Edinburgh Food Festival

Lots of things to catch up on around here, like 'Flesh Happening', TerraFolk, the grand opening of Momma Cherri's Big House and a meal at the Gold Coast (that's South Norwood, not West Africa, though you almost imagine the latter).

But right now I'm rushing around trying to get to Euston in time for the night train to Edinburgh to begin sorting out The Edinburgh Food Festival which is very exciting...

Must run.

Pledge success!

I'm astounded! 5 people have signed up to the pledge I initiated here last week. That means I need to do something about it. Watch this space.Now I'm worried I might have been overly optimistic about finding an altruistic piano tuner, or even that the piano there is too past it to be worth the effort. But we'll see - watch this space.

Perhaps we should make it an 'alternative commuter jazz' one Friday when there's nothing on at the QEH in the months ahead. It could be a perfect alternative venue for that - not too far away, and right beside a huge commuter station. Do let me know what you think.

Another conversation

Yesterday we had our second 'Kitchen Conversation'. A little bit less general agreement than the first one, but a fine way to spend a few hours in the afternoon. There were some passionate outbursts! The next one is on 29 April (not 1 April, as previously planned). Let me know if you fancy coming along. That will be a bit of a larger affair, and we hoping to organise a meal of local food afterwards from Bea's fabulous Venezuelan kitchen.

Coffee

Just listening to the Food Programme discussing coffee.

Interesting interview with American cardiology scientist Professor Robert Superko, talking about the specific effects of drinking caffinated or decaffinated coffee. He says the two drinks are very different, coming from different beans. He says that drinking decaff can increase your cholesterol level, whereas 6 cups a day of caffinated stuff can increase your blood pressure by 8-10 points.

One of the things that's really been made clear to me over the past two weeks, is that the prolonged high blood pressure that I've had for most of my adult life, has hastened my reduction in kidney function - basically high blood pressure damages kidneys. I've always been a fan of strong coffee - and spent most of my twenties perfecting the art of making espresso at home. I was always reluctant to take drugs to reduce BP, feeling that I didn't want to be taking some chemical for the rest of my life, and that *obviously* I'd reduce my BP by losing some weight and getting fitter. Well, the road to hell was paved many times over, with that intention, and it never really happened, so I suppose I should have swallowed my pride - and the pills!

Not Celts but Vikings

It must be true, it was just on Radio 4. It seems Sandi Toksvig is a member of the same Scottish clan as our family, the Gunn clan. Some expert in such things wrote to her and said that this is the only clan that is not Celtic, but Viking in origin. That's no surprise really, as my father's family hail from the island of Unst, the most northerly of the Shetlands. These islands were once part of Norway, but as some kind of dawry arrangement, were handed over to Scotland by the king of Norway in lieu of cash when he was a bit short of readies.

It seems my great grandfather (William) left the Shetlands in the late nineteenth century got married and had a son, William Thomas in 1901. William died in his 30s, and the boy and his mother went back to live with William's father (also William Thomas) on Unst. WT (senior) died in 1914, and my grandfather left Unst for the last time as a early teenager, and came to Glasgow, where my dad and his brothers all grew up.

I grew up knowing vageuly that we had some connection with the Shetlands, but we had no relatives up there, and nobody in the family had ever been back. I thought we should put this right, and in Novermber 2002, my dad and I spent a week driving around the Shetlands. It's a stunning place. We went back there in January 2004 for 'Up Helly Aa', which celebrates the Viking heritage. It happens on the last Tuesday of January, and starts down in Lerwick Harbour at 7am, with the reading of the proclamation by the Guiser Jarl, surrounded by his 'squad' dressed in full viking regalia (complete with the best collection of beards I've ever seen). In the evening, the town's street lights are turned off, and nearly 1000 guys in various costumes, stage a flaming torchlit procession. Absolutely inbredible. This kicks off a night of debaouchery as 40-odd 'squads' of men in fancy dress travel around a dozen 'halls' where they perform, and eat the victuals provided by the women. I started the night as a spectator, but got dragged into playing sax with one of the squads, then joining them for the rest of the night, as they drove around the icy streets, in a lorry adapted for carrying people (just strap a container to the back, add some ropes to the sides to hang on to, a few benches, and large amounts of beer and whiskey!). The final gig was at 8am, followed by breakfast and another day's drinking, ending up in The Lounge for an afternoon music session. There are a few pics on my website - one day I'll get round to putting the rest up there.

If you're trying to find your Shetland ancestors, then I can highly recommend visiting Bayanne House, either online or in person. Their database is excellent (though navigating it takes a bit of getting used to).

a mystery gig

I'm writing this as I sit waiting in the QEH - for a mystery concert. I have no idea who's avout to come on to the stage. I'm here at the behest of Steve who had a spare ticket - though he's teaching so not here yet. He did say who was playing, though I've never heard of them. An Oud was mentioned, so I'm expecting something possibly a bit North African. The stage is full of guitars and a drum kit, and a guy has just come on and is making very world music sounding names. I'd better fold this laptop up and listen...

