I’m paying for this

I’m seriously worried this morning about getting on the train. So I’ve already unscrewed the rack, and made it all look as much as possible like a bicycle, and not like a tandem. Michael has come to assist if necessary.

In fact it’s all pretty easy. There’s a bike already half in the “two bikes only” space, which is as far as it will go. But at least I’m on the train, and it’s moving.

It probably helped that St. Germans is an unstaffed station. Why is there a mainline station at such a tiny place? Because a far-sighted Victorian aristocrat, in return for allowing the railway across his land, required that there should be a station, with a commitment to local boarding rights, in perpetuity.

It turns out the other cyclist is a very famous violinist and conductor. His website lists 120 world class orchestras he has guest-conducted, and 125 CDs with his name on the front. He has just, he says, concluded a spirited correspondence with his sister about the Bach Cello Suite Sarabandes. So how, he wants to know, do I interpret the 5th? Did I agree that there are too many recordings of this one by people who shouldn’t have made them?

The hour passes very quickly. A ticket inspector pushes past us, without noticing the bicycles impeding his passage. But they won’t let me out of the station. The email “confirmation of ticket purchase” doesn’t count, because the small print says I should have picked up a physical ticket from Exeter – which I haven’t been anywhere near. And the ticket machine here won’t help because it requires to see the actual card I bought the ticket with, which expired, and was therefore thrown away, last month. In the end I just pedal off when no-one’s looking.

Truro is an unusual cathedral. In St. Germans they call it the “new cathedral”. It’s so far from any others that it does everything entirely in its own way. So I’ve had to pay to perform here, for instance.

In return for an upfront fee, the cathedral promised – among other things – to promote the event and make it a success. It’s Tuesday today, and there’s a long list of Tuesday “Summer Lunchtime Concerts 2025.” Today’s date is blank. The person who made all the promises is “unwell”.

But Chris, who I met the other day at the tea cosy cafe has driven 67 miles to be here. Rachel, who has known me since before I was born, is here too. And so are a lot of other people. As soon as I’m playing nothing else matters.

And when audience donations exceed the cathedral’s fee by nearly £20, well, all’s well that ends well, isn’t it? At least it would be if I hadn’t lost my phone somewhere during the proceedings. I have to ask the cathedral office to print off a map for me to my destination in Newquay.

It’s 15 miles of lovely up and down to Newquay, where my phone is waiting for me at the bottom of the box of books I put in Rachel’s car so I wouldn’t have to carry them. Also waiting for me is an email quote from the retired CEO of a very important national opera company saying some profoundly gratifying things about last night’s performance. I think I’m glad I didn’t know at the time that they were in the audience.