Foundation Day

As if we needed reminding, here is what the tarot reading predicted for today:

Ace of Cups: As Cups are associated with the element of Water, or love and emotion, the Ace predicts emotional fulfillment, creativity, and contentment, from falling passionately in love with a person or an ideal to following a spiritual calling or artistic pursuit. Pregnancy and motherhood are also indicated because the overflowing chalice of the Ace symbolizes ultimate femininity.

Well, you'll never believe this but today I fell in love and got pregnant! How about that for a spot on prediction? What are the odds?? No, you're just being silly now (I've got a feeling you're not taking this seriously).

Today was something called 'Foundation Day' at the University at which I work. This is effectively a day of thanksgiving during which we celebrate the foundation of the University and award degrees to students on courses that, for whatever reason, don't get awarded at the main Graduation ceremony in July. The University also awards a couple of honorary degrees and fellowships at this time. (In fact Gee Verona Walker, who I mentioned in a post some time ago, was awarded a Fellowship at one of these Foundation Days a couple of years ago.) This year Fellowships went to a couple, Gerald and Judith Henderson, for their work with an organization called Initiatives for Change, and an Honorary Degree was awarded to Sir Jeremy Isaacs who has been a leading figure in the Arts and Media worlds for over 50 years.*

Suffice to say, I didn't fall in love with Gerald, Judith, or Jeremy (I know, even with those names!). As is usual with these kind of academic ceremonies, we were all dressed in our gowns that displayed the degrees we had obtained and from which universities we oursleves had graduated. Me? I was in a rather fetching purple and red number, complete with sash and a jaunty hat with tassle: a symbol of ultimate femininity if ever there was...!

This evening it was time for my guitar lesson. Yes, despite the "guitar fiasco" last year I am proud to report that I am still keeping up with my guitar lessons. In fact, since Christmas I have switched classes so I am now with a slightly more advanced group (and older... I'm not the oldest student any more!). I'd like to say that this is because Vernon, the teacher, recognised my natural ability and realised that the kids were holding me back. But the truth is that changes to my teaching timetable at the University this term meant that I could no longer make the Monday class. Still this can only be seen as a sign that it is time for my talents to be nurtured to the next level. As the Ace predicts, today I was supposed to be following a spiritual calling or an artistic pursuit. You can't argue with the facts!

*Interestingly, Rachel was actually involved with setting up Sir Jeremy's Artsworld channel a few years ago!

The First (and Last) Concert

Last weekend saw my debut public performance on the guitar. It was awful. So bad that it's taken me a week to even think about writing about it. When I mentioned it to Rachel this morning, she referred to it as the "guitar fiasco". And she's supposed to be my number one supporter!

As some of you will know I took up learning to play the guitar last year and signed up for weekly lessons with the Yamaha Music School. Every so often the school organises a concert for the students as an opportunity to 'showcase' their musical skills for friends and family. I said I'd play something, and opted for playing "Walk Don't Run", an instrumental written by jazz guitarist Johnny Smith (and apparently a hit for both the Ventures and the John Barry Seven). As it was the first piece in the Guitar Encounters Book 2 (yes, Book 2... be impressed!), and we'd been learning and practising it in class for what seemed like ages, it seemed the obvious choice. By the morning of the concert, last Sunday, I think I could play it pretty well, even though I do say so myself. With or without the backing track.

In the afternoon, we battled through a torrential downpour to the community centre where the concert was to be held. I was already feeling nervous, but as we went in to the hall, I became really nervous (possibly even more so than before the Skeptics in the Pub talk!). A quick look through the programme revealed that my slot was about half way through the proceedings, which meant about another nerve-wrangling half-hour of waiting but at least I could get a feeling of how good the other performances were before me. That didn't help. They were all really good, and what's more we're talking kids aged between about 6 and 12 years old here. (For the record, I'll be 38 next month.) They would each just get up, go to their instrument of choice (which was mainly the piano but there were a few guitar players), play their piece, and return to their proud parents in the audience. I was hoping for a few cock ups. Just one or two that made enough of a mess if it to lower the audience's expectations. No such luck. They were all pretty much note perfect. Gits.

Before each student's performance we were given a bit of background about the performer: "As well as playing the piano Sara is 8 years old and likes football and maths...", "Tommy, aged 6, is fluent in Spanish and German, and has a black belt in Aikido...", "Emily, 12, has a degree in Nuclear Physics and has built her very own particle accelerator in her back garden...". You get the idea.

