I now know the basics of reading sheet music. And by basics I mean that as long as the sheet music shows a single note I think I can work out how to play it. If it shows anything more complicated, then it might be a language I recognise, like English, but spoken by someone from Aberdeen in a broadest Doric, fit like. Incomprehensible.
I like the fact the app tries to teach both theory and practice. But I don’t know how well it does this as I’ve nothing to compare it too.
They say that if you learn a foreign language then you pick up the accent of the person who teaches you it. So, if you learn English from an Aberdonian you will pick up their accent too. You won’t sound like a BBC newsreader, you’ll sound like a sheep farmer.
For all I know, the app could be teaching me to sound like a sheep farmer rather than Elton John. But I am enjoying it and it provides a useful guide to progress as I can see that songs and concepts are becoming more complicated as I progress through it. Just don’t ask me to read more than one note.
There are 88 keys on a full size piano. 53 white and 36 black. I thought all pianos would be the same but each piano is subtly different in key size and response. If you want to know how they differ then watch this video as one man starts playing with the cheapest piano he can find and then works his way up to one worth $3m.
Along with an app I have a book: Alfred’s Basic Adult Piano Course: Lesson Book Level 1
Along with practicing each day following the app, I’m working my way through the book too. So far, I’ve learned that I need to curl my fingers like I’m holding a ball. I’m assuming tennis, rather than football.
What it doesn’t say, as my Mrs TwinBikeRun, has found out, is how hard is to do that when you have longer nails. She can’t press down on the keys without flattening her hand as, if she curls her fingers, she’s pressing down with the nail rather than the tips of her fingers.
Someone should invent piano gloves for women. A special pair of gloves that you can stick your hands in, nails and all, and have some foam under the nail to create extra long fingers.
A bit like the gloves in Roald Dahl’s The Witches, but without the whole being a witch and transforming children into mice bits.
Now, where’s the application form for Dragon’s Den?
I always thought that no one played shinty in the Western Isles.
Growing up, everyone played football, a small number played rugby and girls played hockey. There was no school shinty team and no shinty club in town. Shinty was one of those sports like Indian Kabbadi that only existed on television. Exotic names like Kingussie or Newtonmore. Mainland names.
I asked my Dad once why no one played shinty and he said, “because we’re not daft. Who wants to play a sport that requires an ambulance to take you home from hospital after every game?!?.”
It was this violent reputation that always made me think that shinty might be a good game to watch. Like seeing gladiators, or boxing, or golf, if it was a contact sport.
This year I was lucky enough to be invited through work to the final of the Cammanach Cup. It was great to finally see a match in action but also to learn that a cammanch is the stick the players use to hit the ball. And that health and safety had finally caught up with the game as players had to wear a metal grilled helmet to protect their head during games. Unless they were over 21, in which case it was optional. Not sure why turning 22 reduced the chance of a serious whack to the face or concussion but most players still used the helmet, even those over 21.
The game itself was easy to pick up and was a lot more skilful than expected. Well, I say skilful. If you combine cricket with the start of the new year sales, then you get an idea of the standard tactic. Hit ball long. Everyone run!
It was the last year of the original Cammanch Cup being used as the trophy. From next year, it will be kept in a museum in Inverness and a new trophy will be used. After the game, we were offered the chance to take a swig of whiskey from the cup, which showed that it wasn’t kept too safe in its final year, as it was passed round 100 people. I passed on the opportunity to drink from it. They might have thought it safe to pass the cup around, but with Covid back in the news, it felt less like an opportunity to celebrate with it, the end of an era, and more like the start of an outbreak.
Tickets for the cup final are available online and, if you get the chance to go to it, then I’d recommend you do.
Apparently you could have received a fine if you rode the UCI World Championship Course in Glasgow in August.
I say ‘apparently’ because I read it on a Facebook post and I can’t find any evidence that it is true. Much like most Facebook posts.
However, as I also read that Nicola Sturgeon definitely kept all the SNP’s stolen money in a bag marked “Swag” in the back of her motorhome, I shouldn’t take any chances. It may be true so…
I definitely didn’t ride the UCI World Championship Course in Glasgow in the morning before the woman’s world championship race. However, if I had, I imagine, and I stress for any policemen reading, this is imaginary, it would have probably involved something like this…
First, the course received some notoriety before the championships began as it had 42 corners and would require the male riders to turn almost 500 times during their 12 laps of the course.
