A fearful flyer? In flight insight.

So I'm writing this blog from 31,000 ft (and posting from home, I should add). Boarding this flight proved a challenge - as did boarding on Wednesday. Tears, denial, panic. And a massive breakdown on boarding which led to cabin crew chatting with me and even sending me in for a talk with the pilot men on the flight deck.

Part of me feels a bit of a fraud. Right this very second I could be mistaken for a frequent flyer. Bach is blaring out of my headphones, G and T has been consumed, the book is being read. I am calm and relaxed (apart from a basic level of constant apprehension - relatively minimal). Though I gripped the seat tightly during the bumpy ride through Scotland's resident cloud cover, and am half wondering why I AM so calm (surely I should be a bit cautious?!), all is now well aboard BA flight 2965 from Glasgow to Gatwick. The Valium and G and T may be contributing but so what. 

 

I'm sure the people I bawled my eyes out to on the phone an hour ago will want to throttle me. But, learning as I am, an awful lot about my fear of flying, there is no getting round the huge psychological and emotional challenge and battle I endure every time I fly. The old patterns of worry and fear. 

My subconscious seems constantly to remind me that I hate flying. As such when preparations and plans are made, the flight or fight response is engaged and I am left panicking, questioning If I can get on, stewing over the fact I'll be at 30,000 ft, worrying, anxious and dead set against the idea of flying. It consumes me entirely and that's what gets me worked up, run down and, well, in such a state. Guess I'm only human. 

 

But (and Wednesday more or less showed the same) once aboard I know how to tackle any fearful thoughts (blocking them out and breathing deeply) and can enjoy - as much as I might - normal activities to a degree. I'm in the moment and dealing with it. 

I guess my psychological and emotional response to flying is where I need to do some work. The idea of flying seems to be what freaks me out. And my subconscious needs to catch on to the idea that really it can be ok. 

I should add that it's also ok because, following the breakdown on boarding, the cabin crew have been giving me the special treatment. Thanks to BA! Plus it's also easier because I know that the flight is a short one. 

Anyway, pilot man has announced 10 minutes to landing so I'm off to await the gracious feel of terra firma once more. Shame really, quite smoothe up here ....

The fearful flyer: A pre-flight insight

The power of the human mind can be quite incredible and, at times, rather destructive. Any fear that any of us has is borne from any number of things created by the mind - a misperception of risk, irrational thoughts and worries, the constant thought processes that can sometimes spiral out of control. Fear feeds on this and increases as a result.

Anyone who has wasted enough time to read any of my previous posts will know that I am fearful of flying. In 6 hours I will (or at the moment due to be) airborne. BA Cityflyer services from London City to Glasgow. The plane will take off, it will cruise, the nice BA lady will come and bring me my drink, and we will land. All within the space of about 1 hour or so. That this will happen is a virtual certainty (given the statistics). To any rational person, this process is normal and easy. There's little more to it than that which I describe.

Over the last few days, I have been putting on the brave face and have striven to apply techniques, thoughts and processes learnt on a recent Fear of Flying programme. It's been tricky, but I have for the most part kept the evil demons at bay. The feelings of nervousness, or of being trapped in something you cannot get out of.

Until 14 hours ago. Since 5pm last evening, there have been two rather notable meltdowns. Irrational thinking; tears ... many tears; and, in all seriousness, the closest I have ever come to not boarding a flight (it will be so easy to stay a few more stops on the London Underground and board a Glasgow bound train at Euston). All over a 1 hour flight. Sounds pathetic, I'll bet.

A psychologist would probably paint a better picture than me; though I feel like my subconscious and conscious are battling one another. The former trained, over many years, to warn me of flying, to know that I am scared of flying and to remind me of the instances during the process that I fear the most - building them up in my mind. It's as easy to cling to these thought processes as it is to daydream. Just as a snowball running down a hill, gathers both momentum and further snow as it goes downhill, so a mind such as this can - the more it worries, frets, turns things over - increase in fear results and it becomes harder to break the cycle. Just as a snowball reaches the bottom of a hill, bangs into a wall and breaks into many pieces; so have I this morning (metaphorically speaking, of course). My conscious thoughts, however, are aware that I can get on this plane; that I can cope with it - I've done it before. I might be nervous, might not find it completely comfortable, but I will get there.

