Why is the plumber jumping on the turtle?

I suspect this blog post will jump around a bit timewise. My plan is to cover both May and June in a hopefully vaguely entertaining manner.

First off, an update on poor Finrod. He has had a tough time of it lately. As well as the various ailments mentioned in previous posts he has since been struck down by more. At the start of June, I took 2 weeks off to head over to the UK - I spent a week in London being culturally enriched and then a week in Scotland being enriched by spending time with family and friends. While I was away, the plan was to leave the kitchen window open for Finrod to come and go as he pleased and so as not inconvenience anybody too much, I asked Sigrid to pop in occasionally during the week to check his food and water and invited Katya and her daughter to stay in my house at the weekends. Alas, things did not go well at home. I wasn't entirely sure that he was over his UTI before I went but he certainly seemed happier by the time I left. Sadly, while I was in London, I got a message from Katya saying that he had a bad wound on his leg, so she very kindly took him down to the vet and after the repair job he was then grounded for a while. And if he's grounded, he likes you to know that he's unhappy about the situation - he's very keen for a roundtable discussion involving all co-habitants at about 2.30am (and 2.45, and 3, and 3.15 etc etc). After a few days Katya became so concerned about his health (as I mentioned above, I wasn't convinced about the UTI being clear) that another trip to the vet was organised. I gather it wasn't a great success and in one of the most flattering moments of my life, the vet's diagnosis was that Finrod was pining for me, so he prescribed anti-depressants to help Finrod cope with my absence. Bless him.

In May, I finished my concert series of the complete works of Krebs. Despite the fact that my best performances tended to be at home and usually just to Finrod (though on one notable occasion when I was playing for Solveig and Einar, Finrod flung himself at the door and yelled to be let out - not a great expression of confidence in his owner. Or possibly it was Finrod's way of saying "Krebs is no Bach"), I did enjoy the musical challenge of the whole thing. There was a certain amount of arrogance/hubris in doing this - when I planned the series earlier in the year, I had never even seen a lot of the music before and just "assumed" I'd be able to play it. This manifested itself by the fact that I had inadvertently programmed all the most difficult music into the last of the 6 concerts. Indeed, I was slightly worried that I wasn't going to be able to play the first movement of Krebs' French Ouverture. Krebs himself was aware of the difficulties of this movement and wrote in his introduction (and I'm paraphrasing here to be clear (and also remember this was the 18th century)) that although the first movement was challenging, the ladies need not worry, as the following movements were easier. I did try and stream all the concerts but for whatever reason the Vandve stream did not go according to plan. To make up for this loss, I invited the Forsangergruppe for "Krebs og kaffe" at my house. This seemed to go well despite my overwhelming memory being the complaints about lack of the shoehorn when everybody left. The very next day I purchased a large metal one and I'd almost go as far as saying it's the best 150kr I've spent since I've got here.

As I said above, I enjoyed having something to get my teeth into and it was quite fun lobbing my electric harpsichord in the back of the car and driving to the various islands, so I've started to think of my next project. My first thoughts had been towards Bach's predecessor Kuhnau's Biblical Sonatas - bound to be some exciting stories in there - Samson/ David and Goliath/ Joseph etc. Further research revealed that although the first Sonata was indeed David and Goliath, no. 2 is "Saul's melancholy cured by the music played by David on his harp" - possibly not a title guaranteed to get the heart racing. But we shall see.

A couple of nights before I left for my holiday I went to the cinema to see the Iron Maiden documentary, and I can categorically say that I have never felt so unwelcome at the cinema. The devastation on the young lady's face as I came up the stairs - she was quite happily packing up ready for an early night. I think she had a momentary glimmer of hope when her colleague told me that I was too late for the Star Wars movie (I was wearing my Star Wars t-shirt (I am 56 after all)) but I explained that I was coming back the next night for that and I was here for the Iron Maiden film. I tried to soften the blow by saying I'd be perfectly happy if they started the film early (which they did, bless them) though I did notice that the door was opened very promptly at the end of the film - very clearly telling me that it would be appreciated if I didn't hang around for all the credits at the end.

I have been through possibly my most stressful time since I arrived in Norway 4 years ago. I was really quite worried but in times like this it's good to know that you can rely on your colleagues to be supportive: "Before we start the staff meeting Graeme, tell us the story once again hahahaha...."

After a rehearsal with Katya in April for our concert on Løkta, I was once again bemoaning my bald spot (boring, moi?). Let me show you how hair I did have Katya, look at this picture on my driving licence. And then I saw that my card had expired 6 months previously. Horror! I immediately went on the net to see what I could do. Can't get a new UK licence if I don't have a permanent address (though I did consider asking my eldest if he'd mind if I used his address). Eventually, and probably wisely, decided this was a bad idea. So, the next step was getting a Norwegian driving licence. I thought about what approach should I take - "oh, sorry I've lost my licence" or admitting it was out of date were 2 of the options I came up with. On the advice of my colleagues, when they stopped laughing, was just to brazen it out at the driving licence office. Obviously, the card was out of date, but I was still legal to drive until 2039, and I hoped they would take this into account. I joked about taking my toothbrush and toothpaste with me to the office in case they carted me off for driving illegally and asked Trine to come with me as a prisoner's friend. The approach I eventually took was "I have my permanent residency and so I would like to change my driving licence to a Norwegian one" and was then going to act all surprised if the question of the date arose. Every time he looked at the front of the card, I felt full of dread but in the end he didn't comment on the big black letters that said OCTOBER 25 and I left with a temporary driving licence which has since been upgraded to a full licence.

