In the aftermath of my disaffection for the Olympics opening ceremony I found myself asking what the Jazz Festival was for.  I'd bought tickets for ten gigs and of course I can't blame anyone else for what I'd picked but it did seem pretty much the same old.

Now I like a sentimental tune and a foot-stomping melody and a Latin rhythm and a bit of modern as well as the next man.  But doesn't a festival have some responsibility to look forward as well as back?

Only at my tenth and final gig did the festival really come alive for me.  This was a band of high energy, high octane brilliance that took us off into a thrillingly different soundscape.  There was a clear debt to mimimalism in some of the work, a great sense of humour and a parallel to the interactive audience daftness at St Andrews.  The audience were instructed to start talking after the bass and drums had got a few minutes through a slow peaceful number.

You can get a bit of an idea of their music from this youtube video but it's no substitute for a live performance.   I hope to come across Marcin Masecki Profesjonalizm again.

As an addendum note that although you see them with sheet music in front of them in the video they played yesterday almost without stopping for an hour and a half with no such aid.

I couldn't watch the Olympics opening ceremony.

I had to switch off the pre-opening studio interviews and looks back at previous triumphs.  Thank goodness the gushy presenters and uncomfortable superstars bedecked with multiculturally tinted malteser on stick microphones had less than a hundred years full of shaky images to enthuse over.  Think of the fun they could have inflicted on us with flickering pics of that poor old Greek doomed forever to compete in the pushing a rock up the hill race.

The opening ceremony, or what I saw of it, I thought was ludicrous.  The press has almost universally enthused, throwing in eccentric, surreal,bizarre and idiocyncratically British as approving epithets rather than coded disapproval.  One daring commentator went so far off message as to suggest that it became a bit too much like Saturday night television but I seem to be alone in laughing at it out loud.  Noble doctors and nurses throwing one another around the dance floor while their cute little patients bounce up and down on their beds.  I ask you, and that from the man who directed Trainspotting!

I was in bed before the athletes appeared (I had been up since 5a.m.) and so missed what I hear was a thrilling and moving parade and an amazing cauldron lighting moment as did the large number of British athletes who didn't think it worthwhile leaving their Portugese training camp to participate.  But it led me to ask what on earth this opening ceremony is in aid of.

Would it not have made a lot more sense if the Queen had just cracked a bottle of the sponsor's tipple over the Olympic logo and wished good fortune to all who would run, swim, kick a ball........over the next two weeks.  That would have proved we couldn't outdo Beijing without spending 27 million in the attempt.  

The explanation offered shortly before the event by Radio 4 was that Martin Creed had chosen that time for bells to ring out all over the UK because 8.12 was 12 hours before 20.12.  Is that an explanation that explains anything?  Maybe to a Turner prize winner it makes sense.

But I had no wish to be curmudgeonly so at the 12th minute of the 8th hour of the 27th day of the 7th month I rang the nearest thing I had to a bell, my phone.

I'm a bit puzzled by an Olympic news item I've just heard.  Radio Scotland announced that there is to be a bell ringing throughout the country at twelve minutes past eight and that we are playing our part with an event at the Scotsman steps.  It seemed an odd time but after a moment's thought 2012 popped into my head.  Ah that's it I thought, but then the radio said it's this morning not this evening.

So what's it all about?

I got myself a black belt yesterday.

Don't be fooled by Olympic fervour into thinking it had anything to do with judo.  It was a straightforward cash transaction at the 2012 Merchant City Festival.  This shindig has quite a full programme of entertainment over the weekend but on opening day the only entertainment on offer was a wander through three or four closed off streets lined with stalls at one of which I bought my belt.

Most of the stalls were selling food and a vast variety of national delicacies was available.  I fell victim to a stall full of Italian cakes and biscuits excusing my greed on the grounds that the Italian lunch I had just finished had not included a pudding.

