Helsinki airport, snow on the ground and in the distance.  Cold but cosy enough inside.

Searching iPlayer for something to watch on the tele on Saturday evening I came across "This is going to hurt".  I had a vague recollection that the book had been well received so I clicked on it.  I didn't realise it was a seven part series but it was super and kept me up till after British Summer Time had rolled in.  Very funny with a satisfying leaven of tragedy and schmaltz.

My own recent medical exposures have had their amusing side.  I'm writing this en route to Japan which is very hot on drug control, even innocent prescription drugs like the stuff I take.  To enter Japan with prescription drugs you need an import licence if you want to take more than one month's supply and even then there are various restrictions.  No Vick's inhaler for example.  You just have to put up with a blocked nose.

Both the Japanese tourist guide and the British Foreign Office say you should carry with you a copy of your prescription and a letter from your doctor saying why you have been prescribed these medicines and the drugs themselves must be in their original wrapping.

So I popped into my surgery on Monday 6th March and explained my requirements to the receptionist.  She ran off a copy of  my prescription and told me I'd have to put the request for a letter in writing.  She gave me a sheet of paper and I wrote the letter.  This would be dealt with at the practice meeting on the coming Thursday I was told.  That was visit 1.

A week later, Monday 13th.  I went in to be told that unfortunately due to some staff sickness the matter had not been dealt with but would undoubtedly feature at the next meeting.  That was visit 2.

Monday 20th I'm back again.  No letter.  No explanation.  This Thursday for sure.  I gently explained that there was only that Thursday left before my departure for Japan so there was a degree of urgency. That was visit 3.

When I got home I got a text asking me to ring the surgery about a letter.  I dialed the number. The answering system told me first that if I were dying I should ring off and try 999.  I was also asked to think about whether a pharmasist or other such professional might not be more appropriate for my circumstances. Then there was the message about recording for training purposes and the reminder that staff should be treated with respect.  Was there a veiled threat that if they weren't then the sh*t would be beaten out of me or is that my overactive imagination.

Next we got down to my options.  If my call is about X then press 1 etc until "If you are ringing about a non NHS letter press 6".  That's me so I hit the key.  The system advised me that I should put my request in writing and give two weeks notice. Then it rang off.

I started again, skipped over option 6, hit the 7 and at last got a human being.  I don't know who she was but I repeated my tale.  "You'll have to pay."  "I realise that."  It seems they want the  dosh up front.  I'm offered the choice of paying into their bank online or in cash at the surgery.  I say that I live only five minutes away and will pop round there and then with the cash.  It's £45. I proffer £50.  They have no change.  I say "keep the change, if I can't get into Japan much more than that will have gone down the swanee.  Thus ended visit 4.

Monday 27th.  Two days to lift-off.  "It's with the doctor."  But not with me I point out and time is short. A reminder is despatched electronically to the doc.  I go home.  Visit 5 is over.

Tuesday 28th.  It's still with the doctor.  "Have I paid?"  "Yes"  "I can't see it on the system." Now unusually precient, in running over in my head what could go wrong I had envisaged this sort of scenario so not only had I kept the receipt I had it with me.  "I'll wait" I said.  A low key conversation between receptionist and doctor shortly afterwards when he was free from a consultation.  I caught my name and sensed that she was telling him that I was clearly pissed off but manfully controlling my impulse to wreak havok.  "No point in waiting, he'll definitely have it by the end of the day."  That's 6 o'clock and we agree I'll come back at 5.30.  Thus ends visit  6.

Half past five on the dot I am there.  We exchange smiles and chit chat.  Time passes. More smiles.  At five to six Sam, for that is the doctor's name, enters reception.  I remember him from the years before Covid when surgery visits could be made at what seems now like a moment's notice.  He's wearing those lovely blue scrubs from "This is going to hurt."  He hands her a letter.  She passes it to me.  Visit 7 is topped out with success.

The other little medical story is about Covid.  Japan is still not quite done with restrictions.  The fully vaccinated can enter freely.  I've had five jabs so that is surely me.  But!  To prove this fully vaccinated status you are asked to present a certificate showing three vaccinations using one of a range of acceptable vaccines.  Now NHS Scotland provides a certificate saying you've had X but showing details of only the last two.  The app on my phone has details of all five but it's not a certificate is it?

