Monthly Archives: March 2026

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 3. THE ART GALLERIES.

9 Replies

  There is ‘art’ everywhere you look in the newly refurbished Harris, from historical paintings, selected items from their collections and temporary exhibitions. There are over 800 oil paintings and over 6,000 watercolours, drawings and prints at the Harris. 

  If, on entering the rotunda, you look up, you will see a full-length 20-meter textile sculpture crafted from rayon and paper. Hannah Robson’s ‘Transformation’ sought to explore the industrial history of the local Courtaulds factory through handweaving and rayon.

   There are lots of paintings of the good and possibly not-so-good people of Preston. I highlighted benefactor Harris and architect Hibbert in my last post.

  A sombre family portrait from the 17th century.

 

  Here are two Lord Mayors from the last century.  

  Paintings give us a glimpse into the past.

  Soon, industry dominated the town—a 20th-century painting by Charles Cundall.

 

  Two portraits are synonymous with the  Harris Gallery.

    Pauline in the Yellow Dress was painted in 1944 by her husband, H J Gunn.

    Dorette was painted in 1933 by G. L. Brockhurst.  

 

  Alongside is the bold contemporary A Portrait by Anthony Pilbro from 2000.

  In the same space as these portraits is a digital picture frame operated by a camera. You sit in front of it, compose the frame with you in it, choose a background and style, press the button and hey presto – your image is part of the Harris collection. I couldn’t resist a Napoleonic pose.  

  There are more paintings from the Harris Collection scattered about this floor. I like ‘Untitled and Adam and Eve‘ by Hugh Byars, 1991.

   And the 1942 ‘In for Repairs‘, an oil by Laura Knight, while she was an official war artist.

I am always pleased to come across a Stanley Spencer. Wisteria.

 *

A room is  given over to –

  Mr Williams researches old photographs of Preton and transforms them digitally with colour, producing some beautiful images.

   He has also taken the time to create short animated videos from some of the scenes. 

   *

All that art, and I have only just reached the top floor with the promise of more.

 

   As I mentioned, the Harris has a huge collection of paintings. Let’s hope the curators are able to rotate them into the galleries. The first room features paintings selected by different communities, including HMP.  ‘The peoples choise’.

  Blue Flamingo Cafe, a community dementia outreach organisation, chose ‘In the Beys Garden‘ painted by J F Lewis in 1865. He is described as an Orientalist painter but I think this painting has hints of the Pre-Raphaelite movement.

 

   Every gallery in Lancashire should have a Lowry. Appropriately for Preston – ‘Millworkers’.

    This ainting looked interesting.

  And for a touch of Edwardian prudery. 

   There have not been many statues on show, but up here, there is a delightful bronze, Pablo Picasso, Aged 7, by Anthony Padgett, who works in the city.

 *

  I’m attracted by the sound of birdsong to a separate area where a two-screen video is playing.  

   This turns out to be a fascinating look at the ecology of the Chipping area and the Bowland Fells.  

   Unfortunately, a rowdy group of school children arrived as I was preparing to watch and listen. I gave it up as a bad job and will return as soon as possible to absorb the experience and learn more about the Weld family from Leagram Hall, where I often walk.

*

  All that remains is to visit the galleries hosting The Harris Open, an annual event that highlights local artistic talent. Anyone living or studying in Preston is free to enter.

   Here is a selection of the entrants.

 

   Probably my favourite –

Out of the 400 entrants, I forgot to look who had won.

* 

Despite the length of this post, I have only sampled from the vast array on display. More visits are necessary. 

A WEEK TO REMEMBER.

4 Replies

 

 

  My walking task this week – Walk to remember. I was excited, I would recall places, people and events on my daily walks around the village. Then I would return home and search for photos and diary entries to enhance the memories. But it was not to be. Walking to remember was based on flimsy research that suggested that after a short walk, one’s receptive memory is enhanced for a period. As I’m not studying for any exams or learning poetry, perhaps I should, I did not bother to test it out. 

  But I had a week to remember.

  Another birthday came along. My family turned up trumps and took me out, first for a walk and then for a lovely meal. My daily walks around Longridge, with my arm still in a sling, are, by necessity, becoming tedious—almost a repeat of lockdown. But friends have responded and driven me to ‘new’ venues for exercise and nature. More pub meals ensued. The weather has varied from pleasant springlike to wintry storms. I spent one of those wet days in the Preston Harris Museum and Art Gallery, which gave me something to post about. 

