Imagine there's no Rudsambee, it's easy if you try...

So blog fans, you may be wondering where your regular update is this week. Ah, well, the Rudsambee-lets decided to take a week off. All the best music acts do it; after a particularly taxing round of gigs, media appearances and hotel rooms, they decide to take a wee break. Granted Rudsambee only performed one concert last week (for 40 min it must be noted) and only had one showbiz party (during which I can confirm that no TVs were thrown out of the window and no illicit substances consumed - in spite of the hostess's daughter mistaking 'Wii party' for 'weed party'), but still a well-needed rest was in order. So we took the night off in the anticipation of returning next Wednesday with a renewed vigour for the delights of ‘Cloudburst’ etc. So since I have nothing to report I thought I would make up what potentially could have happened at last night’s rehearsal. There is a regular pattern so it isn’t too difficult. Here goes:


We began with a Jenny warm-up which caused great hilarity and some perplexity. We then went on to the singing in earnest, starting with something tonally-challenged from everyone’s favourite Estonian composer. This piece meant that the sopranos had to sing on one extremely high note for 40 beats and the altos had the tune. Then a bit of Whitacre (which we all duly agreed sounded beautiful and was great to sing). On to a piece of early music that left the tenors cowering terrified in the corner. Rufus (the cat, in case I have neglected to mention it previously) came in, wailed loudly and was picked up in an undignified manner by Christopher. Most of the sopranos by this stage in proceedings are sitting down looking exhausted (except Alison – we give her special dispensation to be sitting down already).

Anne has already made at least fourteen pained faces (perfect pitch is indeed a burden that few could shoulder) and twenty-nine suggestions to the tenors. Jenny has giggled over thirteen times (once in a loud guffaw). Christopher has tickled nine unsuspecting Rudsambee-lets and Maestro Boy has made his - now trademarked - panicked eye expression only twice. We all decide that the opening bars of our new piece sound like ‘Amazing Grace’ (incredible how many songs begin like this). There have also been at least forty-three questions about pronunciation including thirty-two about the correct way to say ‘regarder’ and four chastising our Gaelic ‘t’s. The end of the evening draws nigh and we sing through ‘Bogoroditse’ (affectionately known as ‘Bog Off’) and are amazed once again at the ‘boys solo bit’ (if you stand in front of the basses for this section, you can feel the ground shaking, and Robin recently disclosed that he spends the climax of the piece trying to sing louder than Christopher).

Then on to announcements which Anne always ably leads – it is a well known fact that the Rudsambee-lets can barely tie their own shoelaces and require Anne to do almost everything. We have a comparatively brief discussion about uniform (the main bone of contention presently is the men’s shirts which have gradually turned from red into a variety of pinks. They don’t look very manly) John then makes his obligatory cry (‘anyone for coffee, tea, fancy tea?’) and we conclude. Generally Rudsambee conversation digresses into a myriad of topics. Douglas will announce that it is someone’s birthday, will present them with a card that we have almost all forgotten to sign and a raucous version of ‘happy birthday’ (with a top soprano line provided generally by A-L) in struck up. We then disperse and Rachel drives me back to sunny Leith while we discuss the finer points of parenting, progressive rock music and the beauty of the Rudsambee-lets dulcet tones. I generally make a cup of tea upon arrival home but I’m afraid I cannot speak for the other group members so I will leave that to your discretion.

Well, there we have it, last night’s (imagined) rehearsal. They say there are only seven storylines in the world. This is undoubtedly true, but when it comes to Rudsambee, there is really only one - but it is always so very jolly.

CSW