Currently blogging - apart from personal interjections, now and then - is a serialisation of a rough draft of a book about Beethoven. I've been wanting to write this for many years, since I was 18, had just left school and had my head filled with the usual late-teen preoccupations, but also with notions of pilgrimage.
Some feel the need to pay their homages in Rome, some in Santiago de Compostella, or La Higuera, or Jerusalem, or Père Lachaise. I was drawn to Vienna, to bow the knee at the grave of the great composer. Although I've since admitted others to my pantheon of mighty creators, Beethoven has remained with me, behind, beside and above me ever since.
I know it's awkward, if you want to keep up, especially if you're drawn to start at the beginning, to scroll right down and even back into previous months and then work forward again. I'm sorry about this, and hope it doesn't interfere with any enjoyment you might conjure out of it. In this hope I can do no better than to quote Beethoven himself: I wish you all the good and charm that life can offer. Thank of me kindly, and... rest assured that no one would more rejoice to hear of your happiness.
Comments, observations, corrections, etc., are more than welcome, naturally.
Having taken very early retirement from teaching in Scotland, I settled in the Languedoc to write and compose. The many distractions from actually getting on with any work include conducting a multi-national chamber choir and building drystone walls.