But to be honest, I think, the upset comes because I expect miracles. Having been on the recent course, I expect myself to be 100% comfortable and happy with boarding a plane and going on a flight. That is unrealistic. Rome wasn't built in a day. The continuing presence of subconscious worries and anxiety has unsettled me and led me to think that - "well I've tried, no progress has been made, let's get a holiday home in Cornwall for the rest of our days". But, of course those thoughts are going to be there. It's been my body's reaction to flying for the last 13 years since I first challenged gravity's forces. I guess the presence of some conscious thoughts, telling me I can do this and can cope (however badly or tentatively) is a sign of some progress. Maybe once the tears are wiped away I will see that. So there's frustration too.

But the thing is. That plane's going to get there either way. There seems little point in stewing for hours over a 1 hour flight over which I have no influence or control (just wish I could tell myself that!). All it does is change or - essentially - put unnecessary pressure on me - to deal with it in a particular way. That plane's going to get to Glasgow either way, whether or not I'm enjoying the ride or gripping the seat or hand of the stranger next to me. Rationally speaking it seems that easy and it's so frustrating that I cannot see it that way.

I want so badly to overcome the fear of flying - hence why I booked this. I want to board a plane as easy as I board my train every morning. But why is something so rationally normal and simple (and safe and comfortable) so difficult and such a challenge. Beats me.

Flying without fear - Virgin Atlantic's course: the experience

It's been a while since I last put pen to paper and, indeed, my most recent posts have been dominated by considerations of the fear of flying. This has become, it seems, my resolution for 2014. I've already written on my experiences in flying to Nice. Yesterday, however, I took on the 'fear of flying' head on and spent the day at Gatwick on Virgin Atlantic's fear of flying course (http://www.flyingwithoutfear.co.uk/).

The day involved lots of talking, discussion, laughter, twanging of elastic bands and a flight.

We spent about 2 hours with an experienced pilot who explained every aspect of flight and of how a plane works and stays in the air. Though I found I had a basic understanding of this notion of 'lift' and how a jet stays in the air, this part of the day did so much to dispel those irrational fears, feelings and thoughts that try to convince you that the plane is going to 'fall out the sky'. Pilots think of everything that the most paranoid passenger fears. Plus every other conceivable possibility. Nothing is left to chance, they prepare for everything (absolutely everything) and are trained regularly for anything. We also heard from a member of the cabin crew - useful to hear what they are trained in and what they can do.

The second part of the day (or early evening by this point) was a psycho-educational session with a trained psychologist. We learned about fear, what it is, where it comes from and why we have it. We were taught about 'Old Thought Patterns' which have led to the fear of flying becoming entrenched in our minds and 'the way we think', and about how to challenge and tackle these with 'New Patterns' of thought, usually on the lines of flying being safe and natural etc. And we learned a number of techniques to break the Old Patterns and to remain calm in the face of anxiety. The techniques were varied - from twanging elastic bands on your wrist (to wake yourself from automatic thought processes) to karate chopping your hands together; and from deep breathing (my personal favourite) to visualizing 'spinning' thoughts and controlling them. These were and are designed to help fearful flyers to remain calm when approaching a flight and also to break these negative thought processes.

By mid-afternoon, (between the two sessions) I was slightly unnerved to find my anxiety levels rising. I had entered the day full of excitement and anticipation; not scared in the slightest. But as the clock ticked ever closer to take-off, nerves crept in. I was reassured, however - of course the nerves would increase - I was getting ever closer to thing I feared most - the flight itself.

As we got the bus to and walked through Gatwick's South Terminal the first signs of progress became obvious. In the past, arriving at the airport, going through the check-in process, and getting to the gate have usually been accompanied by a growing sense of panic, fear, and a longing to return to the car park. This time, I was joking, laughing and talking lots about work - often to the extent that I forgot where I was. That's not to say I wasn't completely unnerved. I was a bit anxious, yes; but so much less than before.