    What will next week bring? I’ll be walking with my ears, the 14th of 52 ways*. Have we really reached the 14 th week of the year already? At least the clocks change this weekend, which usually sees me setting off on some multi-day walk or pilgrimage. I’m already plotting for when I’m released.

  • 52 Ways to Walk. The Surprising Science of Walking for Wellness and Joy. Annabel Streets. Bloomsbury Publishing. 2022.

 

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 2, THE MUSEUM.

7 Replies

  I’m still here, there is so much to see and take in at the recently refurbished Harris Museum, Library and Art Gallery. Time to look at the museum. Well, it is no longer a museum as you would imagine. Throughout the three floors, there are exhibits mostly focused on Preston’s rich history.  

  But first, there is information on the establishment of the Harris itself, most of which I detailed in my last post. Edmund Robert Harris not only founded the Harris Museum in 1877, but also the Harris Orphanage and the Harris Institute in Preston.

His architect for the museum was James Hibbert. He wanted visitors to be inspired by classical Greek and Roman scenes.

There are paintings by Edwin Beattie of the marketplace from that time.

  But let’s go back further in time to the end of the last ice age. In July 1970, the almost-complete skeleton of an elk was found during building work on a bungalow in the Fylde. The skeleton is around 13,500 years old and is particularly important, as barbs were found embedded in its bones – the earliest evidence of hunters this far north. It’s on display here.

  Moving forward to the Bronze Age. I often walk around the Bleasdale Hills north of Preston. I was there this week. In the fields below the fells is the Bleasdale Circle, dated to 1700BC. It consisted of an outer circle and an inner circle within a ditch lined with birch poles. The circles were marked by wooden stakes, the inner ones now replaced with concrete posts. The Harris tells the story of the circles, their discovery in 1899 and excavation, and the burial urns found within them. It is good to see the urns on display once more, along with some of the preserved birch poles from the ditch. 

  Somewhat later in history.  15 May 1840, workmen repairing the southern embankment of the River Ribble, near Cuerdale Hall, were surprised by the discovery of hidden treasure: a total of 1,000 oz (31 kg) of silver ingots and 7,000 Anglo-Saxon coins in a wooden and lead box. Thought to have been deposited 903–905 AD. At today’s value, £2.600.000. Why they were buried there is a mystery; read Joseph Kenyon’s account here. Most of this hoard, the largest ever Viking discovery, is in the British Museum, but the Harris has a small display of coins, some of the ingots haven’t been returned yet. Not to be missed.

   There is mention of the decisive 1648 Battle of Preston during the Second Civil War when Cromwell’s Parliamentarians defeated the Royalists.

  Other exhibits, scattered across the floors, focus on Preston’s social and industrial history.

   The historical importance of Preston’s trades has been celebrated every 20 years since 1542, with The Preston Guild. King Henry II awarded Preston its first royal charter in 1179, along with the right to have a Guild Merchant. The Guild was an organisation of traders, craftsmen and merchants entitled to trade in the town. Nowadays, schools, businesses, theatres, churches, community groups and more are incorporated into the celebrations. The next Guild is 2032; we have a phrase for rare events: “once in a Preston Guild”.

 

 

  The cotton industry was a driving force behind Preston’s growth. Originally a small market town, textiles were produced from the 13th century onward.  It was in Preston that Richard Arkwright and John Kay developed their highly important spinning frame.

  The progress of cotton spinning and weaving looms from a cottage industry to the large mills drove the population into the cities.   There were many mills in the town.  By 1850, there were 64 mills in town. Horrocks operated 10 mills by 1865, and many of the displays focus on their production.

  A dark episode of Preton’s history involving the Horrox family is the Lune Street massacre of 1842.

  In the foyer and stairwells, a video, a freeze, and a carpet installation by Khaled Hafez highlight Preston’s connection to the Egyptian cotton trade and uncover some of the darker sides of our colonial occupation in the early C20th. Art and history brought together.  

  The YouTube video is worth watching for background information.

    And then in 1939, along came Courtaulds, spinning Rayon fibre, mainly used in the tyre industry, but also viscose silk for textiles. As the cotton mills started to close, Courtaulds employed 2000 workers until 1980, when it closed. 

   I never knew Preston was famous for wired and gold threads or was at the forefront of teatotalism. 

