Bill Bailey in Bristol

Off to see the master of comedy keyboard tonight. Here's a taster.

zzzzzzzz

... still catching up on sleep ...

More sleep, less art please

Far too little sleep in the name of art this week (oh yes, how noble (who am I kidding - how pretentious) it sounds put like that). Philip Glass's Violin Concerto and Bansky vs Bristol Museum owe me a lie-in. More about both to fol... zzzz....

All very Scilly

Just spotted a few thoughts by Matthew Parris of The Times on the Isles of Scilly. Bryher, the island on which I spent ten summers, is no bigger than a mile one way, a mile and a half the other, with a population of less than 100, but that little piece of Atlantic-beaten land, with its hidden beaches, expansive views and rocky outcrops, from the soft sands of Rushy Bay to steep drops of Hell Bay, is like nowhere else I've been. I haven't returned for nearly another ten summers, afraid the age of tourism might have spoilt its wildness, but perhaps it's weathered the storm...

'When first I visited, some years ago, the Isles of Scilly were, for me, the most unexpected place. I had thought “tame”. They are wild. I’d thought “manicured”. They are unkempt. I’d thought “herbaceous borders”. They are rock-strewn moor and grassland. I’d thought “cream teas and sightseeing tours on the hour”. Instead, heaving seas and occasional inter-island ferries with wooden seats.

This August, on a two-day break for my 60th birthday, I had thought “crowded beaches in August”. But the empty white sand beaches and clear water bays were almost lonely: a magical sojourn on the island of Bryher, cut off from transport and the holiday crowds, and with a desperate scramble to find a boat to the next island on the morning we had to leave.

Little more, really, than a slew of ragged granite outcroppings flung out into the ocean off the end of Cornwall; the fingers of rock and steep little fields didn’t swim into view from the haze on the Atlantic horizon until just after we’d lost sight of Land’s End. Somehow that matters.'

From London to Bristol

When you're walking the streets of Bristol this September, don't be surprised if you happen across a piano. And if, after looking over your shoulder to see who's watching, you feel tempted to sit down and, haltingly, attempt to pick out a tune or tiptoe up a scale that echoed in your childhood, or even launch into some Rachmaninov or improvise like Art Tatum, feel free. These pianos are ours.

Balloon crazy

At this weekend's annual hot air balloon fiesta in Bristol, I may have taken one too many photos... don't worry though, I'll spare you the many and just share one.

Thought

There was a parchment moon last night, its yellow surface written on in ink. Ink that's now faded, gradually pushing the story it enshrined into silence.

Stars in stripes

All those stripey tops in the film Coco avant Chanel reminded me of a picture that always makes me smile - Le Pains de Picasso Enjoy.