I’dlike to start by making a confession: I often dread the last few days of a longtour. It doesn’t matter where we are, or where we’ve been. Even in some of myfavourite places, I find myself thinking that I’ve been away for too long, andthat I miss everything about home too much.

Now I don’t know why, but somehow the end of this trip is different. Right now, I’m the only person left on the West Coast. After our last concert at Stanford University on Sunday, Jules flew over to the East Coast to be on tour with his fiancée for a few days (he’s the only person in the world who could endure a second tour at the end of his own, I’m know), while everyone else flew home from San Francisco last night. I flew down to LA yesterday morning, determined to soak up some sun and have some time to myself, before returning to late Autumn in London, which right now is barely distinguishable from Winter, both in terms of how cold it is and also how dark. Right now, I’m in one of my favourite situations: on a rooftop, by a pool, in the sun, thinking. It takes me back to January, when I was also in LA, just under two weeks after my mother had died. Then, I was in Malibu, gazing out over the Pacific Ocean, and reflecting on my mother’s life. I’ve always been hugely comforted by large expanses of water. On a recent flight back from Mykonos after a friend’s wedding, a woman from New Orleans told me that it was the presence of so many negative ions that made the ocean so soothing. I can’t say I’ve read up on her theory to check its veracity, but whether it’s true or not, I currently feel very peaceful and able to reflect on the last few weeks like I did in January. The theme that keeps coming back to me is this one: serendipity.

Inmany areas of my life, I think I’m far from being a control freak. I have nofear of flying, nor of many things much more horrifying. If someone qualifiedstrapped themselves to me and told me to jump out of a plane, for instance, I’dhave no problem doing it (although thank goodness my mother wouldn’t need toknow about it now). But the one area of my life where I do often feel terrifiedis in the field of social engineering. I obsess about seating plans at parties,and about how best to introduce friends of mine to each other for the firsttime. I’ve always liked to be seen in the right places, wearing the rightclothes and doing the right things. Now, often, this has stood me in good stead– I have wonderful friends, I always enjoy my parties and I love my wardrobe. Butthis trip has given me countless evidence that, sometimes, the best things areunplanned.

Onmy first day in New York, a friend unexpectedly messaged me to say that shehappened to be back in the city two days early, and wondered if I wanted tojoin her for dinner. She was already with two friends – whom we then realised Iknew already. I had a brilliant time. Five days later, I was approached in ChicagoAirport by a man once I’d finished a phone call. He told me he wanted to sayhello, because he admired everything The King’s Singers do (he also apologisedfor eavesdropping…) and wanted to make a real-life connection with us. Hehappened to be  the global head of a majorinternational record label. Back in New York, I went for drinks with a friend fromuniversity. He had been at a dinner the night before with an extraordinary manwho’s recently organised one of the greatest events I’ve heard about in therealm of finding harmonyin our divided world through music. We’re nowin telephone contact, and I hope there’s a collaboration in the pipeline. Thenof course, it’s major serendipity that Madeleine Albright’s favourite concertseries is also one of ours – in Georgetown. The fact that she spontaneouslyshared how valuable music was in her diplomatic life, and how she’ll continueto share it, if we’d like, was amazing. Finally, there were two gorgeous chanceencounters yesterday. The first was with a friend from university on the roofof this hotel. We grew up about 20 minutes away from each other but haven’t crossedpaths in about ten years. This was a perfect setting to catch up. The other waseven more surprising – in the queue to check in at San Francisco Airport. ThereI found all five members of a brilliant, LA-based a cappella group, all of whomwere flying home after a concert in San Francisco the night before. I know andlove them already, but as we’re based over 6,000 miles apart, it’s very rarethat I get to see them. We happened all to be on the same flight, and today wasa rare day in their hometown, so there was time to catch up over breakfast. Itwasn’t the start to my one full free day in LA that I had planned, but it wasway better.

Don’tget me wrong. There were lots of wonderful occasions and meetings  on this trip that I did plan, with people I knewI was going to see (including my wonderful housemate and her whole family in Missouri).But it’s always good to remember how we don’t always need to feel like we’re incomplete control of everything in order for good things to happen to us.

So, upon further reflection, as I continue to look out towards the Pacific Ocean, it’s pretty clear to me why this long period of time away from home has been without its element of dread at the end. Thank you to all of you – including all of you who came to our concerts and said hello afterwards. It’s really lovely when you feel like you’re enjoying your job as much as I am right now. And thank you to so much serendipity - it's great to know you can have so many moments of joy when you least expect them.

Let’s just see if I feel the same way once my eleven-hourflight has touched down in London, along with its eight-hour time difference,and the potential absence of sun at the other end….