Historically, for me, boarding the plane is the worst part. And yes, the anxiety levels rose quite a bit here; but again, never to the levels I had experienced before. Though promising myself I would attempt the window seat, I happily plonked myself down on the aisle, just in front of the wings. The 30 minute time between boarding and take off were nerve-racking. Knees trembling, hand shaking (and dripping) the nerves were at their height. I reached into my pocket and swallowed a Valium and used the deep-breathing techniques to keep myself relatively calm. As in May, I found take-off to be a 'non-event'. Engines roar, nose goes up, clouds get closer and sheep get smaller. As is life. I stayed relatively calm, if a little cautious.

For the first 20 minutes of the flight, the fear came in waves. Relatively calm one minute, tackling brimming anxiety the next (especially when the two souls between me and the window embarked on a joint adventure to the toilet). The worst moments were when I managed to pluck up the courage to look out the window, only for the plane to bank and the ground suddenly to shoot downwards, out of sight.

But as the flight went on (and probably, as the Valium kicked in), I got used to my surroundings and managed to keep myself (with much greater ease) calm. It got easier. The plane did its thing, I admired Brighton from 15,000 ft and took the time to point out both the sunset and the London skyline to my fellow passengers. And then we landed. Job done.

The experience, then? Well, Rome wasn't built in a day. I went into the course half thinking that I would be 'magically cured' and get on the flight without a care in the world. This was unrealistic. I've spent the last 13 years of my life (probably more) thinking in the way that a nervous flyer thinks and responding to flights in the way that petrified air-travellers do. It's about learning what causes the fear and applying the techniques to change the way of thinking; that will take time. But I managed to show myself, towards the end of the flight, that I CAN get used to the environment that I am in; and knowing about what the plane does and is supposed to do, that environment becomes much easier to justify and rationalize. Once I am used to that environment, relaxation comes much, much more easily. And with relaxation, anxiety seeps away.

So it's about applying the knowledge and understanding, using the techniques to dispel the negative thoughts and to keep the anxiety at bay; and once used to the environment to relax and enjoy it.

Many who know me know that the little boy inside me still sucks his fingers - ONLY ever at times when he is tired and completely relaxed. As Monarch flight 9008, Gatwick - Gatwick glided over the M23 and towards runway 26L, the two fingers went in. Who cares what the dentist says, I'm taking that as a good sign. Let's go 'round again, I can tackle this fear.

Thanks Virgin Atlantic, for giving me the tools to tackle the fear of flying.

.

Taking to the skies: Battling the fear of flying at 35,000ft

I wrote, a few weeks back, about the fear of flying and my experiences of it. I also wrote of my determination to overcome it, something on which I am still working. Anyway, this weekend I took to the skies for a quick break to Monaco for the Historic Grand Prix and I wanted to write about these flights, if only for my own benefit of documenting the experiences.

I flew from Gatwick to Nice on Thursday evening (8th May), returning via the same route on Monday evening (12th May), both aboard one of BA's smaller jets (A319 and 737 respectively). Flying out, we had the benefit of the Club Europe experience, enjoying the fancy BA lounge at the airport and sitting in the more spacious four rows of seats at the very front of the aircraft. And the luxuries continued in flight with a full hot meal and a full compliment of drinks to match. It was 4 rows from the back for the return flight ...

The pre-flight nerves kicked in with about 24 hours to go. The thought and the fear of flying was going 'round and 'round my mind and it became increasingly difficult to control. Even a day in the office preceding the evening flight did little to calm the mood. The anxiety reached it's peak about 90 minutes before the scheduled departure, just before I dove into the security queues, with the usual denial that I could even go through with the short flight. At times, I was close to tears. One valium and a short while later, I was finding it a bit easier to relax, even encouraged by a view overlooking landing planes on the runway and the safe termination of numerous adventures into the heavens. Lots of deep breaths and happy thoughts helped too!