My palms were sweating. Just two more to go then it would be my turn... Marc with "Minuet by Mozart" (show off), followed by Cara with "The Camel" (should be interesting), and then Matthew with "Walk, Don't Run". I felt sick. From the other side of the hall, Vernon, my guitar teacher who would introduce me, looked over and mouthed "are you okay?". He could probably sense my nervousness by the fact that my face was now almost the same colour as my green t-shirt. I looked back at him and shook my head.

Marc concluded his near perfect rendition of Mozart's Minuet. Vernon walked to the front and announced "Next we have Matthew...". Eh? What about Cara? Where's Cara? I was looking forward to hearing Cara play "The Camel"! Cara must have bottled it. Either that or she was unable to make it because her Karate lesson had ran over. Either way, it was now my turn. I took to the stage, sat down and picked up the guitar. Vernon continued, "...this is Matthew's first time playing guitar in public, ever!", "...and I'm very, very nervous!" I quickly added. As if it wasn't already obvious how nervous I was, "Oh, and I like football but I don't like maths".

After what seemed like an age, the backing track kicked in. This was it! Now the first note was fine. I think as first notes go it was faultless. I had nothing against the first note. It was the second note and the vast majority of all the notes that followed that seemed to cause the problem. (As Eric Morecambe once noted: "...I was playing all the right notes, but not necessarily in the right order!"). Once I'd missed the timing on the second note it went from bad to worse. I might have hit the occasional note after that but probably more by fluke than by design. It was indeed a guitar fiasco.

As the backing track came to an end, the very sympathetic audience gave a cheer and a round of applause. They were probably just pleased it was all over. Either that or they were being sarcastic. I went back to sit next to Rachel in the audience who, along with my mum and dad who had come along to give support, said she was very proud of me. She was probably just pleased it was all over. Either that or she was being sarcastic.

The rest of the concert I could actually enjoy now that my bit was out of the way. The guy on after me, Daryl, was perhaps even more nervous than me. But then he was even older than me. Which goes to show that it's adulthood that seems to bring out the performance anxiety in us. Still, Daryl held it together better than I did. His "Theme for Young Lovers", though a little nervey, was very good. The highlights of the concert were Charlie Powell, with is own composition (a Jean-Michel Jarre type keyboard fest) and Andrew Wignall, with a superb rendition of "Le Onde" on the piano. Both aged 16 or so, they were as confident as anything, and I mention their full names here so that when they become famous you can say you heard it here first.

All in all, a good concert apart from the contribution from the guy with the green face who liked football but not maths. It was his first concert, but I think it will also be his last.

A Metaphor for Life?

Over the past couple of weeks I have given three talks on the subject of luck and destiny. Actually, I gave much the same talk three times to different audiences under a slightly different title each time. The only person to sit through all three talks was Rachel (sorry Rach!). To be fair, I did make some changes each time, adding bits and dropping other bits as appropriate, so I think even Rachel would agree that the third talk was probably the best of the three.

Anyway, the first and the third talks I had known about for some time. The first was a talk as part of the Invited Speaker Series at the Anomalistic Psychology Research Unit (APRU) at Goldsmiths College, University of London. I had been invited to give a talk by Professor Chris French, head of the APRU, who I have known for around 15 years (!) and with whom I came close to studying for a PhD before starting my PhD on the psychology of luck at the University Hertfordshire. The third talk was at Liverpool Hope University, where I have worked for the past eight years or so, and was part of the University's Foundation Hour programme. Foundation Hour is held 1-2pm each Wednesday and is an opportunity for the University's staff and students to come together and listen to an inspiring and uplifting talk (!).

The second talk of the three, however, was a last-minute arrangement. It was for a group called 'Skeptics in the Pub', which meet each month in London in (no surprises here...) a pub. I was asked to stand in for a speaker who was unable to make it, and so I agreed. For some reason, I was really nervous before giving this talk. And I mean really nervous. As it turned out, it seemed to go fine. However, the reason I mention it here is because of an email I received a day or so after the talk from someone who had been there, and who had subsequently taken a look at this blog. He, like me, had only recently started to learn to play the guitar, although he's now been learning for about 4 years. In his words (and I'm hoping he won't mind me including them here):

Congrats on the guitar lessons. I'm 33 and started guitar when I was almost 29. Stick with it - it gets better after a year or so. Eventually there's a shift when you stop feeling like you're playing catch-up to the demands of the tune, and instead suddenly you really feel like you're driving each note. It's the coolest thing.