Further exposure to Italian goodies later in the afternoon resulted in the consumption of two Peronis so when I got back to Edinburgh I judged it wise to take the bus to rehearsal.  Afterwards at a jam session in the Jazz Bar the day's international flavour continued and I used up my entire Bemba vocabulary in a brief conversation with the Kitwe girl sitting next to me.

The amplification was well under control in an excellent concert celebrating Oscar Peterson.  Some of the quieter numbers allowed us the added pleasure of hearing the rain battering the tent roof.

And talking of battering I sometimes question the wisdom of giving rhythm section drummers the luxury of a lengthy solo even when in this case the drummer in question had played with Oscar.  Just my prejudice.

We were blessed with two dry days at the weekend, neither of them "whew what a sizzler" except in comparison to the dismal days that preceded them.  But at least we were in our thousands able to enjoy the open air music in the Grassmarket, on Princes Street and in the gardens.

 In the Grassmarket I enjoyed the singing of Nikki King's daddie Freddie and a handful of New Orleans style groups.  On Princes Street there were bands of all stripes except white; pipe bands, accordion bands, brass bands, who knows what bands and a Chinese dragon that didn't play any instrument that I could see.

 I had another Chinese encounter later at a farewell meal for Andy and Sue Ellis who will be sorely missed by the Edinburgh amdram community, especially Grads, but before that I went to a Jazz Festival gig.

This was in George square which is covered in artificial turf.  I suppose that protects us from mud.  The area is nicely set out with three spiegel tent type performance spaces, a couple of bars, some food buying options, deckchairs, benches and tables and a sprinkling of patio heaters those indispensable adjuncts to alfresco activities in a Scottish summer.

After the first two numbers I moved to the back of the venue for a glass of plonk and to rest my ears from the twanging of over amplified electric guitars.  At the break I went out for a breath of air and stayed there for the second half where I heard and enjoyed every note without putting my eardrums in danger.  I just wish I hadn't bothered to buy a ticket.  

It's raining tonight so I hope they've got the decibels under better control.

When I read the jazz festival programme I was intrigued by one of the opening concerts.  A trumpet and piano duo playing jazz improvisations on Italian operatic themes seemed worth a punt.

It was in the Queen's Hall this evening but not too many people were as intrigued by the idea as I was.  I don't think there could have been 150 in the house.  I'd like to say that the unintrigued missed a wonderful evening but I didn't enjoy it very much.

The unintrigued had bet on another show and thousands of them were teeming out of the Festival Theatre as I passed on my way home looking as though they had had a great evening with Maggie Bell & Blues N' Trouble.

Earlier in the day I saw Killer Joe having been intrigued by the trailer a few weeks ago.  It was entertaining enough but not quite as rewarding as I had expected.

The best thing I saw today was Tiger Woods' final shot of the day out of a greenside bunker and into the hole.  In his post round interview he said it wasn't as difficult as it looked but believe me don't believe him.

Sunday the congress closed.  There was a meeting in the morning where votes of thanks were offered to the many hard working individuals who had put the show on the road and kept it there so efficiently.

Then those who had been nominated to serve on the international committee said a few words on what they could bring to the organisation and a deal of friendly confusion surrounded the business of voting.  There was a lot of multilingual explanation and counter explanation but eventually voting papers in the form of unsold day visitor passes were scribbled on and collected.

The next item of business, while the votes were being counted, was to be a presentation by the various cities vying to hold the next congress.  Understandably there was not the same razzamatazz as accompanies an Olympics bid presentation and since there was only one bid the razzamatazz level was further reduced.

But it was a lovely presentation.  Although the rules say the new committee has to be in existence before a decision on the location can be made, in the light of continuing delays in sorting out the votes the rules were bypassed and Strasbourg was confirmed by acclamation.  Amongst the many interesting possibilities for Strasbourg was the suggestion of opening out the participation to amateur saxophonists and community groups. I'll be keeping my eye on the website and honing my skills in anticipation of that coming to pass. 