The breaths and thoughts continued aboard the aircraft where, being Club Europe, we were among the first to take our seats. This meant I could do my utmost to acclimatise to the unnerving surroundings and work hard to relax and stay calm. In my experiences, the fear of flying is at its peak at two points - first, on boarding the aircraft and, second, that moment when the pilot gives it the beans and demands full power from the jet engines. Though boarding was typically nerve-racking (the point of no-return #1), having had the chance to settle on board a bit meant I found take off (the point of no-return #2) unusually relaxing. I stayed  relatively calm and even deigned to look out of the window to see the dusk covered Sussex countryside fall away as we reached for the skies. I remained encouragingly and unusually calm for most of the flight, employing various approved relaxation techniques whenever the little demons in my head dared to remind me that I was in a tin can, miles off the face of my home planet. The recipe was not to think too much about where I was and to try and sit back and relax in a positive frame of mind. The fear of flying is purely psychological afterall. Reading helped, as did Bach and a nice G&T. I think the fact it was only 88 minutes long and at night also played a significant part too. We went up. We came down; landing with what my flying partner described as an unusually heavy thump on French soil. Heavy or not, I didn't care. Terra firma was mine once more. The post-flight relief is something I've experienced and enjoyed before - one of the perks of having the fear of flying. I found the flight out, then, particularly encouraging and promising, describing it as one of my best. Never before had I achieved such relaxation aboard a soaring jet and I was pleased that I not only knew how I could control the gremlins in my head, but also that I could work to overcome them. Maybe I really can conquer this fear.

Sadly, such encouragement and motivation was somewhat dented on my return flight. Being stuck in cattle class, right at the very back (the most uncomfortable seats) didn't help; neither did the queasy stomach to which I had awoken that morning - probably due, in no small part, to the blistering Monaco heat of the previous day and the constantly beating sun with which it was accompanied. The nerves came much later this time, not really kicking in until we were sitting by the gate and with less than an hour to go, but when they did come I found that - both before and during the flight - I could not relax particularly easy and even where I did achieve relaxation it did not stick around. Even the glass of vino blanc enjoyed at 35,000 ft did little to help. I was on edge the whole way back, gripping the seat for most of it and fighting a constant battle in my head. Whenever I managed to calm a little and pick up my book, it took less than a minute for it to be discarded again, in preference for the arm rests. Closed eyes and the St Matthew Passion pelting my ear drums was the prevailing habit on the way back. But, I suppose, I can take one thing from the more difficult return flight. I was constantly aware that the fear was in my mind; psychological. And, looking back, the most common feeling I experienced during the 600 mile journey from Nice to Gatwick was not of fear but of frustration. Frustration that I was finding it difficult to conquer the feeling of fear in my mind. Yes I was afraid for much of the flight, but I was also aware that it was my mind that was creating that fear. I was just disheartened that I struggled to overcome it. Cue relief on landing once more.

And so, post flight thoughts? I am, I must say, looking forward to taking the Virgin Fear of Flying course on 6th July. I am still trying to see the positives - particularly of Thursday's flight - and I have shown that I can relax and stay calm (albeit on a short flight). Hopefully the professional help of Virgin Atlantic can teach me to do that more successfully than I managed on Monday evening and with longer term success. I desperately want to overcome this fear, though I know that if I can't I am resigned to a life either defined by holiday-time terror or by never seeing the world. The prospect of the former would probably make me choose the latter. Overall, the experience has been good. I flew, I survived and I showed that I could relax, stay calm and make it through. But that relaxation has also shown itself sometimes difficult to achieve. For me, I want to get to the point where I can sit and wait for a plane, board that plane and fly with as much ease as I travel by train. I'm not there, but hopefully I'm getting there. I think. Besides, the chances of dying in a plane crash are 1 in 11 million. Scared or not, I suppose I'll always get there.

Thanks for reading.

Senna: 20 years on

It was labelled 'Formula One's darkest weekend' and shook the sport to its very core, emotionally and politically, causing many to question its purpose and motivation.