 Preston Docks grew along with the town, opening in 1892 and providing deep anchorage for large vessels from the Ribble. It is now a marina.

  The “P.P.” on the city’s coat of arms officially stands for Princeps Pacis (Latin for “Prince of Peace”), referring to Christ, but is commonly interpreted locally as  “Proud Preston”. The emblem features the lamb of St. Wilfrid, the city’s patron saint. The coat of arms is proudly worn on Preston North End football shirts. The team was a founding member of the football league in 1888.

   Tom Finney, one of PNE’s famous footballers, is one of the photos featuring well-known personalities. Do you recognise the others?

    One is the early feminist and suffragette, Edith Rigby.

  There is so much more to explore, but it’s time for another visit to the cafe before exploring the art galleries. 

 

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 1. THE LIBRARY.

15 Replies

 

 

‘The mental riches you may here acquire abide with you always’                 

A suitable Victorian inscription from the building.

 

  In 1877, wealthy local lawyer Edmund Robert Harris left £300,000 to Preston Corporation to fund a library, museum, and art gallery. To start with, the library and collections of the Literary and Philosophical Institution (established in 1810 in the town) were purchased and displayed in the basement of the town hall. Land was obtained on the Market Square, and local architect James Hibbert was contracted to carry out the work; the building opened in 1893.

  Hibbert chose a neoclassical design. The Victorians believed that classical art and architecture had an uplifting effect on the public. This resulted in the imposing building we see today with its stately columns and classical sculptured pediment depicting famous Greek figures.

  The Harris has been closed since 2021 for a major £19 million restoration project known as “Harris – Your Place“. The Grade I-listed building has had repairs, including asbestos removal, structural improvements, and upgrades to heating and accessibility, reopening in September last year. The reopening was fanfared with the Wallace and Gromit exhibition, which I visited after Christmas, vowing to return to see where all those millions have been spent.

  I’m back today. The bus from Longridge lands me at the brutalistic bus station, from where a short walk takes me to the Harris. I hope I can manage my phone camera with my one good hand. After passing through the dated shopping arcade, I can walk past the new cinema complex next to the underused open market; somewhere around here is the much-photographed Wallace and Gromit seat.

  Narrow alleyways once surrounded the market square, but over the years, development has cleared them away, including Sir Gilbert Scott’s 1867 ‘gothic’ town hall, built from Longridge stone. It burnt down in 1947 and was demolished in the 60s to make way for modern developments that now look rather shabby. A small 16th-century shop is the only remnant of those early days.

    I’ve mentioned the site of the old bull ring before, found in a corner of the flag market.

    The Harris dominates the east side of the square. 

  Despite that formidable collonaded facade,  the entrance is achieved up some hidden side steps. The front elevated steps are reserved for more formal gatherings.

  There are automated doors into the foyer, with its stairs on either side, leading to the roll of honour of Prestonians killed in the First World War.

  The central circular atrium is the hub of the building, with three stories leading to side galleries and an upper Egyptian gallery (only open to guided tours), all lit by the tower and the glass dome 120 feet above. The neo-classical theme continues throughout the interior. The centrepiece here is the famous Foucault pendulum, the longest in the UK, hanging the full height of the atrium. As the pendulum swings in a fixed plane, the Earth rotates beneath it, causing the pendulum’s path to appear to rotate over time. The earth moves for me.  

   Previously known as the Museum, Library and Art Gallery, the refurbished Harris aims to act as a Community, Cultural and Learning hub for the city and its surroundings. It succeeds on all three levels, so much so that in this post today, I am basically concentrating on the library side of things. There is so much to see, one visit is not enough. 

   Forget about the hushed, somewhat dingy library I used regularly when I first moved to Preston in the 70s; all is now open, bright, and friendly. The lending library is still operational on the ground floor, although I imagine it is far less used than it was of old. I’m heartened that people want to read a physical book, of course, all for free. Do you still get fined for overdue books? 

   It’s good to see young children being encouraged to start exploring books.

  Right next to the lending library, through the small shop, is the cafe, a busy spot with good coffee and cakes, which I can vouch for. Even here, there are several informal displays of the museum’s collections, mainly ceramics. I am heartened to see a bookcase full of the entire OS 1:50,000 map series, plus many of the recreational 1:25,000 sheets—what more does one need – coffee and maps.