Not only did these words reassure me that learning the guitar gets easier after a year or so (and I am finding this), but they also made me think of them as a possible metaphor for life... that is, there comes a time where you don't feel as though you're going through life trying to keep up with the pace being dictated to you by others ("playing catch-up to the demands of the tune"), but instead you start feeling as though you're in control of your life ("suddenly you really feel like you're driving each note"). And when that happens, like the man says, it's the coolest thing.

Who did shoot the deputy?

I'm feeling quite pleased with myself.

As you'll know, if you've dipped into the archived posts listed down the side of the page, I started guitar lessons in March of this year. Back then, I was attending a class alongside fellow students with an average age of about 8 years old. Not any more. No siree. The teacher, Vernon, soon realised that I was something of a natural and so suggested that I moved to the earlier class where my flair might be allowed to blossom more quickly, and the average age of 13 might mean I would feel more at home. But that's not the reason I'm feeling pleased with myself.

Over the summer there has been a break, and lessons start again next week. During the summer break we have been set bits of 'homework' to practice (or should that be practise? I'm never quite sure). One of these has been to continue to practice/practise the bass-line and the melody for 'I Shot the Sheriff' by Bob Marley. For those of you who don't know the song, it is in a reggae style where the rhythmic emphasis is outlined by the guitar playing chords on beats 2 and 4 and the bass drum accenting beat 3. At least, that's what I'm reliably told on page 26 of Guitar Encounters Book 1.

I am thoroughly sick of this song. I have been playing it over and over for what seems an eternity (it's actually only been a couple of months on and off, but still...). It's the bass-line that I find particularly awkward to play (even for me with my natural flair!). But today, I think I finally got it! I finally played it without any errors (well, pretty much) at full speed (I had found a way to slow down the version on the Guitar Encounters CD that comes with the book). I'm sure it was a fluke, but I don't care.

So that's why I'm feeling quite pleased with myself.

('The House of the Rising Sun' on page 30 looks particularly tricky so don't expect any further updates on progress this side of Christmas!)

Elephants and Donkeys Grow Big Ears

He's the guitar man

Do you play a musical instrument? Ever since I was a kid, I have wanted to be able to play the guitar. Or at least I've liked the idea of being able to play some kind of instrument, and I guess the guitar would have been my instrument of choice.

It's not as though I have a burning desire to play Eddie Van Halen or Jimi Hendrix guitar solos or anything (although...), it's just that it would be nice to be able to pick up a guitar now and again and play the odd tune or even just a bar or two of Kum By Yah.

So yesterday I had a guitar lesson. My first ever guitar lesson! It was a free taster session and was a group lesson, so it wasn't just me on my own. There were five others: Dana (age 8), Mark (age 9), Billy (12), Clare (10) and Gerrard (11). And me (age 36). At first I felt like the kid who had been kept back a year at school (or rather 25 years!), but the guitar teacher, Vernon, was used to teaching classes with such different ages and so he soon made me feel at home (also, the fact that Dana's dad and Mark's mum sat in on the class probably helped).

Vernon asked each of us why we wanted to learn to play the guitar. Neither Mark, Billy, Clare nor Gerrard seemed to know why they wanted to learn. They responded with a shrug. Dana managed to avoid being asked this awkward question altogether by turning up late. When it came to me, I thought I'd try to help Vern out and said "Well, I want to be a rock star!", hoping to raise a laugh or at least a smile from my fellow students. Nothing. Instead they all looked blankly at me, no doubt thinking how sad that this grown man still believed he could actually one day be a rock star. Even Mark's mum tutted and slowly shook her head.

But I wasn't to be put off. Vernon showed us the kind of songs we would learn to play on the course, and within no time we were able to shout out "head... neck... body" as Vernon pointed to the different parts of the guitar. This exercise seemed to be beneath Gerrard, who was sat next to me. Gerrard could obviously play a little and even informed us he could play both left-handed and right-handed. And when you're 11 years old I guess you don't really have the patience to sit through "head... neck... body". I doubt he'll be signing up for the course.

By the end of the 45 minutes, we were strumming along to The Beatles' Get Back, and even Mark's mum had picked up a guitar and was joining in (who's the sad wannabe rock star now, eh?).

Whether or not Gerrard signs up, or even Mark and his mum, I think I'm going to sign up for the course. They say that it's good to learn a new skill later in life, so maybe it's something I need to do. Before you know it, I'll be jammin' along with Eddie and Jimi... "One, two, three... Kum By Yah, my lord, Kum By Yah...".