The San Marino Grand Prix 1994 took place at the notorious (even before that time) Imola racing circuit, just outside the principality in northern Italy, between Friday 29 April and Sunday 1 May. It was overshadowed by three horrible incidents that have, since that time, cast a permanent shadow over the sport of the risks that drivers face race after race, albeit now to a reduced degree, thankfully.

In practice on the Friday, Rubens Barrichello suffered a terrifying high speed accident in his Jordan. He smacked into the wall and was catapulted over the tyre wall, coming to a halt upside down and unconscious. Were it not for the quick thinking and expert work of the medics, Barrichello would not have enjoyed a career that lasted until 2011, thankfully he did and achieved a distinguished career at Ferrari, involving a number of race wins. In qualifying on the Saturday, Roland Ratzenberger crashed, hitting a concrete wall head-on at a speed of 190 mph. He suffered a fracture to the skull and was pronounced dead, shortly afterwards, at the nearby hospital, his marking the first death that Formula One had seen at a race-meeting in 12 years. It would be just 24 hours until the next.

On Sunday, Ayrton Senna started from pole and retained first place as the Safety Car, deployed following a first lap incident, returned to the pits at the start of lap 5. Just a lap later, leading into the Tamburello Corner - at the beginning of the Imola circuit - Senna left the circuit and hit the concrete wall at a speed in excess of 130 mph. The race was stopped and Senna was attended to at the trackside before being airlifted to the hospital. He was pronounced dead a short time later, as a result of head injuries suffered during the accident. It marked the end of a tragic weekend that devastated the world of Formula One - I remember it vividly.

Following the deaths, changes were introduced to improve the sport and to investigate possible answers and, it is fair to say, it is a safer place and environment as a result. But it did not change the fact that Roland Ratzenberger and Ayrton Senna were gone.

Senna was and is, to this day, regarded as the 'greatest of all time'. He may not have won as many championships as Fangio or Vettel; achieved as many pole positions as Schumacher or race wins as Prost but ask virtually any driver or fan and most will agree that Senna was head and shoulders above the rest. It was his dedication to the sport, his devotion to winning and the way he committed to every drive - it was as if it was so much more than a job or even a passion, it was - to him - what he had been put on this planet to do. Of course, inevitably, it got him into a few sticky situations - championships in 1989 and 1990 were both decided by incidents involving Prost. But the talent is unmistakable - he had a gift like no other, seen particularly at Donnington Park in 1993 where he gained 5 places during the first lap, to take the lead; eventually taking the victory a staggering 1min 23secs ahead of the nearest rival. Senna could drive like no one else and had immense car control. He was particularly famous for blistering pole laps, often setting times totally unmatchable, even by equal machinery.

I saw Senna once, at qualifying for the 1993 British Grand Prix at Silverstone. He neither qualified on pole nor won the race, but I remember being in the presence of a legend and seeing the flash of his yellow helmet as he shot passed at Copse corner.

Senna is also often remembered for his records at the Monaco Grand Prix - an event he won 6 times in a decades, including 5 times in row from 1989 - 1993. Indeed, my earliest memory of Formula One is the 1992 Monaco Grand Prix where Senna managed to keep Mansell - on fresher tyres - behind for the final part of the race. Next week I go, for the first time, to Monte-Carlo and to watch the Historic Monaco Grand Prix (involving historic F1 cars). Wary of the significance of the place to Senna and the timing of the visit, I shall be sure to raise a glass in Gerhard's - a bar owned by Gerhard Berger, Senna's team-mate at McLaren for 3 years - to the great man.

Twitter will, this week, be awash with tributes and thoughts of #Senna and rightly so - gone, but not forgotten and forever respected. Here's mine.

Messing about on a river

Last week I spent 7 gloriously sunny days on a narrowboat in South Wales on the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal. It was my first such experience though one I am determined to repeat in time.

