September 12, 2014

9.05 am. A phone call to a BT operative somewhere in India about the appallingly low broadband speed somewhere between the BT server and our router. The operatives are always very practical and reassuring, and you don’t have to undignify them by either rating their degree of helpfulness or filling out an on-line feedback form. Perhaps BT trust their staff to do a good job. How old fashioned:

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Having said farewell to my elder son, who was returning to university, I returned to the Art/Sound lecture. Then it was head down for the remainder of the day — stopping only for a sandwich at lunch and the ‘slings and arrows of outrageous’ emails — with a determination to bring the composition to ground by bedtime — . (Intensity! intensity! Hold fast to the intensity.):

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After lunch, I’d reached the period in British music represented by The Who, Pink Floyd, Roxy Music, and Brian Eno. This was a golden age, the like of which we have not see again … yet. By the close of the evening session, I was 300 words short of the finishing line. Again, my principle is not to conclude or sum up until either a day has past or the dust has settled.

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