April 9th Maundy Thursday - Folkie and Fit

All the great institutions of the Arts are now reaching into audience's homes to help dispel the gloom of isolation. Foremost in the field are the legendary musicians of the Nelson Arms in Middleton-by-Wirksworth, in whose ranks I proudly name myself. Our host and inspiration was, for the sake of his modesty we will refer to him by a nom de plume plucking a random name from the air, let's call him Andy Martin. Performing to a gallery of 11 screens demands a different sort of rapport with an audience. Because everyone's face fills a frame a performer can check that they are all listening, they're nodding with approval and in time to the rhythm (albeit a beat behind), they're not texting friends below the camera shot or wandering off to get a pint or a pizza, that they are awake and any dazed expressions pass for sheer ecstasy. The performer can ensure that they applaud dutifully, grin enthusiastically and unmute themselves so you can hear the compliments. Though it's remote it's surprisingly intimate because we are all in close-up, but we can see what state of tidiness each lives in and occasionally a partner drifts in, looks and swallows hard, and then leaves. But it was a wonderful evening, two and half hours flew by and the music and chat produced excellent camaraderie. Advice was passed on to the less technical and a largely auditory experience became a visual spectacle when Rob Stamper demonstrated different virtual backgrounds. Unfortunately a background presupposes a foreground and in this case it was Rob's shirt. Despite that - let's do it again. Thanks Andy and everyone else.

A bright but chilly morning saw Deirdre and I set off on our prescribed exercise. Every walk from Crich requires a major descent to be followed, in consequence, by a major ascent. This morning that downward route dropped further than intended and, ipso facto, the subsequent climb was rather more gruelling than planned. Somehow we clambered up what appeared to be a stream bed and ended up on a path we knew very well, with no idea how we got onto it. However, while enjoying the flat part at the bottom along a section of the canal at Ambergate, we noted through the trees what presumably is some sort of reclamation centre with everything from old dodgem cars, to a rotary turnip cutter to a couple of wigwams. It's noticing such bizarre features that makes each walk an adventure. So what's the story behind this huge stuffed gorilla on a trampoline who has obviously been out all night?

The walk started by a climb up the Tors steps, which I found myself positively gambolling up like a young ibex on steroids. What is it about this allowed exercise that's making us fitter? I didn't isolate myself to get fit! It wasn't part of the contract. From this Saturday when I clock 73 I was planning to be a benign old man, wrapped in a blanket on a bench in the sun, smoking a clay pipe and cheerfully spitting into the dust. Instead I might be doing the 200 metres hurdles.