Generally, I like my holidays active. Travelling tens and hundreds of miles to sit and lie around, doing absolutely nothing has always seemed to me a somewhat bizarre activity for a holiday. Yes, holidays should be relaxing and time to 'chill' is vital, but they should also be interesting and enjoyable. The prospect of spending a whole week on a 50ft boat, however, filled me with great excitement and more than lived up to its expectations. It provided the perfect balance. Spending many enjoyable hours a day manhandling the long craft through the narrow bridges and locks was offset perfectly by the odd hour here and there to read, to walk, and to sample Wales' finest ales. (I also endured a beating at Monopoly).

The holiday was a success for many, many reasons. The lack of phone signal provided the peace and quiet, the water provided the charm, the fiancee provided the affection, and the spectacular views came courtesy of the partnership between South Wales and the weatherman.

Of particular note, however, the joy of the holiday played perfectly to my strengths. I am an over-thinker. As an academic, I have that incurable inability to switch off - whether it's planning next year's classes, debating the form of an upcoming project or fine tuning the wording of an article, my mind is invariably ticking over from dawn 'til dusk, 7 days a week. Sitting and relaxing on a beach, bored out of my mind, would just have provided a nice backdrop to the usual mental noise. A narrowboat holiday, by contrast, takes the mind elsewhere and forces you to stop thinking and to start concentrating. You may only be going at walking pace, but on the narrow turns of the canal, let the mind drift for a second, and the boat will head for the sides, perhaps run aground, and lacking both the agility of a motorcar and the immediacy of traction that comes on the roads, it can take drastic action just to correct the direction and get the boat back on course.

It was a perfect holiday, then. And I return refreshed and revitalised for a few more months of work.

The fear of flying

I have a fear of flying. I'm not a nervous flyer, or a bit anxious on take-off, but a terror stricken passenger from start to finish - I have a fear of flying. This is quite restricting.

Many of my friends are off next week on a two week tour of China. I am not going due to work commitments and unfinished lectures. If I were going, however, I know that - unlike my excited friends planning and talking about all that they will enjoy - I would be quivering in my boots, almost wishing I wasn't going and be panicking about the long flight necessary to endure.

One thing that strikes me about the fear of flying, however, is the lack of wider understanding in its regard.

Everybody seems to think they know what your fear of flying is. Consequently, they reassure with pretty useless statistics and hollow encouragement, saying "once you're up there you're fine". The statistics are true. I know. I can sit here perfectly rationally and accept them and understand them. But that's the thing, there's nothing rational about the fear of flying and, as such, no rational argument or statistics can negotiate with it. Try telling someone who's scared of spiders that a little arachnid has never grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed its victim.

Another one that always reaches my ears: long flights are easier than short ones.

No they're not. Let me tell you why.

I know that take-off and landing are generally the most dangerous and widely nervous parts of a flight. It is when the plane is doing the most and working the hardest to defy gravity or work in collaboration with it. In between, the plane moves relatively little. It soars through the skies at 30,000 feet until it's time to descend. What people mean when they say that shorter flights are worse than longer flights is that a greater proportion of the experience is taken up by take-off and landing with not very much time spent being able to relax and settle down amidst the clouds. For someone with a fear of flying, however, this means absolutely nothing.

A mind fearful of flying does not care that, at 30,000 the plane is doing relatively little, getting into its stride, meaning that those on board can settle down and 'chill out'. A fear of flying is in the mind and from the moment those wheels leave the ground until terra firma is enjoyed once again, that mind is panic stricken and terror ridden regardless of what the plane is doing and whether or not it is rational to relax. Other people can relax as much as they want, however, someone with a fear of flying will sit there with sweaty palms, gripping the seat or the nearest hand until the wheels touch the runway. As such, shorter flights are easier than longer flights. I've never been aboard an aircraft for longer than 2 hours and long haul flights feel me with great dread.

The fear is very much in the mind, however, and just by saying that I know I'm on the road to accepting it and conquering it. I have flown before - little hops around Europe - and I am determined to fly again. Indeed, in 5 weeks time I fly to Monaco. In September I could be flying to Glasgow (yes, I know it's only Scotland but that's just as much of a challenge). Next year, honeymoon plans are full of New York, Washington and Orlando. I am, now more than ever, determined to conquer this fear and to enjoy a life that resignation to the fear prevents. I will fly and I will enjoy the destinations that it offers. I have the books and I am hopefully soon taking the fear of flying course. Most importantly, however, I am of the mindset that accepts this fear and plans to overcome it. Anxiety can be conquered.

