It's turned out to be a very busy week.  There's been the ongoing task of putting music onto the computer for November, a bit of chasing around preparing publicity materials, trying to find a box office to take us on, alerting journalists, that sort of thing.  I'm still working on the final details of the programmes as well, filling up the odd gap - usually I make concerts too long, but I think I've erred too far the other way this time so I'm looking for extra music that we haven't done before.

My expected visit to the National Library of Scotland went for a burton on Wednesday because I spent a fascinating hour or two at Newhall in West Lothian, where Ramsay apparently wrote The Gentle Shepherd.  The current resident of the house, which is set in spectacular and idiosyncratic grounds, invited me to have a look round with a view to some sort of open air event.  Hidden in the glen are two stone plaques set into the rocks, with engraved on them the prologues to the first two scenes.  And sure enough, they're set at perfect places to perform those very scenes.  If you follow the burn up the glen, there's also the pool described by Peggy in scene two, and it's every bit as inviting as she says it is.  I managed to resist the urge to jump in, and made it to Edinburgh just in time to get soaked in torrential rain, arriving on the doorstep of the Scottish Arts Council dripping wet for my meeting with Helen, our ever-supportive Music Officer.

Last night I went to see a 'new work season' at the Arches - seven different collaborations between individuals and groups, each set in a different performance space.  There was everything from a wonderful trapeze artist who I could happily have watched all night, and a very funny two-hander theatre piece based on safety demonstrations, to some quite staggering displays of the triumph of hope over lack of talent.  The needle on my pretentious-wankometer hit the stops a couple of times.  Cnut were there too, doing a Vienna 1901 cabaret as the two Gustavs, Mahler and Klimt, with two dancing girl hostesses.  That was just weird, but they did a great song about ointment.  Andrew McKinnon was milling around in the audience, so we spent the evening passing wry comments on this and that, and cooking up ideas for future theatrical collaborations - watch this space.