I decide to take the unvaccinated route, a negative PCR test taken no more than 72 hours before departure. Booked and paid for (what's £65 these days) online on Sunday, up to Frederick Street on Monday, throat and nose swabbed, test result received a few hours later and uploaded during online check-in on Tuesday.

I should board the Tokyo flight in about an hour, all ready to sail through Japanese immigration - deo volente. 

The RSA's "New Contemporaries" gives full rein to the skills and extraordinary imagination of the young artists coming out of Scotland's art schools.  It's breathtaking in its range and variety.

When I saw this particular work I asked myself why I'd never thought of doing something with the supermarket trolleys and traffic cones that are occasionally dumped in Dicksonfield other than getting rid of them.

I went to the exhibition by accident in a sense.  I set out to get a bus to Cramond to have a nice healthy walk up the river Almond and lunch at what used to be the Cramond Brig Hotel but is now a chain steak house.  But when I got to Princes St I found I'd have to wait nearly half an hour for a bus, something I can't abide so I went into the RSA and afterwards walked down to Piggs in the Canongate where I had quite a tasty tapas or three and a very satisfying tinto or two then tottered home.  So I did get a walk.

The Grads held an AGM this month which I attended only to find that I wasn't actually a paid-up member, a situation I have since rectified.  There was a series of party pieces after the business bit which was fun.  A short play that explored why Godot didn't turn up was I thought super.  It's an obvious question I'd never asked myself.  Martin Foreman's answer was satisfyingly Beckettian in style.

The NGS billed a talk entitled Photography in Japan and these being two of my current interests I had to go.  Paradoxically photography in Japan was at one and the same time central and peripheral to the subject matter.  It was really about Scottish painters Edward Atkinson Hornel and Rose Hill Burton, the visionary urban planner Patrick Geddes and the social networks they moved in during the late 19th century.  

Hornel visited Japan and based much of his painting on photographs taken there either by himself or Japanese photographers including one of the most prolific amongst them, Ogawa Kazumasa who visited Hornel in Scotland.  Hornel's large collection of those photographs are housed in Broughton House in Kirkcudbright where he lived.

Rose's brother William K Burton was an engineer working in Japan. He was a keen amateur photographer, one of the founding members of the Photographic Society of Japan and its first secretary.   Rose visited him there and on her return to Scotland used photographs taken there as models for her paintings and for the murals that she was commissioned to paint for Patrick Geddes's flat in Ramsay Gardens.

The talk was given by Antonia Laurence Allen from the National Trust for Scotland which looks after both Hornel's house and Geddes' flat.

I consumed only a little of the glass of wine to which I was entitled after the talk because I had to get to the Usher Hall.  Frankly it wasn't tasty enough to detain me.

The SCO were playing Handel and I went because I really enjoy his large scale choral works.  The concert had a royal focus.  It opened and closed with anthems written for the coronation of George II, Zadoc the Priest,  and The King Shall Rejoice.  Both are stonkingly rousing pieces that I enjoyed hearing.  No doubt we'll hear Zadoc when Charles III is crowned since it's been played at every coronation since 1727.

In between we had some Water Music and Music for the Royal Fireworks, neither of which involved the choir and Ode for the Birthday of Queen Anne which did.  The latter also involved three soloists and I thought it was terrific.  The interplay between the counter-tenor and a solo trumpet was just liquid gold.  Magic.

Magic too was Radio Scotland's Jazz Nights on Sunday.  Unfortunately that was its last edition since BBC Scotland despite petitions from the public and remonstrances from eminent musicians have axed the show.  On Sunday we heard music from four bright young Scottish players.  Entire tracks from Fergus McCready, Rachel Duns and Matt Carmichael and a trombone flourish from Anoushka Nanguy on tour with Soweto Kinch in Australia.  Radio Scotland offered them and others a large public platform that could be a springboard for career development.  Where can that come from now?

 

It's taken just under 59 years but I've at last got around to walking across the Forth Road Bridge.  From the east walkway you get great views towards the railbridge and further downriver and if the walkway on the west side were open you'd get great views upriver, but it isn't.  From the north end of the bridge though I did get quite decent views of all three bridges.

I've been cajoled into rejoining the Dicksonfield Owners and Residents Association committee with no specific responsibility except to help chair meetings because our chairman is a bit deaf.  I've successfully carried out that task once so far and pinned minutes onto noticeboards, minutes that I'm heartily glad I didn't have to write as I would have done in my previous incarnation.  