The Bach Choir: St Matthew Passion

So this Sunday is The Bach Choir's annual performance of J S Bach's iconic St Matthew Passion. To put that in context, I'm in and strongly committed to The Bach Choir and am a little obsessed with Bach's music, particularly his choral works. But it will be so much more than another enjoyable concert, the event is one markedly different from every other The Bach Choir concert for a number of reasons.

First, the music. Bach was a genius. Fan or not, there's no disputing his importance and contribution to the musical world and the extent to which this continues to influence musicians today. Of particular note, however, the Matthew Passion is one of his very best outputs - its drama, its depth and its variety of music make it, in places, truly sublime and spine-tingling to sing. Demanding large forces - a double choir, double orchestra, 6 soloists and a ripieno chorus, it is a work that can (though not in The Bach Choir's performances) last over 3 hours. Klemperer's recording, indeed, lasts for 3hrs 45mins. Written for Good Friday in Leipzig in 1727, it is often compared to the John Passion and, indeed, I - like many - would say that I prefer the earlier work (just) - the John being composed as part of JS's audition for his post in Leipzig at Easter 1723. But the two passions are different - the Matthew, in my opinion is an opera, the John more of an oratorio. As such, the arias stand out in the Matthew as some of Bach's best writing - diverse, dramatic and, at times, emotionally rich. The John, by contrast, offers the choir more of an active role. The Matthew Passion, though, can be counted amongst Bach's most amazing compositions and it will be great to perform it again.

Second, the choir. The Bach Choir's annual passiontide performance of the Matthew Passion goes back deep into this great institution's long and distinguished history and, as such, it has become something of a milestone on the musical calendar. Consequently, the piece runs through the choir's veins and is known so well that it can be approached differently from other works that we rehearse. Little changes and tweaks are made each year and these work to refine, year by year, our performance, ensuring that it remains fresh. Performing something with such heritage, however, brings a special sense of contribution to an important musical festival. It is a piece that belongs to the choir, to a degree, and it's great to be a part of that year after year.

Third, the time and event. Generally, concerts take place of an evening, after a hard day's work. As such, they often feel like an added extra to a day's proceedings, albeit a big and enjoyable one. By contrast, performing - as we do - at 11am on Passion (or Palm, depending on the year) Sunday means that that day is about one thing. Indeed, add a 2 hour lunch break, and you have a full day's event, one that finishes about 4pm with a great sense of achievement and the culmination of a musical and, in some ways, spiritual journey.

The annual performance of the Matthew Passion, therefore, is a key event. Musically sublime, historically important and year after year significant. It gets better and better and I, for one, can't wait for what will be my 6th passion with The Bach Choir.

Abstinence and Devotion: Lent and Music

As a Christian, from year to year I endeavour to honour Lent. To reflect Jesus' wandering in the desert, this typically comes in the form of giving something up, though it can also be honoured through taking something up as well.

Following successful abstinence from alcohol last year, I was challenged, by certain friends, to give up listening to the music of J S Bach for the whole of Lent (anyone who knows me well will know the serious challenge this would pose). Never particularly enamoured with the idea, I at least agreed - with incredible reluctance - to give it a go. I lasted until 14.45 on Ash Wednesday. My heart was never in it and it was only ever going to take the slightest glimpse of weakness (or stubbornness) to break. That came in the form of particularly fraught moment at work - when I'm stressed, I usually stick on a bit of Bach. 'Nuff said. In addition, however, my issue ran a little deeper. For me Lent is not about accepting a challenge from friends and giving something up merely to prove to others that you can live without it. Lent is about sacrifice and devotion - giving up something that you enjoy , making yourself a better person and doing yourself some good in the meantime. Alcohol ticks both those boxes. The music of Bach mostly certainly does not - it is itself a source of good. Hence why I was not too fussed about sticking on the St Matthew Passion last Wednesday afternoon. 