 

 

    Coffee break over, I explore the library further on the first floor and find a room set aside with computers that is very busy, all surrounded by soothing artworks. 

    The reference part of the library is full of books and magazines just waiting to be browsed. There is an extensive selection of local interest editions. One could spend a happy day here.   

  Another space has rarer books in locked cabinets – for serious research. Other rooms are for quiet study. 

 

    That’s all for the library, but as you have noticed throughout, other exhibits are intermingled. I will post further on the Museum and the Art Gallery exhibits. 

 

 

TAKE A WINDY WALK.

17 Replies

 

My ageing house is like a Beaufort Scale for the wind. Gentle flutters at the windows, 2. Windows start to rattle, 4. Whistling down the stove flue, 6. Cold draughts through any gap, 7. Constant rattling windows, 8. Slates are falling from the roof, 9. I dread to think what a 12, hurricane, would feel like.

Today, a strong breeze is forecast, building this morning with sharp rain showers. There is a yellow wind warning with gusts up to 40mph in exposed places  I stay in watching my holly and yew bending outside the window

By afternoon, the wind is stronger, but the rain has passed. Time to wrap up and get out for one of my 52 Walks. I try the back garden first. Tree branches are waving violently at times, with a ‘whooshing’ rather than ‘rustling’ sound, as there are no leaves on the trees. Quite hypnotic.

On the street, the wind is strong enough to buffet me, and with one arm in a sling, I feel somewhat vulnerable. But striding out confidently with the wind at my back Imake good time to the supermarket. Being Britain, all the talk in the shop is of the wind.

Returning by a longer route, I feel the full force of the wind through my body as well as on my face. Any hat would be in danger of taking flight. Indeed, paper litter is being blown in eddies around the streets. I look up at the fells and imagine how exhilarating it would be up there.

***

  Today is just one of my local walks, but I do feel very refreshed even from this short exposure to the wind. In the past, I have had my fair share of gale-force walks and camps.

As a greenhorn backpacker on the early Pennine Way in the sixties, pre-Wainwright’s Guide of 1968, I had reached the Northern Pennines and was camped high on Knock Fell. The inevitable happened in the night as the notorious Helm Wind did its best to blow me and my tent into oblivion. I remember I was scared, and at first light packed up and braved the roaring gale back down to Dufton. I reached the pub to phone home and arrange a rescue. The locals in the bar were impressed that my tent, a cotton Black’s Tinker, had stood up to the force; it can blow at 100mph.

Still young and foolish, we set off to walk the Kentmere horseshoe one winter when gale-force winds were forecast. I’m sure there was probably a warning to stay off the hills; there certainly would be these days. The fells were covered in ice and snow, but we were equipped with crampons and ice axes. At the top of Garburn Pass, we started on the ridge to Yoke. The wind became fiercer as we gained height. The ridge is very exposed, and we had difficulty keeping on our feet. Any fall onto the icy surface had us being blown along horizontally towards the steep drop into Kentmere. Ice axes were needed to prevent us from disappearing. I have no idea why we didn’t turn back, but I vaguely remember enjoying the challenge. We reached the imposing Thornthwaite Beacon, where there was some shelter from the westerly. At least we could almost hear ourselves discuss our escape plan. There was no possibility of continuing the horseshoe over Kentmere Pike. There are not many easy ways off the ridge at the head of Kentmere in winter, and reading the map was impossible. To add to our problems, we were now in a whiteout. We needed to get down to  Nan Beild pass, where there is a stone shelter and an easy way off the fells. On a compass bearing, we were literally blown down towards it, but a few degrees out, and we found ourselves descending on very steep ground. Fortunately, a break in the clouds revealed Blea Tarn directly below, and we realised our mistake before committing to dangerous territory. With relief, we changed course and reached the shelter at the pass, from which we could slowly descend out of the worst of the wind, battered physically and mentally by the experience. There was no other person to be seen out that day.

My latest memorable experience of gales was on our high-level traverse of the Pyrenees. Having crossed over from an icy France to sunny Spain, we were enjoying a high camp just off the ridge at about 2,500m, sitting around watching the sunset and distant peaks. We were unaware that a deep low-pressure system was approaching from the west. The lightning strike on the ridge above woke us in the early hours. Deafening thunder, a gale-force wind, and torrential rain followed. We battened down, dressed and packed rucksacks for an emergency exit. We must have been in the eye of the storm, as there was no respite for about two hours. We didn’t expect the tent to survive; it is still torn where we were hanging onto its flaps. Our plan was to escape down the valley to Torla in the morning and lick our wounds. But dawn broke without any further damage, and we headed to the Goriz refuge for sustenance. All in a day’s mountain travel.