I’dlike to start by making a confession: I often dread the last few days of a longtour. It doesn’t matter where we are, or where we’ve been. Even in some of myfavourite places, I find myself thinking that I’ve been away for too long, andthat I miss everything about home too much.

Now I don’t know why, but somehow the end of this trip is different. Right now, I’m the only person left on the West Coast. After our last concert at Stanford University on Sunday, Jules flew over to the East Coast to be on tour with his fiancée for a few days (he’s the only person in the world who could endure a second tour at the end of his own, I’m know), while everyone else flew home from San Francisco last night. I flew down to LA yesterday morning, determined to soak up some sun and have some time to myself, before returning to late Autumn in London, which right now is barely distinguishable from Winter, both in terms of how cold it is and also how dark. Right now, I’m in one of my favourite situations: on a rooftop, by a pool, in the sun, thinking. It takes me back to January, when I was also in LA, just under two weeks after my mother had died. Then, I was in Malibu, gazing out over the Pacific Ocean, and reflecting on my mother’s life. I’ve always been hugely comforted by large expanses of water. On a recent flight back from Mykonos after a friend’s wedding, a woman from New Orleans told me that it was the presence of so many negative ions that made the ocean so soothing. I can’t say I’ve read up on her theory to check its veracity, but whether it’s true or not, I currently feel very peaceful and able to reflect on the last few weeks like I did in January. The theme that keeps coming back to me is this one: serendipity.

Inmany areas of my life, I think I’m far from being a control freak. I have nofear of flying, nor of many things much more horrifying. If someone qualifiedstrapped themselves to me and told me to jump out of a plane, for instance, I’dhave no problem doing it (although thank goodness my mother wouldn’t need toknow about it now). But the one area of my life where I do often feel terrifiedis in the field of social engineering. I obsess about seating plans at parties,and about how best to introduce friends of mine to each other for the firsttime. I’ve always liked to be seen in the right places, wearing the rightclothes and doing the right things. Now, often, this has stood me in good stead– I have wonderful friends, I always enjoy my parties and I love my wardrobe. Butthis trip has given me countless evidence that, sometimes, the best things areunplanned.

Onmy first day in New York, a friend unexpectedly messaged me to say that shehappened to be back in the city two days early, and wondered if I wanted tojoin her for dinner. She was already with two friends – whom we then realised Iknew already. I had a brilliant time. Five days later, I was approached in ChicagoAirport by a man once I’d finished a phone call. He told me he wanted to sayhello, because he admired everything The King’s Singers do (he also apologisedfor eavesdropping…) and wanted to make a real-life connection with us. Hehappened to be  the global head of a majorinternational record label. Back in New York, I went for drinks with a friend fromuniversity. He had been at a dinner the night before with an extraordinary manwho’s recently organised one of the greatest events I’ve heard about in therealm of finding harmonyin our divided world through music. We’re nowin telephone contact, and I hope there’s a collaboration in the pipeline. Thenof course, it’s major serendipity that Madeleine Albright’s favourite concertseries is also one of ours – in Georgetown. The fact that she spontaneouslyshared how valuable music was in her diplomatic life, and how she’ll continueto share it, if we’d like, was amazing. Finally, there were two gorgeous chanceencounters yesterday. The first was with a friend from university on the roofof this hotel. We grew up about 20 minutes away from each other but haven’t crossedpaths in about ten years. This was a perfect setting to catch up. The other waseven more surprising – in the queue to check in at San Francisco Airport. ThereI found all five members of a brilliant, LA-based a cappella group, all of whomwere flying home after a concert in San Francisco the night before. I know andlove them already, but as we’re based over 6,000 miles apart, it’s very rarethat I get to see them. We happened all to be on the same flight, and today wasa rare day in their hometown, so there was time to catch up over breakfast. Itwasn’t the start to my one full free day in LA that I had planned, but it wasway better.

Don’tget me wrong. There were lots of wonderful occasions and meetings  on this trip that I did plan, with people I knewI was going to see (including my wonderful housemate and her whole family in Missouri).But it’s always good to remember how we don’t always need to feel like we’re incomplete control of everything in order for good things to happen to us.

So, upon further reflection, as I continue to look out towards the Pacific Ocean, it’s pretty clear to me why this long period of time away from home has been without its element of dread at the end. Thank you to all of you – including all of you who came to our concerts and said hello afterwards. It’s really lovely when you feel like you’re enjoying your job as much as I am right now. And thank you to so much serendipity - it's great to know you can have so many moments of joy when you least expect them.

Let’s just see if I feel the same way once my eleven-hourflight has touched down in London, along with its eight-hour time difference,and the potential absence of sun at the other end….

