It’s a sad fact that life as a rock’n’roll harpist (well, electronica/folky/Steampunk harpist) doesn’t exactly pay the bills. Decent paid gigs are few and far between, and once we’ve split the fee between 6 (Sunday Driver) or 5 of us (Sunday Driver), it doesn’t exactly keep me in harp strings.
So I do weddings and functions, as well as a day job. Luckily, I really enjoy both. Except possibly the posh party where I ended up playing on a compost heap and someone peed on my harp covers that I’d stashed in the bushes…
I digress. Last week I was booked to play at Dr Johnson’s house – he of the first ever dictionary and infamous Blackadder epidsode – for a corporate function. I’ve never visited the place, which has recently been refurbished, and it was fascinating. It was also very nerve-wracking as they are terrified of anyone damaging anything – I had to get a hunky waiter to help me carry the harp up the narrow, winding stairs without smacking it on the perilously low beams.
It was a lovely evening, though very hot. The house is beautiful, and filled with wonderful things, and the area around it is true Olde London (apart from the shiny new bits, obviously…).
I took a couple of pictures while I was there. But there was a proper photographer, Rick Bronks of Satureyes. Hopefully he’ll send me a few pics – photographers always seem drawn to the harp for some reason.