The first was on Friday: Northwood's debut, which went as well as we could have hoped.

The second was on Saturday, at Magdalen College, Oxford, where I played the organ at Nick's wedding. It's an extraordinary - to me - instrument, situated halfway to the vaulted ceiling of the cool, sombre chapel. The porter gives you the key, and you climb up the stone steps that lead from a small wooden door to the left of the organ screen. I had a scrap of paper with the locations of all the switches: one for the light, two for the bellows, three more for the CCTV cameras which tell you what's happening below. The shelves and floors around the keyboards are littered with the half exotic, half familiar detritus of serious organists: untidy stacks of Bach chorales, a radio controlled clock with a BBC Performances sticker on the front, coffee cups, a nasty plastic hobgoblin holding an old key, a notebook containing pencilled messages about squeaky flute stops, an old copy of the Gormenghast trilogy, a discarded gown.