ, my ball and chain, he announced that his ankle had swollen to the size of a Christmas pudding and he would not be able to come with me.   Instead, he summoned the Kraken who awoke, and my nineteen year old son, Grizz, was press-ganged into accompanying me.

Cue half an hour of door slamming and furniture being kicked and lots of grizzling (yes, his nickname isn’t Grizz for nothing….)   (He has a friend whose name is Chaos – I should have known, really…)

Thankfully, by the time we had settled into our First Class train seats, for (GJ had upgraded our tickets as a redundancy treat for me!), and were tucking into some breakfast, Grizz had settled to the idea of travelling south with his ancient crone of a mother to a music festival in the Park.

By the time we got to London, I had realised that  1) the European Grand Prix was due to be on TV this weekend, and  2)  GJ might have been afraid to leave his new (second-hand) motorbike (curse E-bay!) on its own in the garage for three days…   Still, we reached our hotel safely, unpacked and set out onto London’s scorching streets in search of entertainment.  

We headed towards Leicester Square which, like most of London at the moment, appears to be clad in wooden fencing and polythene, while Boris the Mad continues his prettification of the City for next year’s Olympics!

Moments later we were sweltering in Covent Garden, shopping until we dropped for some bits and pieces of clothes and fripperies I owed Grizz from last Christmas (when I was terrified about my future and the money situation and literally proferred an IOU).  

Basically, I had plans to give Grizz his idea of a trip to London, rather than my own – I had been keen to visit artist Frederick Lord Leighton’s home!   Well satisfied and boiling hot, we stopped off for a sherbet drink in the Lyric Pub off Piccadilly/Soho which was very sweet and old and friendly – I really could imagine the women who would have swept up and down the narrow, rickety staircase over the years in their skirts…

Suitably refreshed, we pressed on looking for shoes – Now Grizz is not a man after my own heart, he does not resemble his mother when it comes to shoes – Each shoe is carefully weighed in his hands and severely critiqued – A ‘slightly askew’ or ‘not the right colour’ bit of piping is cast firmly aside and on we continued in search of the Unicorn of Shoes.   In Fhina’s case, on the other hand, it’s more a question of ‘if the shoe fits…’

Finally, (sans shoes), on Saturday evening we ended up in Brown’s in Covent Garden which provides reliable and perfectly serviceable food and drink for prices that don’t startle the horses. 

In fact, Grizz could hardly believe that we had eaten and drank till we were stuffed, (and, in the case of a six foot five male teenager, that’s saying something!), for less than 30 quid!

We had passed The Ivy earlier, and I’m sure you can’t say the same about that restaurant, although I ticked a box in my head to put it aside for another day’s visit, as the prices there weren’t as unreasonable as I expected and I was curious about the Art Deco stained glass and design of the outside of the restaurant…

And the days go by...

I have been listening to Stevie Nicks' silver words since I was twelve years old.

I don't think I ever thought I would still be here, singing along to the sound of her voice when I was almost fifty.

I never believed I would see Stevie in my lifetime, because Fleetwood Mac had disbanded and re-formed over and over throughout the years, plus Stevie never seemed to perform outside of the US, and I never would never have enough money to go to America to see her there.

But, making my fortieth year for me, I had the pleasure of seeing Fleetwood Mac for the very first time, when they toured the UK with their Say You Will album tour.   I might have cried during Rhiannon, because her performance was just so moving and magical.   There were tears in GJ's eyes too, as I recall.   And he's not a man to cry easily...

Then, a couple of years back, I saw them perform again, this time at Wembley in London, for their Unleashed tour.   Admittedly, these days they tour without Christine McVie because she prefers a quieter, English provincial, life but I honestly believe Stevie and Lindsay are the powerhouse of the band nowadays, leaving the bold, bad John and Mick to provide the same, solid, powerful percussive background that they have done for all of their lives together.

Yet, when I heard last year that Stevie was touring the USA with Rod Stewart I have to admit that I was puzzled.   I wondered how this pairing would work onstage and I have been guilty of castigating Rod over the years for 'selling out' (as I saw it) with songs such as ‘Hot Legs’ and wearing leopard skin leggings, when he could have been the biggest blues/soul singer the UK had ever seen.   (Do Google Python Lee Jackson's 'In A Broken Dream' for more evidence, mes bloggy dahlinks).

So when it was announced (signalled to me on FaceSlapBook by my fab friend, Saz, bless your heart, my sweet!), that Rod would be playing London's Hyde Park this summer with Stevie supporting, I rushed to Ticketbarsteward's website like a person who'd never heard the words 'redundancy,' 'unemployment,' 'penury,' 'penniless' and 'workhouse'...

This weekend has been an absolute dream for me.   I shall share more laters, m'dears!

(Always keep them guessing and wondering...   That's what the Gold Dust Woman would say, after all!)