Waiting for Auntie

Good morning. .. . what a glorious morning . . .

Did I tell you that I’m meeting Beverly this afternoon for tea at The Royal Garden Hotel? It’s our quarterly act of sheer self-indulgence. To sit there, sipping tea, gazing out over Kensington Gardens, and being thoroughly spoiled . . . it dissolves anxieties, puts life in perspective, and sets you up, refreshed and revitalised, for the next three months.
If the English version is anything to go by, I can fully understand the value placed on the traditional Japanese Tea Ceremony.

Which reminds me, did I ever tell you how once, in my youth, I spent a night at the world-famoous Carlton Hotel in Cannes?
Sit back . . . it's a good story!
I was working as a grape-picker at the time, was totally impecunious, and was awaiting the arrival of an equally impecunious friend at Nice airport. Her flight was delayed and, when she did arrive, we'd missed the last 'bus back to the vineyard in Frejus.
Where to spend the night? It was hardly possible to sleep on the beach.
Then inspiration struck. After tidying ourselves up and straightening our skirts (there weren't any jeans in those days), we polished up our best English accents and strolled nonchalantly into the lounge of the Carlton Hotel. We were, we told the porter, waiting for 'Auntie'. `He smiled indulgently. We smiled back. We then settled down in the comfortable chairs and 'waited'.
The hours went by, the afternoon turned into evening . . . no 'Auntie. Evening turned into night . . . and still 'Auntie' had failed to arrive. The Night Porter took over from the Day Porter, but, as he'd clearly been told that we were waiting for 'Auntie'. he didn't disturb us. Come morning, with still no 'Auntie' in sight, we apologised profusely to the staff, said that there must have been some misunderstanding . . . and hurried off to catch the bus back up the mountain!

Scandalous behaviour . . . I'd never tolerate such duplicity in my god-daughter today!!

Orbs . . . ? Music made manifest . . . ?

I'm lost for words . . I don't know whether I'm excited . . . or overwhelmed . . . ? Whether I'm delighted . . . or totally confused . . . ?
Has the Large Hadron Collider collided with my camera?
But enough of inadequate words. I'm going to give you the bare facts and let the pictures speak for themselves.

As you know, I went to the Albert Hall the other night. A kind friend, who hadn't been able to use her tickets for the Proms, had given them to me. I'd invited Anna to join me.

There were three parts to the programme. The first was Vaughan Williams' 'Sinfonia antartica'. Then after an interval, came 'Pleiades', a contemporary composition by Xenakis, written for percussion. Finally, after another interval, there was 'The Planets' suite by Holst. I anticipated enjoying the first and last items, whilst sitting baffled and ear-battered through the second.

In the hope of maybe photographing orbs, I'd taken my camera. After the opening symphony I took a photo, which later proved to be unremarkable. Then came the first interval. Anna and I went out and stretched our legs, returning for the 'Pleiades'.

At first I was totally blown away . . . the frantic rhythm . . . the incessant vibration . . . the sheer volume of noise. Then, slowly, it began to win me over. More than that, I totally succumbed . . . it was utterly magnificent! Six young percussionists, 4-Mality, and O Duo, working in utter unison . . . the vitality . . . the discipline . . . the energy . . . the dedication . . . I was utterly enthralled. It lasted for forty minutes - forty amazing, quivering minutes - then it was all over and the audience relaxed into ecstatic clapping.
I took out my camera . . . .










Can you explain it . . . can you understand it . . . ?
What are they . . . ? Sound waves . . . ? Angels . . . ? Musical notes made manifest . . . ?













Not knowing what incredible 'things' I was recording, I continued to take photographs.







The next one, of the audience, was taken minutes after the ones you've just seen. Clearly the amazing energy was still in the air, lighting up the hall (in fact, I was surprised at the time that there seemed little or no need for the flash, even though the hall appeared as dark as before). Can you see the orb just infront of the pillars?


It wasn't until after the interval that I looked into the viewer. You can imagine my incredulity!
Had my camera gone beserk?
I showed them to Anna. She was equally stunned.
Tentatively, I took a photo of the audience reassembling . . . the camera showed nothing unexpected.




Finally, after The Planet Suite, I took my last photo of the evening. Everything was reassuringly back to normal, with nothing more spectacular than a beautiful, ordinary orb.

Ridiculous, isn't it, to describe the marvel of orbs as 'ordinary', but that was how they felt after the amazing sights that had gone before.

I don't know . . . I just don't know . . . I'm lost for words.

Bless you for sharing my amazement.


(See London's Orbs click here)