At the suggestion of my Wife-to-be, however, I am endeavouring to listen to a new piece of music every day for the whole of Lent. And so far this is something I have stuck to. Today was Karl Jenkins' 'The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace'. Mahler 8 and A Child of our Time have already had an airing. Tomorrow it will be Handel's 'Israel in Egypt'. Unlike the prospect of giving up Bach, the idea of listening to a new piece of music every - something I've not listened to before - is exciting, interesting and offers a broadening both of the mind and one's tastes. It is certainly something I am enjoying - Mahler's 8th Symphony, in particular, was not a piece I was expecting to like. Now it is on my wish list. As a Lenten exercise, therefore, this revised musical challenge is proving to be particularly fun and satisfying. It brings devotion and discipline but also offers opportunity for improvement. 

And means that the music of Bach remains ever present in my ears, of course.

Formula One 2014 - the countdown to a new era.

Though I've only just posted and intend just to write every week or so, I thought I would kick off, however, with something a little more substantial than a mere explanation of what this blog will come to be.

One of my greatest enthusiasms is Formula One. An avid fan for as long as I can remember (Mansell driving the streets of Monaco, virtually nudging the gearbox of - and failing to beat the victorious - Senna, in 1992, being my earliest memory of the sport), I await with great anticipation the start of the 2014 season and have been keeping a keen eye on the winter testing.

The changes to be introduced for this new season are among some of the most dramatic to be imposed in quite a number of years. New turbocharged engines; ERS systems (to replace KERS) and radically different aerodynamic regulations that have already been interpreted in number of ways (http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/formula1/25946895). Consequently, the coming season is being hotly anticipated with some perhaps hoping that it will knock Vettel off his perch and inject a little more spice and variety into the sport.

Signs from winter testing are interesting in this regard ... AMG Mercedes, McLaren and Force India (both Mercedes powered) are coming to the end of what has been a largely successful testing programme. Long stints managed with few reliability problems and constantly quick times suggest these teams (and others) have adapted to the changes well. Red Bull, by contrast, have been receiving a lot of coverage in the media as having a great deal of problems and difficulties (just this morning Vettel's car, in testing, made it through just 4 corners on the first stint and the end of the pit lane on the second try; before it came to an abrupt stop). The opening weekend of the season (15 / 16 March) will be interesting.

As a firm fan of the Brits - Hamilton and Button, it's reassuring to see them doing well in testing and I hold out hope that this will translate to results come the season. And Vettel? Well, the German is often criticised with suggestions rife that he only wins because he has the best car. And that might be true; but it was equally true of Schumacher, Senna, Prost and pretty much every other World Champion. He's done well. Very well. Four World Championships and he's only 26 years of age. His hard work has been justified and his spoils deserved. And for his sake I hope the gremlins of testing are resolved.

Equally, though, I hope for an action packed season with some good racing and genuine competition. Only two weeks 'til lights out in Albert Park.

The birth of 'Short and sweet'

So I've started another blog.

My first was set up during the year in which I was living in North London (http://drjohnstanton.blogspot.co.uk/). To live in the 'Big Smoke' was something I had, for sometime, wanted to do; so when the opportunity arose I was keen to document the daily grind of life in our nation's capital. Something I did every few weeks or so, writing about a range of issues and topics. Since moving out, however, despite intentions to set up a new blog, I have not been posting ... until now.

'Short and sweet' will be a much more general blog; with no specific topic and no specific lifespan, I envisage that it will cover topics such as sport, music, personal accounts and perspectives of life in general. My reason for writing? Simple. I love writing. In my view, a blog is not written primarily to be read but primarily to be written. It is a way of venting one's thoughts, putting them down on paper, and taking the chance to reflect. I would never deign ever to impose my ramblings on people, insisting that they take the time to read; so this blog will be written, regardless of whether it is ever read. If you are reading, I thank you.

Enjoy. Or not. I know I will.