Time is speeding up. I know you’ll say this is just a perception thing. We’re busier. We have a new house and garden to sort out, we’re involved with an increasing number of groups, etc. But it isn’t perception. Time doesn’t ‘seem’ to be speeding up; it actually is. I’m convinced of it. And, if there isn’t a law about this, then there should be. And it would state something like Time (which is a constant) multiplied by Activity level (1-10) equals the speed of time.
But what about energy, you ask? When you are a child with infinite amounts of energy, time passes slowly, no matter how much activity your school tries to involve you in. The law of ‘Time Speed’ then, needs to account for this phenomenon. It could be described by an equation i.e. Time (the constant) multiplied by Activity level (1-10) divided by Energy level (say 10 minus the energy you no longer have) equals Time Speed.
T X A ÷ E = TS
I think I’ll patent this and, who knows, there could be a Nobel prize in it.
So, what activities, you ask politely, has been speeding up my time? Well, (thank you for asking) there have been lectures, poetry workshops, play reading, concerts, the Brighton Festival and other bits of socialising. There has, also sadly, been a journey to Cornwall to say goodbye to and celebrate the life of our very dear friend and ex-neighbour in Falmouth, Sally-Ann. Her death came painfully quickly, just a couple of months after being diagnosed with cancer. She was too young, too vibrant, too sunny and warm to be taken away from us, and the words spoken by many of her friends and family testify to this shared feeling. We grieve for ourselves but also for Dave, who describes her first, as his soul mate and second, as his wife. This relationship has always been understood by everyone who knows them.
I’m not going to rattle through everything we’ve been doing (sigh of relief) but there are some highlights that I’d like to share. Reading Racine’s play, Phèdre, is an interesting (and enjoyable) experience for me on two different levels. Firstly, those of you who studied Classics will know that the play is based on Euripides’ Hippolytus. I didn’t, so taking part in Phèdre is a steep learning curve. Second, the extreme melodrama, at times, makes me want to laugh. Happily, I stop myself. Laughing while Hippolytus is being burnt alive by a fire-exhaling sea serpent isn’t entirely appropriate.
Contrastingly, it is absolutely appropriate to laugh out loud at the French mimed play we watch at the Brighton Festival. Fishbowl is set in three cut-away tiny attic bedsits with three excellent mime-actors and a brilliant use of sound effects and lighting. It had all the right elements a la Charlie Chaplin and Jacque Tati: slap stick, pathos and precisely choreographed movement. I literally fell about, I was laughing so hard.
Then there is a concert by the London Philharmonic, most memorable for the Sebelius symphony in the second half. I love Peer Gynt and Mozart’s clarinet concerto, but it’s exciting to hear a symphony I don’t know. While in Falmouth and talking to a friend who is a professional violinist, I discover something fascinating and rather funny about this.
‘When playing Sebelius,’ Greg tells me, ‘the advice is to only play about every fourth note, as it’s impossible to play all of them. And, anyway, no-one notices.’ Huh!
We hold our first drinks party here and, as it’s a lovely warm day and everyone wants to be outside, we have the perfect physical confirmation (if we needed it) that we need a larger terrace. I’m just thankful that no-one fell off the edge. On our way to Cornwall we spend a night with friend, Henry, in Warminster and, for the first time in my life, I’m challenged by another person walking up a hill. Henry’s fiancee, who we’re delighted to meet, is the fastest person up a slope I’ve ever walked with. I’m still recovering from my knee injury but even so, I’m still a little surprised to find my speech isn’t entirely normal when we reach the top. We’re already looking forward to doing the Seven Sisters together . . . and probably in record time.
Talking of firsts, Adrian and I find ourselves FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER living in a constituency where our vote will actually count. The Liberal Democrats are neck and neck with the Tories here, so . . . In just under a month, the UK will have a change of government and guess what? The prospect of a Labour party in power is exciting the City into predicting an increase in the value of the pound! We’ve always known that the well-worn tale, ‘Labour-governments-depress-the-economy’ is rubbish, but it’s lovely to have such a blatant confirmation of this view. Watch the house of cards as it melts; this time the Tory Icarus has flown too close to the fires of hell.
For Sally-Ann: Extract from Dirge without Music by Edna St Vincent Millay
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.