We then repaired to the foyer at the invitation of the Strasbourg team for a glass of champagne in celebration and at some point the voting results were announced over the hubbub of wine slurping and conversation.

Next up was a concert made up of the director's choice of what we might have missed or would like to see again.  He'd invited a couple of dozen acts and given them 5 minutes each.  Every item was a gem from the guy who does a sort of combination of Mongolian throat singing and tenor sax playing to a brilliant electronic spot combining tenor and recorded voice castigating the media for its failings.

But the ne plus ultra had to be the combination of the Strasbourg ensemble and a Costa Rican bongo and sax band playing Philippe Gleiss's Klezmer Salsa that had the congress organisers dancing on stage and the audience dancing in the aisles.   

Philippe is a teacher, composer and brilliant instrumentalist who will be heading the organisation of the Strasbourg congress which I think guarantees it will be a gas.

A more formal closing concert featuring the SCO and three eminent sax players each playing a significant work from the classical repertoire was the final event.  Unfortunately I had a Faustus rehearsal to go to and although I could just have made it after the concert (that's what I had planned) there was the annoying fact that I had forgotten to take my script to St Andrews so done no work on the play and this was to be the first off the book rehearsal.

I needed at least an hour to make minimum preparation so I went home cursing my forgetfulness and savouring the memory of every glorious minute of the week just gone.

The university residence where I'm staying provides an excellent and fortifying breakfast for which I'm thankful since trying to catch as many events as I can I've found time for only two restaurant meals all week and have survived by snacking between shows.

Today looking for something hot in a rainy lunch hour I avoided the establishment offering leak (sic) and potato soup (there could be something quite nasty in that) and got a delicious mugful of lentil and vegetable in another shop where the lady who served me told me that coriander is another word that presents a spelling challenge to the local takeaway food industry.

The Tailend fish and chips shop, whose product quality reaches the same high standard as its confrère in Leith Walk, has provided a tasty nibble or two for me and for  a goodly proportion of the congress delegates just as the grass in the museum grounds that I've walked through every morning provides an enormous number of rabbits with their daily bread.

I've heard a lot of what you might call old music today (Debussy, Ravel, Mussorgsky, Dukas) but a mountain of new pieces as well including the world premiere of Edinburgh composer Helen Grime's Shadowplay for soprano saxophone and piano played by my teacher Rocio Banyuls Bertomeu and Audrey Innes. It's one of those avant garde pieces that the man who enjoyed Sting would not have called music.

As well as Rocio, the tutors who run the saxophone week that's likely to be a regular feature of my winter have played and/or conducted here so I feel I'm in more than capable hands and probably have a chance of becoming a better saxophonist than golfer.  However that's not setting the bar particularly high so don't put money aside to buy the debut album.

Thanks to a bit of silliness by the French I can even claim with absolute truth to have performed at the 16th World Saxophone Congress here in St Andrews in July 2012.  The saxophone ensemble of the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Dance de Paris gave a concert this evening in celebration of the 150th anniversary of the birth of Claude Debussy.  Why is no one here from the conservatoire by the Clyde I wonder?

Anyway leaving that aside the concert featured Sent from my iFaune - for ensemble ad lib and interactive audience.  In this, while the ensemble played the audience were invited to switch on their phones at maximum volume and ring other members of the audience who were not to answer the calls but let them ring.  If you happened to get a call from someone not in the audience during this time you could answer it and politely explain that you couldn't take the call because you were playing in a concert.

Daft but I played my part so there I am - a world premiere performer.

What was fascinating about the master class that I went to yesterday was that many of the points made by the "master", who in this case was a distinguished mature lady who gave her first concert at the age of six, to the three ultra able students who braved having their dirty playing scrutinised in public were the same as those made by my teacher to me.  We're not talking about the mechanics of playing the instrument here but the business of shaping and transmitting the music.