So much for taking a windy walk.

 

ANOTHER WEEK DAWNS.

9 Replies

I’m ticking off the weeks since my shoulder operation. The pain is subsiding. I saw the consultant, and he emphasised the need for my right arm in a sling for another month minimum. My brain is adapting to left-handedness, but there are so many occasions when you need two hands. I’m not complaining.

This week starts with a mixed forecast but mainly dry, allowing me to walk a few miles most days around the village. What of my 52 Ways to Walk book? I choose another week’s topic that fits my circumstances. Walk Within an Hour of Waking. Walk at Altitude, Walk by the Sea, Walk With a Dog, and others will have to wait.

  Those of you who know me will realise I’m not one for the crack of dawn, except when I’m away on a multiday trek. That slothful habit, combined with my present fitful sleeping, doesn’t bode well for the task ahead.  But I don’t need to be up at an unearthly hour – just walk within an hour of rising. That fits in perfectly with my first leisurely morning coffee.

  The purpose of this early walk is to stimulate your receptors with natural light at the start of the day. A quick burst of cortisol and serotonin prepares one for the day ahead. I’m all for that, especially at this time of year when feeling sluggish. For years, the importance of bright natural light in winter has been recognised as a way to combat SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), also known as the Winter Blues. (Symptoms: Low mood, lack of interest in hobbies, guilt, irritability, difficulty concentrating, craving carbohydrates, and oversleeping.) Recognise those? Somewhere, I have a ‘lightbox’ for therapy, but I always forget about it until about now. 

  Natural winter sunlight is what is needed. Hence, walking within an hour of waking, it doesn’t have to be a long walk, I aim to get back for my second coffee within half an hour. I’m feeling rather smug with my early morning walks, and probably more refreshed for the day ahead. Today, son number one visited to help out with transport. We had the chance later to drive up the fell for a glorious walk on the forest tracks, not a stile or ford in sight. A welcome change of scenery. Still no one-handed photographs, but I will leave you with this little number from 1966!

WALKING WITH PURPOSE.

6 Replies

It’s week ten of my 52 ways to walk schedule. Ten weeks into 2026 already. The context is Walk With Purpose, though I end up physically rambling.

We all need a ‘purpose’ in life, generally, and motivation on a daily basis. I’m not normally good at it, drifting through life a lot of the time. But unable to drive a car at present, I have resolved to take a daily walk to shop at my nearby supermarket. My purposeful walk. A simple goal with no need to consider the surroundings, navigation or the weather. Just march to the shop on an all-too-familiar path. And march it is – without distractions, I find myself walking at a much faster pace than normal. My eyes are focused on the pavement ahead, instinctively knowing my general whereabouts. I do notice the minutiae; cracks in the pavement between my feet, gutter litter, and a heightened awareness of birdsong from within the hedgerows. Traffic noise is sublimated, and I probably pass friends without a nod.

Apparently, people walking with a purpose, to work or the shop, do so at a quicker-than-normal l pace. I mentally picture the bowler-hatted workforce crossing into the city.

My brisk daily utilitarian walking undoubtedly provides physical benefits, and in my semi-rural environment, possibly reduces stress. Though all those city walkers look somewhat stressed, mindfulness wasn’t invented back then.

These shopping trips are too mundane to describe further, although thinking back, I once did

For the last few sunny days, hopefully heralding spring, I’ve been lengthening my recreational strolls around the village, aware that any fall would not be good for my recently repaired shoulder joint. But the same scenery each time is becoming tiresome after less than a fortnight. I need a change of horizons. I selfishly phone a friend, Sir Hugh, suggesting a meet-up and a short walk. He is, as ever, keen. Time to tell him, “Oh, but I can’t drive”. He still takes the bait and arrives at my house the next morning. My sensible plan is to keep to roads or decent tracks. I have a regular circuit of Leagram in the Bowland foothills. which fits the bill. He is my transport to fresh vistas.