There was a fascinating talk at the National Gallery about its activities during WWII.  They had lots of quite avant-garde exhibitions under the leadership of Stanley Cursiter, but it seems that the chap who took over after the war was of a much more conservative disposition and blunted their cutting edge.

Straight from the National Gallery I went down to Leith Arches to see the off-line continuation of Claire's frisson.  This bar is a great venue for a play like this about people meeting friends and potential friends.  The playing was excellent and well deserved the four stars that Joyce Macmillan gave it in The Scotsman.  Joyce is essentially our arbiter of what's good and what's bad in theatre in Scotland so Claire was naturally very happy.  All Edinburgh Theatre gave it a good write-up as well.

Having said what I have said about Joyce I feel I have to bow to her judgement of You Bury Me at The Lyceum.  Four stars and then five from All Edinburgh Theatre.  Their review says inter alia "A looming danger – that the characters and their storylines could come across as formulaic, almost soap opera-ish – is prevented by the verve and commitment of the cast."

It wasn't prevented for me I'm afraid.  I thought it was cliche ridden and  while I agree with Joyce that young Egyptians "had to watch the ecstatic high hopes of February 2011 collapse into a military regime far more repressive than anything they had known before" I did not feel that tragedy came over to me in this production.  My insensitivity I guess.

I've been to two contrasting musical events.  The SCO under the engaging Pekka Kuusisto played Sibelious's 5th Symphony which draws significantly on Finnish folk music. Appalachian folk music featured much more directly with the guitar and banjo playing of the American singer/songwriter Sam Amidon within an orchestral setting.  How different was The Buddy Holly Story.  Poor Buddy had very few years of fame and glory before he was killed in an air accident aged 22.  But those years happened to be during my teens when I paid some degree of attention to pop music which I don't do today, and it was great to hear songs that I remember pretty well.

I should have said three musical events because I spent another enjoyable saxophone weekend at The Burn.

Now that I remember it's four events.  Elim Chan's farewell appearance as principal guest conductor (whatever that is) with the RSNO.  Not quite as waif like as when she first appeared with them but still a diminutive figure whose command of a large orchestra continues to impress.  Pity about the skirt though.  The programme: Tchaikovsky's 5th Symphony, a satisfyingly rousing crash bang wallop of a piece, one of Mozart's many concertos and a piece by Anna Clyne called The Midnight Hour.  As befits its title this was dark and ominous.  I enjoyed it very much. 

I took a walk through the Dean village to Stockbridge after a photography class session at St Mary's in Palmerston Place.  There's some modern development going on on the road down from the Belford Bridge but since the place is a bit of a hodge-podge of styles already I expect it will merge in happily.

Merging in happily would be one way of describing some of Bernat Klein's choices of colour combinations in his textiles.  The musuem has been holding a small exhibition of his work celebrating the 100th anniversary of his birth.  All his work to my mind is beautiful and the exhibition does it justice.  The museum itself is beautiful (nice coffee too).  I should go more often.

I should also get into the habit of going to the National Galleries more often now that Modern Two has reopened and their new galleries displaying Scottish art are promised for this summer.  Coupled with the trams running on Leith Walk this will be a summer to remember.  

Scottish art was the subject of a talk I went to at the NGS the other week.  Lachlan Goudie, no mean artist himself, ran through centuries of our art in his lively and engaging style.  I didn't buy his book though, despite the event's 15% discount.

In the dramatic arts I've enjoyed Frisson online, Happy Valley on TV and Macbeth (an undoing) on stage.  Frisson is Claire's most recent venture into play-writing.  It's in two parts, the first online which I've seen and enjoyed and the second in real life in a bar which I've yet to see.  All Edinburgh Theatre gave it a sympathetic review.  I understand others were not so enamoured but I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I had heard ecstatic noise about Happy Valley but had seen none of it so determined to remedy that via iPlayer.  I think it was one of the best police dramas I've seen.  It kept me up late on a couple of occasions when I couldn't bear to go to bed without knowing what came next.  The fact that it was set in an area that I have some acquaintance with added interest.