That music can be shaped in bizarre ways was evidenced by a French group I heard (it had to be the French I suspect) where two musicians intoned abstruse poetry while one of them disdaining the keyboard played the wires of a grand piano and the other produced weird noise from an electronic keyboard.  Simultaneously a sax player and a flautist interjected odd notes and a girl carrying a long black rod caused shapes and distorted images to come and go on a large screen behind the musicians apparently by manipulating the rod.  It was actually quite pleasant to listen to believe it or not.

Very pleasant to listen to were Brass Jaw the brilliant Scottish quartet that features a trumpet instead of a soprano sax.  Despite having played for four hours with the Scottish National Jazz Orchestra they hoofed it straight over to the Byre Theatre for the last gig of the night and were reluctant to leave the stage two hours later at half past midnight.

Perhaps they have the luxury of lying in their beds this morning but I have an early date with a recital or two so it's breakfast and off.

A Dutch lady at breakfast on learning that there was a saxophone congress in town exclaimed "That must be fun, for sure a lot more fun than ours."

"What's yours?"

"Theology."

No answer to that.

And it was fun yesterday, especially when the sun shone and there was music in the streets.

I heard a great variety of stuff in the events I went to.  As I was leaving a German quartet's tribute to Sting recital I overheard a guy saying "Well that's music, not like all that avant garde stuff."

I have some sympathy with that view but you can be pleasantly surprised.  John Cage and Gyorgy Kurtag are not known for producing music that's a bundle of laughs so when an American composer introduced the piece that her piano, violin and alto trio were about to play by saying that those two were the major influences on her work some gritting of teeth seemed called for.

In fact it was a beautiful, gentle, soulful mix of silence and ethereal tones that left the audience, myself included, delighted.

Totally different from the foot-stomping jazzy compositions of Barbara Thompson that filled the Byre theatre to capacity late in the evening for the final feast of another great day.  

It's a bit like the Fringe here, moving rapidly from venue to venue to catch the next show on your list, a little easier because there are only half a dozen venues all within 5 or 10 minutes of one another.  It's also like the Fringe in variability of audience.  One unfortunate I saw had an audience of five but later I couldn't get into a session because the hall was full.  A guy similarly turned away told me he'd come from Australia specially to hear that particular quartet.  I suspect he exaggerated somewhat.

Also like the Fringe there is rather too much.  I was on the go from 9 in the morning till 11 at night yesterday and took in a dozen performances.  I found time nonetheless for an excellent two course lunch for only £5.95, pity about the cost of the wine.  Today I'm going to take it a little more slowly.

Having just played in a wind band concert it was fascinating, not to say humbling to hear the Northern College of Music Wind Orchestra backing a number of amazingly virtuosic soloists.Again it's been almost all new music.  I did hear a bit of Bartok but apart from that all unknown to me and again like the Fringe there were a couple of plonkers, though strictly speaking it was the material that I didn't care for rather than the quality of the performance.  In the Fringe it's frequently both but that's the glory and the shame of a totally unselective festival.

The weather in St Andrews today is miserable and not likely to change for the better but I'm here for the music and although some street events are planned the overwhelming majority are indoors.

The opening concert was preceded by some words of welcome and wisdom from the university principal throughout which a young French group behind me chattered even after being hushed. I had no more interest in what she had to say than them in fact but the convention is that such remarks should be listened to in respectful silence.  They have clearly not seen God Bless America where such behaviour reaps a just reward.

The concert itself was terrific.  It opened with a stomping extravaganza involving bagpipes, fiddle, accordion and bodrum in addition to nine saxophones of varying sizes.  Then the Scottish Chamber Orchestra came on and we had four different works and four different saxophone soloists.

Of the five works played four were by living composers (all present) and two were world premieres and I loved them all which goes to show that contemporary music doesn't have to be hard to listen to.

Now I'm trying to pick what to go to tomorrow.  There are 71 events to choose from plus the outdoor stuff (rain permitting) plus the three dozen stalls of those hawking instruments, music and assorted paraphernalia.