I am still unable to take photos one-handed, the left at that. I can barely type, so it is over to him to fill in the details. https://conradwalks.blogspot.com/2026/03/in-steps-of-mole-chipping-with-bc.html

The least I can do is treat him to a post-ramble coffee and cake at the Cobble Corner Cafe.

I hope my family don’t see the photos. I’m back at the consultant surgeon’s tomorrow

VIRTUAL WALKING.

14 Replies

  At present, my walks are short and restricted to the village from my house; nothing wrong with that, but certainly not worth writing about. A fellow blogger was recently on a car journey when friends suggested and listened to songs with the theme ‘walking’. This is a good opportunity to expand on her choices and delve into musical walking themes. Virtual Walking.

  The rain keeps falling, so you, fellow walker, may be as housebound as I am. There are hours of music out there to listen to; some of the below may be new to you, and they may be worth an ear.

  First, let’s look at the obvious popular music choices. There are plenty of them – we are always either walking away from or towards love. This is not a top ten; there are eleven, but a selection of those I would consider the more polished tunes from my memory, click to get your feet walking.

  Going back to 50s Rhythm and Blues, early Rock and Roll, Fats Domino sets the scene with  I’m Walkin’

  Probably most people’s choice must be The Proclaimers, a long-distance marching song if ever there was one.    I’m Gonna Be 500 Miles.

  From the sixties, we have Nancy Sinatra’s catchy pop tune. These Boots are Made for Walking.

  Going back to 1957, Patsy Cline sang in her country style  Walkin’ After Midnight.

  And coming from country music in the same era, 1956, plodding along is Johnny Cash’s enduring hit I Walk The Line.

  Dionne Warwick’s version of Burt Bacharach’s tearjerker came out in 1965. Walk On By.

  More up-to-date, 1991, is Marc Cohn’s Walking in Memphis.

  Modern blues singers from around the world treat us to the classic Son House Walking Blues.

  An upbeat tune I’ve often walked along to, Katrina and the Waves. Walking on Sunshine.

  For variety, what about some Rap from Run DMC and Aerosmith?  Walk This Way.

  And finally take a stroll with a twist along to Lou Reed’s  Walk on the Wild Side.

***

  Moving onto Jazz recordings, steady, rhythmic grooves and strong walking basslines are everywhere. I have hundreds of CDs to choose from.

  Back in 1939, Fats Waller sang Hand Me Down My Walking Cane

  The jazz 4/4 walking beat is particularly the hallmark of bassist Paul Chambers, who was an integral member of many of the best hard bop combos throughout the 50s and 60s. Take a brisk walk with him in 1957 on Confessin

  Bassist Percy Heath keeps the beat on Miles Davis’s 1954 Walkin’

  Charles Mingus’ bass lines are famous, as in his 1955  Work Song

  McCoy Tyner with bassist Jooni Booth, live in Montreux, 1957. Walk Spirit. Talk Spirit.

  Bassist Leroy Vinegar struts his walking bass on the 1958  Walk on.

  Straying into the magical world of Thelonious Monk, we have John Ore marching along on bass in the 1962  Monk’s Dream

 

***

 

  In classical music, heavyweights derive inspiration and depict rural scenes – Beethoven’s Pastoral, Mendelssohn’s Fingal’s Cave, Debussy’s Suite Bergamasque, and Chopin’s Raindrop, without directly referencing walking as such. We are all waiting for Spring. in Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.

 

  The internet is awash with classic compositions to listen to in the background, through your headphones, whilst out walking. I’ve never understood walking around with headphones whilst out engaging with nature. But I’m old-fashioned.

  For some stepping out music to listen to at home, what better than Grieg’s instantly recognisable  In the Hall of the Mountain King from Peer Gynt Suite.

  This is often confused with Paul Ducas’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, highlighted in Walt Disney’s 1949 animation Fantasia.

  Searching for classical music with walking in the title doesn’t bring up much. But what I find is new to me, Seven Days Walking, by the pianist Ludovico Einaudi. His ambitious plan was to release seven albums in seven months in 2019, inspired by the same walk he repeated in the Alps. Each selection of pieces portrays a different aspect of his wintery wander. Randomly, I have chosen Ascent on Day 1. For relaxing in this rainy weather, one can listen to the full six hours on YouTube.

   Sorry for all the annoying YouTube ads.

  You will be tired out with all this virtual walking.

  I would be interested in your own choices, particularly in Classical Music, where I ran out of steam.