Well it, turned out to be an amazing Turkish guitarist Erkan Ogur with Ilkin Deniz on bass and Turgut Alp Bekoglu on drums. A stunning concert promoted by Kazum who look like they do some interesting stuff in London. Something like an oud was indeed produced for the final number, an Anatolean lullaby. We ended up in a great turkish restaurant Ishtar after the gig with the band and their entourage. A great crowd.

Quorn & Soya

Went shopping and found myself in front of the Quorn. It's supposed to be better for me-low potassium or something. my main instruction right now is to lay off the dairy, so i thought i'd try Soya milk. Hmm.

musical reclamation - "I'm A Believer"

pic: Russell Herron

A couple weeks ago I was asked to do one of the strangest jobs I can remember. Iranian artist Reza Aramesh got my number from someone and asked if I could put a small band together for two performances in Trafalgar Square. We met up at the ICA (sponsors/organisers of the event) and he told me he wanted to use music from Nazi Germany, specifically some of the military music that was played during the 1934 Nuremberg Rally. He gave me a copy of a DVD of 'The Triumph of The Will' by Leni Riefenstahl, and he chose three extracts. I spent a few days transcribing these and arranging them for tuba, trombone, two trumpets, tenor sax and drums. In the final performances, the music was pretty incidental - the main body of the work was 32 guys (mostly 2nd generation immigrants) in black suits, basically doing the 'Changing if the Guard' routine, as done by the household cavalry outside Buckingham Palace. I don't know what most of the audience thought of it - I suspect very few had a clue what was going on, but it was thought-provoking stuff which had something to say on many levels.

I was very happy to be able to take music that had been put alongside something grotesque in 1934, and give it new resonances. We played three pieces - two fairly standard oom-pah marches, but the middle one was a simple slow beautiful thing that was reminiscent of Nimrod in Elgar's Enigma Variations.


pic: Russell Herron

Theatre 503

Went to Theatre 503 (used to be the Latchmere) in Battersea to see Subverse, with Steve Lawson guesting in the second half. Looked like we might not get in, as it was sold out, then at the last minute, Steve asked me to sit in with him, so they couldn't very well turn us away, and we stood at the back. It's all powerful stuff - fantastic to get a laugh out of some of the things they tackle (Iraq, civil liberties, environmental campaigners, etc). Highly recommended. Looks like they're organising a North London appearance in May, for those of you with in-built geographical aversions to anything with an S in the post code. Steve was playing his unique brand of solobassistry behind three different poems, and got me to duet with Jethro on "The Peace Police". At the last minute, he asked me to come on from behind the audience, meaning I left my pint of water backstage, and then proceeded to completely dry out, and practically come to a spluttering halt. Managed to moisten the reed just enough to coax the last note out. I thought that was it, then he called me on for the last tune, after I'd put away my horn, so had to run through the pub kitchen to put it together again in time to play. Great to get on stage and do a bit of proper playing for the first time since D-day. The sax sling rubs on the catheter that's sticking out a hole in my neck a bit - perhaps that's why it's a bit achy now.

Talking of civil liberties, take a look at http://www.hoojum.com/LARRB - I am becoming increasingly concerned at the direction this government is going with its legislation. This is worth a few minutes of everyone's time. Go to http://www.writetothem.com to send an instant letter to your MP. Talking of daft legislation, it seems like the predicted chickens are coming home to roost after the licensing bill came into force last November. I've already heard from Keith Harrison-Broninski down in Nunney, Somerset, that new regulations have pretty much stopped the wonderful Nunney Jazz Cafe that has been a monthly thing in the village hall there on a Sunday afternoon. Now it looks like the gypsy jazz festival L'Esprit Manouche http://www.lespritmanouche.com/ - which I've never seen, but sounds beautiful, is another victim. The organiser Dave Alexander has just written:

"And to help matters along theres the new licensing laws - our entertainments licence used to cost around £350 - new regs mean that it could end up costing in excess of £2000 now! The licensing departments want you to employ solicitors to apply for a licence because its such a mess that no one, (even the people at the licencing department), knows how or what it means!!!!! (If you want music to be allowed in the UK you all better get complaining to your MP etc about this licencing bill!)"

I'm waiting to hear whether the new regs mean that anyone who wants to book a band for a party in their garden needs an entertainments licence. If so, it might be a long dry summer on the work front.