I'm sure it was more stressful to watch that match than to play in it.  A disappointment but he has done better than any British man for over 70 years and it was a wonderful display from Federer and a major plus point for me was that it finished in good time for my Faustus rehearsal.

What a wonderful afternoon at Wimbledon.  I abjured the traditional strawberries and champagne in favour of olives and chenin blanc and needed all the strength and fortitude they gave me to withstand the disappointment of that abysmal first game in the third set.

But I rallied, as did our man and the battle was won but we may need another bottle before the war is over.

Nail-biting stuff from Murray as usual but he seems to have got a grip on himself and remained calm and collected long enough to make his way into the semi-final.  Yippee.

Happening to tune into a French radio station on Sunday morning I learn that as of 1st July motorists in France are obliged to carry a breathalyser kit in working order.  This is not to help out a financially challenged police force because if you are stopped they will use their own equipment to check you.

It's a preventive measure.  If you've been drinking you're supposed to test your blood alcohol level before you take to the road.  Clearly you're expected not to drive if the gadget glows red or whatever it does.

Now a moment's reflection will reveal that if testing yourself with the throwaway chemical breathalyser shows that you are ok to drive you'll be committing an offence if you do because you will no longer be carrying a kit that's ready for use.  So you'll need to have at least two to hand every time you have a glass of wine at a wayside lunch or a country supper and surprise surprise there's been a run on them and they are out of stock almost everywhere.

The same thing happened with the flourescent jacket law and now as then motorists are promised freedom from prosecution for the first few months.

For the more affluent, or more frequent drinker there is a reusable electronic version that runs out after 300 tests or one year whichever occurs first.

This was all a surprise to me.  The law has apparently been some time in gestation but I never heard a dickie bird about it last summer from my French friends, all of whom generally find themselves downing a beer or a glass or two of wine after a game of golf.  As do I, in France if not here.

But it wasn't a surprise to Amazon UK so I'll be putting in an order (£6.75 for two) before I head for the ferry in August.

An advantage of the Film Festival is that you don't have to sit through 20 minutes of ads before the feature starts.  But sometimes the film is worse than the ads would have been and that was the case with one I was led to believe was an artistic work of sociological importance that turned out to be thinly disguised porn.

It just shows you can't believe everything you read (even if it's written here) and you certainly can't believe everything you see on the screen where lots of things are heavily disguised.  But Day of the Flowers is undisguised in its intentions to entertain.  Maybe its Scottish/Cuban story made me feel warmer towards it than either The List or The Hollywood Reporter but I was able to suspend my disbelief throughout and to enjoy the action, the characterisations, the photography and the happy ending.

The Hollywood Reporter wasn't overwhelmed by the other Cuban oriented film presented in the festival either.  I have to agree with them that 7 Days in Havana was a bit of a hotch-potch and I enjoyed it more for its locations than its contents though both the Tatiesque section and the altar building sequence appealed to me.

Feel My Pulse has a character named Thirsty McGulp in the credits indicating that it's not perhaps the most serious film to have been made in the 20s.  Indeed it's a madcap slapstick comedy in the Buster Keaton mode that I rather enjoyed.  I found the live piano accompaniment a little too loud but that together with the occasional whizz and blackout as the film slipped on the sprockets added to the jolly feeling of travelling back in cinematic time.

On the other hand you couldn't get much more bang up to date in cinematic time than God Bless America which the director (present with the lead actor at Cineworld on Friday night for the European premiere) described as a very violent film about kindness.  In fact its tomato sauce bloody blowing people's heads off is no more than the technological extension of the biffs with assorted implements and chloroform assault that featured in Feel My Pulse.

But it does have a more sophisticated edge to it.  It's a very clever, amusing and insightful satire on the consumption and celebrity infested society that isn't limited geographically to America.

My final festival excursion is this afternoon to what I understand is another satire, this time Japanese, called Sailor Suit and Machine Gun  in which a teenage girl inherits the leadership of her late father's yakuza organisation. Death by chopsticks in this one perhaps.