I’dlike to start by making a confession: I often dread the last few days of a longtour. It doesn’t matter where we are, or where we’ve been. Even in some of myfavourite places, I find myself thinking that I’ve been away for too long, andthat I miss everything about home too much.

Now I don’t know why, but somehow the end of this trip is different. Right now, I’m the only person left on the West Coast. After our last concert at Stanford University on Sunday, Jules flew over to the East Coast to be on tour with his fiancée for a few days (he’s the only person in the world who could endure a second tour at the end of his own, I’m know), while everyone else flew home from San Francisco last night. I flew down to LA yesterday morning, determined to soak up some sun and have some time to myself, before returning to late Autumn in London, which right now is barely distinguishable from Winter, both in terms of how cold it is and also how dark. Right now, I’m in one of my favourite situations: on a rooftop, by a pool, in the sun, thinking. It takes me back to January, when I was also in LA, just under two weeks after my mother had died. Then, I was in Malibu, gazing out over the Pacific Ocean, and reflecting on my mother’s life. I’ve always been hugely comforted by large expanses of water. On a recent flight back from Mykonos after a friend’s wedding, a woman from New Orleans told me that it was the presence of so many negative ions that made the ocean so soothing. I can’t say I’ve read up on her theory to check its veracity, but whether it’s true or not, I currently feel very peaceful and able to reflect on the last few weeks like I did in January. The theme that keeps coming back to me is this one: serendipity.

Inmany areas of my life, I think I’m far from being a control freak. I have nofear of flying, nor of many things much more horrifying. If someone qualifiedstrapped themselves to me and told me to jump out of a plane, for instance, I’dhave no problem doing it (although thank goodness my mother wouldn’t need toknow about it now). But the one area of my life where I do often feel terrifiedis in the field of social engineering. I obsess about seating plans at parties,and about how best to introduce friends of mine to each other for the firsttime. I’ve always liked to be seen in the right places, wearing the rightclothes and doing the right things. Now, often, this has stood me in good stead– I have wonderful friends, I always enjoy my parties and I love my wardrobe. Butthis trip has given me countless evidence that, sometimes, the best things areunplanned.

Onmy first day in New York, a friend unexpectedly messaged me to say that shehappened to be back in the city two days early, and wondered if I wanted tojoin her for dinner. She was already with two friends – whom we then realised Iknew already. I had a brilliant time. Five days later, I was approached in ChicagoAirport by a man once I’d finished a phone call. He told me he wanted to sayhello, because he admired everything The King’s Singers do (he also apologisedfor eavesdropping…) and wanted to make a real-life connection with us. Hehappened to be  the global head of a majorinternational record label. Back in New York, I went for drinks with a friend fromuniversity. He had been at a dinner the night before with an extraordinary manwho’s recently organised one of the greatest events I’ve heard about in therealm of finding harmonyin our divided world through music. We’re nowin telephone contact, and I hope there’s a collaboration in the pipeline. Thenof course, it’s major serendipity that Madeleine Albright’s favourite concertseries is also one of ours – in Georgetown. The fact that she spontaneouslyshared how valuable music was in her diplomatic life, and how she’ll continueto share it, if we’d like, was amazing. Finally, there were two gorgeous chanceencounters yesterday. The first was with a friend from university on the roofof this hotel. We grew up about 20 minutes away from each other but haven’t crossedpaths in about ten years. This was a perfect setting to catch up. The other waseven more surprising – in the queue to check in at San Francisco Airport. ThereI found all five members of a brilliant, LA-based a cappella group, all of whomwere flying home after a concert in San Francisco the night before. I know andlove them already, but as we’re based over 6,000 miles apart, it’s very rarethat I get to see them. We happened all to be on the same flight, and today wasa rare day in their hometown, so there was time to catch up over breakfast. Itwasn’t the start to my one full free day in LA that I had planned, but it wasway better.

Don’tget me wrong. There were lots of wonderful occasions and meetings  on this trip that I did plan, with people I knewI was going to see (including my wonderful housemate and her whole family in Missouri).But it’s always good to remember how we don’t always need to feel like we’re incomplete control of everything in order for good things to happen to us.

So, upon further reflection, as I continue to look out towards the Pacific Ocean, it’s pretty clear to me why this long period of time away from home has been without its element of dread at the end. Thank you to all of you – including all of you who came to our concerts and said hello afterwards. It’s really lovely when you feel like you’re enjoying your job as much as I am right now. And thank you to so much serendipity - it's great to know you can have so many moments of joy when you least expect them.

Let’s just see if I feel the same way once my eleven-hourflight has touched down in London, along with its eight-hour time difference,and the potential absence of sun at the other end….

