Nothing that I went to in the Jazz Festival was other than enjoyable but in addition to Martin Kershaw's concert that I reported on earlier two others rose to the top of the pile.

The young Mark Hendry is clearly a talent with an exciting future ahead of him.  He had written two pieces for an ensemble of twenty three players, in essence a chamber orchestra with saxophones and drum kit ousting classical woodwinds and percussion.  His Endangered Species suite was a thoughtful, reflective and melodious piece that contrasted vividly with the jagged, piercing dystopian screeches of 1984, written in response to Orwell's novel.  Great stuff warmly applauded by an appreciative audience.

Martin Kershaw popped up again, this time with Dave Milligan, Calum Gourlay and Alan Cosker as a member of Colin Steele's Quintet.  They played ninety minutes of Colin's music (some written in collaboration with Dave Milligan).  Apart from one number that harked back to New Orleans it was straight ahead modern jazz of great quality.  It was the last gig I went to and finished my festival on a suitably high note.  

The Napier Jazz Summer School has been on this week and although I didn't take part this year I had it in mind to go to their concert but for one reason or another I didn't make it.

I have been to some other Jazz Festival gigs though and have more booked for this weekend.  The only one worth reporting so far was Martin Kershaw's.  He'd gathered a few locally well known players together to present the world premiere of a piece he's written called Dreaming of Ourselves.

The title comes from a book by David Foster Wallace who died ten years ago and the music and the concert were in tribute to him.  I've never read any of his work and he sounds a bit of an oddball to put it kindly and I can't say I understand the process of creating music in response to anything; person, book, scenery or whatever.

But the result in Martin's case was super.

The rest of the week was equally wonderful and the journey home, via Munich this time, was equally tedious.

I happened to be in a bar with some American musicians during the latter stages of the Croatia-England World Cup game.  Foolishly they were relying on my football expertise to help them follow the match.  Despite that they enjoyed it and joined in with the general Croation delirium when the final whistle was blown.

They didn't go to the extent of jumping into the nearby fountain like this lot though:

I imagine that many of these bathers, having dried themselves off, were amongst the hundreds thronging around in Zagreb airport at 5am on the following Sunday en route to Moscow.

The journey to Zagreb was tedious, involving as it did hours hanging around Cologne Airport. I did have Muriel Spark's first novel for company and am encouraged to work through more of her oeuvre.

The journey was worth it though. The first day of the Sax Congress was wonderful. I believe their are 1500 participants and over 400 recitals, concerts and other events. Very like the Fringe except that one ticket at 160 euros gives me access to all 400. That's up from 100 three years ago but I'm not complaining.

Numéro Une or Woman Up as it is known here is a feminist drama.  It tells the story of a woman already well up the business ladder who, boosted by a group of women whose mission is the furtherance of the sisterhood, is persuaded to have a go at getting the top job in a company from the CAC 40, the French equivalent of our Footsie 100.

Her hospitalised philosophy teacher father is somewhat sceptical about the business world and her American husband fears for his own career.  Indeed he loses his current job as collateral damage in the machinations that are unleashed.

Sad to say there are lots of machinations and dirty tricks not only from the entrenched interests that oppose her but from her side also.  She succeeds only by stooping to the underhand ways of the male.

I don't think that's a very encouraging or edifying message to women doing their best to break through the glass ceiling.

Peter Sellers has always been one of my favourite actors.  I've enjoyed lots of his films but had never seen Being There in which he plays a simpleton whose deadpan delivery of trite statements about the seasons and gardening are taken by the rich and powerful to be insightful metaphors that illustrate the ills of the world and how to resolve them.  It's very. very funny.

When I went to see Man of Iron I thought I was going to a documentary about Lech Wałęsa, the founder of the independent trade union Solidarność.  Instead it was a drama dealing with the period and the struggle to bind the shipyard workers together and the personal stories behind the events.  I've no idea how true to the facts it was but I didn't care for it much as a film. That's probably a hanging offence because I've since discovered that it won the Palme d'Or at Cannes in 1981.

It contains a lot of shouting and ill-tempered squabbling and weeping women, none of which moved me in the slightest.  All of which struck me as melodramatic over-acting.  That no doubt is my insensitivity at work but there we are.

That's the Film Festival over for another year.