Macbeth is undone in Shakespeare's play and he comes out dead in this version as well but the undoing in the title refers more to how Zinnie Harris has picked the play apart and put it together again with, among many other changes, Lady Macbeth taking over.  To the extent that courtiers begin to address her as "king".  I wasn't altogether convinced that much of the reworking added to the play but I thought the production was super if a bit long.  Most reviews that I've read liked it but The Guardian/Observer managed to give it four stars from Mark Fisher but only two from Clare Brennan. Other voices worth hearing speak here and here.  There are lots more if you can be bothered to look for them.

Georgia Cecile appeared with the SNJO and showed us what a powerful and expressive singer she is.  Loved the voice but didn't care for the dress said one friend. I agreed.  Another would have liked to hear how she handled some standards rather than just her own songs.  I agreed.  The band were great as usual and although the focus was obviously on Georgia there were some great solos.  I especially enjoyed the pairing of Tommy Smith and Helena Kay. 

Both of them are great jazz saxophonists and it was a treat to have a great classical saxophonist at the Usher Hall with the RSNO.  Jess Gillam played the Glazunov Saxophone Concerto and Milhaud's Scaramouche.  The other orchestral works on the programme made use of saxophones.  They were An American in Paris by Gershwin and Pictures at an Exhibition in Ravel's orchestration of Mussorgsky.

Gershwin's piece features street noises including motor car's hooting but the concert began with three percussionists playing actual car horns, one for each hand and one for each foot.  The two minute piece is a prelude to an opera by Ligeti and was absolutely brilliant fun. I imagine the whole opera is.

Great fun also was the addition of real pictures to Pictures at an Exhibition.  The painter James Mayhew was on stage with an easel and paints. He worked while the orchestra played and his activity was projected onto a large screen above the organ console.  His paintings illustrated the sections of the work echoing the paintings by Hartmann that inspired the music in the first place.  You can argue about whether this added to the pleasure gained from listening to the music or was just a distracting gimmick.  The jury's probably out on that one.

Peaky Blinders is another TV show I've been aware of and aware of its popularity but ignorant of its content so when Ballet Rambert turned it into a dance show I thought I'd check it out.  Claire is my usual dance show companion so we met for something to eat and then trundled into the Festival Theatre burdened by a couple of bicycle paniers (she was), found that the promise of an open cloakroom was false, fought our way through the crowds of interval drink orderers only to be turned away as service stopped and the first act bell sounded.  Now we'd got round pretty late to deciding to go and the place was well booked out when we did so we were up in the Gods.  We staggered down steep steps and thanks to me went the wrong way along our destination row.  To avoid disturbing the punters we went up and over and down more steps, all the time with those paniers, only to find we were in a cul-de-sac.  We could see our seats a few rows below but I didn't fancy our chances of getting to them before the curtain rose so we plonked ourselves down where we were.

The first half of the show was excellent in terms of music, movement, lighting and so on.  I thought I could follow a storyline from first world war horror through heavy industrial working conditions to fairground roustabouting, then racecourse gambling, confrontations between gangs and finally a romeo and juliet wedding that ended tragically as the juliet was shot dead.

I've still no idea if I followed the story correctly or not but we went off to the bar with our paniers, got some drinks and headed back in to get to our proper seats.  We found them amongst a certain amount of hilarity and they were better positioned but mini disaster struck when my wine was upset.  No tragedy but some of it fell on the jacket of a young woman in the row in front.  She and her mum were not happy, quite miffed in fact.  The proffering of apologies and cash to get it cleaned etc were huffily turned down.  As far as I could tell it was not a garment that would have suffered much from a dollop of white wine.  High steet rather than haute couture but hey.

Now the second half is where I couldn't work out what was happening.  There was a very good sequence where the cast pranced around in their undies.  Why?  I haven't a clue. There was a lot of fighting.  Why?  Vengeance being sought for the bride killing perhaps.  It was brilliant stuff, terribly well choreographed but I couldn't tell who was fighting who and it went on just too long.

Eventually it finished.  It was a great show well up to Rambert's high standards but the Peaky Blinders mystery remains unsolved. 

As I said we were a bit behind schedule getting tickets for this show but I'm well ahead of the game for next year's Olympics.  I've booked three days watching the sailing in Marseille.  It's standing room in the marina at only 24 euros a pop.  Hopefully they'll have a big screen or two otherwise I won't see much of what's happening on the water but I'm looking forward to the buzz.