I’dlike to start by making a confession: I often dread the last few days of a longtour. It doesn’t matter where we are, or where we’ve been. Even in some of myfavourite places, I find myself thinking that I’ve been away for too long, andthat I miss everything about home too much.

Now I don’t know why, but somehow the end of this trip is different. Right now, I’m the only person left on the West Coast. After our last concert at Stanford University on Sunday, Jules flew over to the East Coast to be on tour with his fiancée for a few days (he’s the only person in the world who could endure a second tour at the end of his own, I’m know), while everyone else flew home from San Francisco last night. I flew down to LA yesterday morning, determined to soak up some sun and have some time to myself, before returning to late Autumn in London, which right now is barely distinguishable from Winter, both in terms of how cold it is and also how dark. Right now, I’m in one of my favourite situations: on a rooftop, by a pool, in the sun, thinking. It takes me back to January, when I was also in LA, just under two weeks after my mother had died. Then, I was in Malibu, gazing out over the Pacific Ocean, and reflecting on my mother’s life. I’ve always been hugely comforted by large expanses of water. On a recent flight back from Mykonos after a friend’s wedding, a woman from New Orleans told me that it was the presence of so many negative ions that made the ocean so soothing. I can’t say I’ve read up on her theory to check its veracity, but whether it’s true or not, I currently feel very peaceful and able to reflect on the last few weeks like I did in January. The theme that keeps coming back to me is this one: serendipity.

Inmany areas of my life, I think I’m far from being a control freak. I have nofear of flying, nor of many things much more horrifying. If someone qualifiedstrapped themselves to me and told me to jump out of a plane, for instance, I’dhave no problem doing it (although thank goodness my mother wouldn’t need toknow about it now). But the one area of my life where I do often feel terrifiedis in the field of social engineering. I obsess about seating plans at parties,and about how best to introduce friends of mine to each other for the firsttime. I’ve always liked to be seen in the right places, wearing the rightclothes and doing the right things. Now, often, this has stood me in good stead– I have wonderful friends, I always enjoy my parties and I love my wardrobe. Butthis trip has given me countless evidence that, sometimes, the best things areunplanned.

Onmy first day in New York, a friend unexpectedly messaged me to say that shehappened to be back in the city two days early, and wondered if I wanted tojoin her for dinner. She was already with two friends – whom we then realised Iknew already. I had a brilliant time. Five days later, I was approached in ChicagoAirport by a man once I’d finished a phone call. He told me he wanted to sayhello, because he admired everything The King’s Singers do (he also apologisedfor eavesdropping…) and wanted to make a real-life connection with us. Hehappened to be  the global head of a majorinternational record label. Back in New York, I went for drinks with a friend fromuniversity. He had been at a dinner the night before with an extraordinary manwho’s recently organised one of the greatest events I’ve heard about in therealm of finding harmonyin our divided world through music. We’re nowin telephone contact, and I hope there’s a collaboration in the pipeline. Thenof course, it’s major serendipity that Madeleine Albright’s favourite concertseries is also one of ours – in Georgetown. The fact that she spontaneouslyshared how valuable music was in her diplomatic life, and how she’ll continueto share it, if we’d like, was amazing. Finally, there were two gorgeous chanceencounters yesterday. The first was with a friend from university on the roofof this hotel. We grew up about 20 minutes away from each other but haven’t crossedpaths in about ten years. This was a perfect setting to catch up. The other waseven more surprising – in the queue to check in at San Francisco Airport. ThereI found all five members of a brilliant, LA-based a cappella group, all of whomwere flying home after a concert in San Francisco the night before. I know andlove them already, but as we’re based over 6,000 miles apart, it’s very rarethat I get to see them. We happened all to be on the same flight, and today wasa rare day in their hometown, so there was time to catch up over breakfast. Itwasn’t the start to my one full free day in LA that I had planned, but it wasway better.

Don’tget me wrong. There were lots of wonderful occasions and meetings  on this trip that I did plan, with people I knewI was going to see (including my wonderful housemate and her whole family in Missouri).But it’s always good to remember how we don’t always need to feel like we’re incomplete control of everything in order for good things to happen to us.

So, upon further reflection, as I continue to look out towards the Pacific Ocean, it’s pretty clear to me why this long period of time away from home has been without its element of dread at the end. Thank you to all of you – including all of you who came to our concerts and said hello afterwards. It’s really lovely when you feel like you’re enjoying your job as much as I am right now. And thank you to so much serendipity - it's great to know you can have so many moments of joy when you least expect them.

Let’s just see if I feel the same way once my eleven-hourflight has touched down in London, along with its eight-hour time difference,and the potential absence of sun at the other end….