I can confirm there were a hell of a lot of corners on the course. And, in face, there were more than 42. And, not only that, there were also two u-turns. But that might just have been because I took a wrong turn and ended up cycling the wrong way along the course.
I blame the Marshalls because the first time I went round the course, they didn’t shout out at all. The second time they did and that helped me know which way to go.
Unfortunately they also shouted “The course is live, get off the course!” but at least I knew I was going in the right direction.
The longest climb on the course is Montrose Street, beside Strathclyde University. However, it’s not the hardest climb on the course. That would be Scott Street in Garnethill, which is shorter but is much steeper. Neither thought is particularly challenging, at least not at the pace I was going. I imagine it’s harder when you’re trying to win a World Championship and you’re trying to go as fast as you can.
It was great to see the course and to ride through the city without traffic lights or traffic to worry about. There were also no potholes as the council had filled them all in the week before.
If you check Strava you’ll know find that every Strava segment in the course has been claimed by a professional cyclist so if you’re looking for records then you’ll need to do what I saw one man do: fastest up Montrose Street on a Brompton bile. I’d love to see MVP try that one.
But I definitely didn’t ride the course and even if you saw me, it wasn’t me a, when I stopped at George Square, as you couldn’t ride through the finish line, a woman walked over and said “Good luck in the race today!”.
I was flattered. She must have thought I was a professional. Then I remembered it was the woman’s race and she must have thought I was an international female cyclist.
Which was handy, as international female cyclists are allowed to ride the course…
I had two goals this year: Celtman Solo in June and the Devil of the Highlands ultra race in August. Until April, I thought my training was going well for DOTH, but then I injured my foot – more here – before I also got a chest infection just as I was getting ready to start running again. Between illness and injury I managed to run only six times between Easter and taking part in Celtman Solo in June. And six runs do not make a good training programme for an ultra marathon. So, I have had to pull out of this year’s race.
I’m not disappointed, just realistic. Like admitting I’m not going to play for Scotland. Or stand on the moon. Or tie my shoelaces properly. You know things that I could feasibly do but I’ve not shown any likelihood of doing so far.
I need to run 42 miles. I can currently run 10 miles, at a push. And ,unless the other 32 miles are downhill…
Prince Andrew doesn’t sweat, and I believe him because I too don’t sweat. At least not between October and April.
Don’t get me wrong, I do sweat. I sit in a sauna and recreate the Victoria falls. But, for six months of the year, it’s really difficult to sweat in Scotland because it’s too cold. As soon as temperature drops, unless I’ve got more layers than a James Bond villain, I can go out for a run and come back completely dry.
Sweating is meant to help cool you do. That’s why we do it. It regulates our internal temperature so we don’t overheat. But, in Glasgow, in winter, there’s no danger of that.
Instead, it would be so much easier if Charles Darwin was right and evolution had helped Scottish athletes evolve into a cross between a runner and a Calor gas heaters. I don’t need to sweat while running, I need to turn the gas up to avoid my hands turning blue and doing a good impression of the Na’vi of Avatar.
I know I can put on running tights, and gloves, a hat and a jacket. But that would just involve becoming half man half wardrobe. I want heat, not a catwalk.
I must admit though I do enjoy the days I can go running and not break a sweat as, when I get back, I can think “Do I really need a shower?” and skip it when I pass the sniff test.
You know the ‘sniff test’, don’t you? Everyone does it. A quick sniff of the armpit and, if you smell nothing, then no shower is required. (Never try this test with your feet, you’ll never leave the shower).
April though is when the weather changes and sweating returns. It’s as much a sign of Spring as new lambs, Easter eggs and forgetting your alarm clock automatically adjusts your clock and putting it forward an hour manually only to lose two hours (or is that just me?).
But even though sweating shows that temperatures are rising and the sun is shining, I do miss the winter months of being able to go for a run without having to shower as soon I get home.
Twin brothers swimming, cycling and running in Scotland 