There's been a fair amount of change among my colleagues - Bård has retired and now been replaced by 2 part-time members of staff - one based in Herøy and the other based in Dønna. Trine has gone part-time, so we also now have a new person doing Trine's job in Dønna.

At Bård's retirement service in Herøy, Liv-Helga asked if I'd play something "grungy" at the end of service for him. I remember my first full day here in Norway driving around the islands and we bonded over our shared love of progressive rock music, and in particular Emerson Lake and Palmer so I suggested to her that I could play their arrangement of Jerusalem that I know he loves. He seemed to have been very touched by it and was very grateful but my warmth was somewhat cooled a few days later at his last day in the office (I say this very tongue in cheek obviously!). He was telling me of his plans over the summer and said he had "done a Graeme". As you can probably guess, this was not a compliment. It meant that he had booked a ticket for a festival but selected the wrong day. Charming!

Not unrelated do "doing a Graeme", Katya invited me across to Løkta to celebrate her daughter's birthday. I spent a good while contemplating the various cards on display in the bookshop before settling on the one I thought was most appealing for an 8-year-old girl. I then had to go back the next day and do exactly the same thing again because she was in fact 7 years old. On the plus side, I'll save some pennies next year.

I spent the first couple of weeks in June back in the UK - I had slightly traumatic start to my trip. I was unusually sensible and chose a flight that departed at a civilised time and all I would need to do is take an earlyish ferry, potter up to the flybuss and Bob's your uncle. All started well, ferry was on time and the flybuss was waiting at the right spot. I said hello and got on. The first time I t had taken the flybuss I had called ahead to book a space but they said that I didn't need to, so I've never done it since. Then a lot of people got on all at once and I thought hmm, this is unusual. Then they took a register and I thought hmm, this is unusual, I hope there is space for me. Then they left early and I thought hmm, this is unusual but can't complain about being at the airport a few minutes early. Then instead of following the usual route, the bus headed off to Mosjøen and I thought hmm, this is a nightmare. Panic ensued (in my head at least) but everybody was very kind. My bus driver got in touch with the correct flybuss driver and much to my embarrassment my bus turned around and headed back to Sandnessjøen (with lots of apologies to my fellow passengers) while the other bus diverted from its usual route to come and pick me up (with lots more apologies to my new fellow passengers). And you'd think that was the end of my troubles, but alas no. When I arrived at my hotel in London it transpired that I had booked the wrong number of nights. Fortunately, I was able to add one more night on to my stay so that wasn't quite so stressful. The journey back wasn't quite so eventful, though I did miss one of my flight connections but at least that wasn't my fault. I was also hauled aside by security for a suspicious bulge in my trousers but that was only my handkerchief.

I had a lovely time in London - my hotel was excellently located (I generally have no idea where my hotels are until I arrive and I work out how to get there as I'm waiting for my luggage) and filled my time with lots of culture - particular highlights were an outdoor production of Sherlock Holmes in the Regent's Park, the Bomber Command Tour at the RAF Museum (after the inevitable re-scheduling because I had booked the wrong week) and the show Oh Mary. Unlike my record after visiting Broadway last year (even Chess has now closed down sadly), Oh Mary seems to be thriving and just today I read that they're going to film it. I also visited the Sherlock Holmes museum, the MOCO Gallery, The Wallace Collection, saw the Producers, Iconic Images gallery and a performance of Max Richter's Vivaldi re-composed. I also got myself a gig playing at St Mary's Iselworth on the Sunday morning to help subsidise the trip.

But a particular highlight was actually meeting up with all my cousins on the Stevenson side of the family. Hugh kindly organised a meal and it was lovely to properly meet all the spouses and children finally.

Up in Scotland it was lovely to meet up with family and friends. Much coffee was drunk (as always Costa will have noticed a spike in profits in the Dundee area) and too much food consumed - suffice to say the diet started when I got back. Actually, it has started quite a few times since I got back.... But back to the main point which was that it was lovely to catch up with so many people.

A few months ago, perusing the "Stevenson archive", I came across a picture of my brother and I standing on a bridge taken, I guess, in the mid to late 70s. I became fixated on re-enacting the picture and it was a pleasant surprise to discover that my dad remembered where it was. We couldn't take the picture from the same spot because the tree had grown a lot in the 50 years since we were last there. Still, I'm v pleased we manged to take a new picture.

After we had visited Ceres, we drove to Anstruther, the ancestral home of the Stevensons. Or it least it has been the since the 70s when my grandparents moved there from Rhodesia. Many happy memories as we wandered up past their old house on Hadfoot Wynd and in tribute to them we re-enacted the New Year walk out to the lighthouse and back.

My last full day in Scotland I spent up in Aberdeen visiting the old haunts. I met my old Uni lecturer and his wife and finally got to see the new organ in King's College chapel where I had been organ scholar all those years ago. We also visited St Machar's cathedral where my grandfather was organist for many years and it was lovely to see his name up on the recently installed board listing his predecessors and successors.

The weekend following my return featured a concert to celebrate Liv-Helga's ordination and her "21st" (cough cough) birthday on the Saturday while on the Sunday evening was the actual installation. It was great to see the church so full and playing hymns/salmes is so much more fun when the singing is good.