Session No 2

Went back for more today. Back to creaking mode - as there was a queue of people ahead of me waiting for a machine. They haven't worked out my 'target' weight yet. When your kidneys don't work, you retain fluid, so part of the dialysis process removes it (part of the reason for the magic weight loss the other day!). Today it was set a bit high - something over a litre - and all of a sudden, I started feeling really hot, light-headed and generally spaced out. I thought I was about to pass out. Two or three nurses rushed over and rectified the situation, by lying me down and pumping saline solution into me. Seems my BP dropped to 80/40. A bit of a fright, but now I know how it feels.

Shamanic Chanting

This morning I woke up in the hospital ward. Obviously I was surrounded by people who weren't in the best of health. I was aware that the feeling of being sick is in itself infectious. The anaesthetic in my shoulder and chest where they inserted the tube had all worn off, so that felt pretty rough every time I moved, especially lifting my head to sit up or get up. I got dressed and went out into the street to buy a paper (and a bottle of Tabasco sauce) - this felt like a huge act of rebellion, and extremely therapeutic.

They let me out. I celebrated by driving to Bill Lewington's workshop near Southend to collect my newly rebuilt horn. Took it to a Shamanic Healing Ceremony I'd been invited to, where about 35 of us walked in circles, hummed, sang, danced, beat on drums, shook rain sticks, and directed energy towards 'Alan', a very fragile looking old chap, who lay on a bed in the middle being ministered to by half a dozen white-clad women (the rest of the group was mixed). Was a beautiful ritual.

Kidney dialysis - instant weight loss!

It's been a long day. Arrived at Guys hospital at 9am this morning, for a CT scan. The dye that they use for these risked destroying what was left of my kidney function, so there was a fair bit of toing and froing between departments and doctors to make sure it was the best course of action. On the grounds that if a transplant becomes possible, they would need to put me on dialysis anyway, and they were keen to get this started as soon as possible - I went ahead.

As hospitals go, Guys & St Thomas's here by London Bridge is pretty good - comfortable and well designed, with one big exception, NAMES! Whoever came up with the names for the various bits of the building should be admitted to the psychiatric unit. There are three main bits of the building: Thomas Guy House, New Guy's House and Guy's Tower. Each one has many floors, and there are two huge atriums with 'bridges' going through each. Remembering which floor on which building you're supposed to be on is a nightmare, especially as the people who work here tend to abbreviate them inconsistently. Then I end up being put in 'Patience' ward.

Had a long plastic tube inserted into a hole in my neck (specially made for the purpose by a young doctor) this afternoon. This is going to be a permanent fixture it seems, for the next few weeks anyway. Into this go two tubes - one for blood to go in, the other out. This was demonstrated this evening, with two hours attached to a dialysis machine. A little bizarre at first, for one's body to become extended by this pile of tin, lights, dials and a mess of clear tubes. I didn't really feel anything though, apart from a gradually increasing ache in the shoulder.

Went for a wander this evening and found a grand piano in each atrium - one of which is a bit battered and out of tune, but which would probably tune up nicely (I'll do a pledge on www.pledgbank.com offering to do a free gig if a tuner will come and give it the once over). The other is a beautiful Yamaha, that sounded lovely. I thought there was nobody around, until this old bloke appeared out of the shadows and started talking at me - non stop, in a rambling stream-of-concsiousness then offering to sing for me. His first offering was 'My Way' in the style of Shirley Bassey, and by that I mean he was trying to impersonate her. Bizarre - but musical. Then we moved on to Lennon-McCartney (Penny Lane, Long and Winding Road, Yesterday), Neil Diamond (Love on the Rocks) and Gilbert O'Sullivan (Clair). I tried to keep up, and it was a strangely moving beautiful experience. He then whistled a tune to me that he 'wrote'. He asked if I could write it down for him - and as I had some paper there, and it was pretty simple, I made
something out of it. It starts out sounding a bit like 'Almost like being in love' but disappears into a slightly Spanish sounding phrase, that he seemed to like.

Time to take some drugs and get some sleep.

Oh yes, the weight loss bit! Yesterday (and for almost as long as I can remember) 94Kg. Today 88kg. Result!

Oh yes, the 'taste' part

The previous post makes it sound a bit like I'm at death's door. That would seem not to be the case (though I wasn't so sure on Monday night!). I feel pretty normal, and this whole bizarre situation doesn't really seem to be happening. It must be real, as a 'pre dialysis nurse' spent half an hour on the phone with me this afternoon telling me my latest blood test results and asking me to come in tomorrow morning. Apparently they want to do an MRI scan which involves ingesting some sort of dye, to investigate some unknown dark spot that appeared in the ultrasound scans last time. This dye will let them see my kidneys in much more detail, but may have the side effect of finishing them off once and for all, so I may need to stay there and start dialysis straight away. Is a bit of a pain, since my SO and I were planning to head for the French Alps this weekend for some winter sports.

