Aeons ago, my then lover brought me to the shores of Spain and the house of one of his ex-lovers.

I was introduced to Spain, a whole new set of people, and a whole new way of relating at the same time.

Exes were friends, people lived in tumble down country houses, mountains were higher than I’d ever seen, and music was not rock, but folk-classical.

Of the many powerful memories of that first three-week stay that would change my life, possibly the most decisive is of sitting in a large brick walled kitchen with an open fire around a small round table listening to Javier Sáinz and friends, playing, amongst other things, music by Emilio Cao.

I was entranced.  I had never sat around a kitchen table listening to people playing the harp, violin, bagpipes and hurdy-gurdy before.

Later, against all advice (of said musicians), we went walking in the Picos de Europa.  Against all advice because it was June and there would still be snow on the tops and who knew where else, and the weather was still not stable.    We were lucky.  The weather held, and we walked amongst flowers (columbines, violets and orchids stand out in my memory) that I had never seen growing wild in England, thanks to pesticides and agro-industry.  And amongst mountains and wildlife and human geography that equally I had never seen the like before.

I was hooked.  I returned to an English July where it rained every day, and vowed to return.  To live.

Later, I discovered that one of the Emilio Cao tracks that had been played was called something like “The messengers come from the north” and another had something to do with horses (but I can’t find the tape at this precise moment, to check), and everything seemed preordained (north, horses) for a move to Spain.  The messengers had come, and I responded.

Javier has just released a new album (“E con la harpa d’Orfeo”).   I have no idea how you go about ordering it or any commercial details, but I am proud to know him and forever fond for the (unwitting) part he played in my life turnaround.