The main thing that does make me feel like my body isn't the one I've got so familiar with over the last 38 years is the fact that things taste really strange. It seems to get worse as the day goes on - by evening, things have a decidedly 'off' taste. The worst thing is probably that alcohol just isn't an attractive prospect anymore. I've been to the pub after choir rehearsals recently, and not been able to face drinking a pint of beer. At first I put it down to the Sam Smiths brew in the choir local - but it would seem that this is a well known effect of kidney failure. I was in Momo the other night, and couldn't drink more than a sip of Chateau Musar, one of my favourite wines. It's the same with all kinds of food. I also went through a phase a couple months ago, where my SO developed a very strange taste - I was beginning to think I was developing some kind of allergy to her. Luckily that seems to have disappeared.

All this can only be good for my wasteline :)

Bubbly pee and a funny taste...

I may need to change the title of this blog, as one thing is looking like dominating my life for the forseeable future. When I was around 20, my mother was diagnosed with an hereditary condition called "Polycystic Kidneys". After a while she went onto kidney dialysis, and then had a transplant. At the time, it was suggested that her kids were checked out, to see whether we also had the condition. So I wandered up the road to the John Radcliffe hospital in Oxford, and was injected with some kind of dye, and given a scan. Lo and behold, there they were - little dots in my kidneys, which were actually small cysts.

That was that. Something over a year ago, I noticed that my pee was getting very 'bubbly' and went to the Doc. (Incidentally, at last summer's Edinburgh Fringe, I remember feeling that beer just didn't seem inviting anymore - more about that later.) That kicked into motion a somewhat gradual, creaking, process, which ended up with me being referred to the urology and then the renal unit at Guys and St Thomas's Hospital, and being given blood tests. These show a creatinine level of 916 (normal is 80-122), and Urea of 36.1 (2.5-7.5). Apparently these are some kind of proteins (the cause of the frothy urine, perhaps?). After I saw these results, I dug around on the web, and found a 'kidney function calculator' which suggested that with this values, I was well into 'end stage renal failure' and that immediate expert intervention was required.*

Well since then, it would seem that the system has been liberally greased, as it ain't creaky any more! Various people have sprung into action, and have been getting in touch, organising appointments and trying to prepare me for the fact that i need to start kidney dialysis myself - perhaps tomorrow!

When I got home on Monday night, I felt very tight chested, and generally feeling not great. Sleeping was difficult, not least because I kept having to get up and go to the loo, with a mouth like a desert rat's lair (dry and horrible). When I woke up at 6am, it was just as bad, if not worse, and my worried girlfriend called for help. A pair of paramedics arrived, and decided that I should be checked out, so it was into the back of an ambulance, and off to the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead. After being fed pure oxygen, and given drugs to reduce my blood pressure, I felt great - but was kept in all day in the cardiac unit, in the cardiac unit. Eventually they worked out that I hadn't had a heart attack - not even a mild one - and that organ (at least) was given a clean bill of health.

There's obviously a great deal more to come in this little saga. It's looking like I'm going to have to be attached to a dialysis machine for 4 hours, 3 times a week, very soon, perhaps starting tomorrow - so there should be plenty of time to write!


* I've gone into so much detail here, in the hope that it might be useful to someone, somewhere, sometime! When I searched the web for reasons for 'bubbly urine' I didn't find very much. A bit of early warning would have been useful!

Ivor Cutler - RIP

One of the funniest, most eccentric, maverick of individuals it has ever been my pleasure to know, is finally with us no more (Guardian obituary).

I first saw Ivor at the Edinburgh Fringe in 1985, at the Assembly Rooms. It was my huge priviledge to get to know him during 1991/2, when we would frequently meet at the lunchtime concerts at the Royal Festival Hall (in the company of the Jazzshark). He would turn up on his bike wearing his plus fours, and a hat topped with a huge sunflower. He would often hand out sticky labels bearing slogans like "Funny Smell" or even short poems.

Despite his well known aversion to loud noise (including loud music), Ivor would come and watch us perform as The Honkin' Hep Cats - I believe he even admitted to enjoying our gigs at the RFH, though his preferred vantage point was from one of the highest balconies, as far away from the stage as possible. I think some of our songs were up his street (e.g. 'You Stole My Wife You Horse Thief' and 'When Banana Skins are falling I'll come sliding on home to you', or even 'I Want A Big Fat Mama With The Meat Shakin' on the Bone').

Jazzshark has a great memory of Ivor: "...a funny story he once told me. apparently he used to get so pissed off with dog shit on the pavements in Camden that he went round for weeks and months drawing cartoons around the offending items in chalk. As a consequence of this the problem attracted huge publicity in local and national newspapers and Camden council changed
its bylaws in order to fine offenders, and started a massive dog shit clean up campaign!"

Sadly Ivor has been unwell for some time, suffering from a dementia which meant that he didn't recognise his friends. So I hope his death is a welcome release from life's frustrations.

Ivor, I hope we meet again somewhere. Will miss you.