Sunday evening – oops

Oh! so many apologies for those who like to start the weekend with a blog-fix. Blame the sun, blame my mother-in-law for having an 80th birthday, blame the weeds in the garden but DON’T BLAME ME!

Now I’m having doubts as to the spelling of the word "blame"... just doesn’t look right once it’s been written more than twice. Ah well! No red squiggles so it must be OK – though there is a green one which I can’t understand or get rid of. It’s under the ‘blame’ before the weeds – could it be a weed? If so I’ll be after it with my little knife or my big spade and you may never hear from me again...

I was hoping to have a brand new computer by now but unfortunately, because of the mother-in-law and the nasty green things, there’s been no time to go and buy one. The hubby wasn’t around long enough to get his cheque book or his cards out – home Friday at midnight and off to Germany again already so I have to wait for another few weeks. Will this poor old thing keep functioning in the meantime? Not if I attack it with my little knife or my big spade that’s for certain. Those green squiggles better keep themselves to themselves.

So – Wednesday. What a long time ago that seems. There was a reasonable turn-out, although at 8.43pm the five of us who got there good and promptly were looking at one another with some concern wondering what had happened to the Boy Wonder and everyone else. Much to our relief he and they (or most of ‘em, anyway) arrived soon after and on we got.

Once again the sops and altos did some swinging while the tenors and basses went away with Anne to have a go at their splits. (Next time you see us there will be a gymnastic display by the men. Which will be nice. And novel.) We (the higher voiced, that is – though I am thus reminded of yet more hurtful name-calling as Jenny and I were yet again referred to as ‘the manly women’ – there is absolutely no respect shown for our exquisitely rich, 2nd alto rumblings) are almost there. Up in the tree tops without falling off. And judging by our full-choir rendition of On Hillisuvi when the lads returned, they did OK too – but who’d dare not to with Anne in charge?

We also went over Dormi Jesu which was well remembered and pretty gorgeous and the Armenian pieces to make sure we’d got the pronunciation right – which I think we have and that was it apart from a new Tormis piece (oh my, how popular he is right now, isn’t he?) called Kahvatu Valgus (sadly) or Pale Light (much better).

Now, I have spent many fruitless hours with a dictionary and my thesaurus looking up the word ‘tatterous’. Any ideas? Apparently it can apply to the heavens – it does in this song, anyway... I quote: "neath heavens so tatterous riven". Lovely – don’t you think? Nonsense, I fear, but really rather expressive. Our Boy Wonder has a favourite time-wasting game which involves getting the computer to translate a sentence or paragraph into another language and then translate it back again. The more times you do this the funnier it gets. And I’m sure most people have been on to web-sites advertising the joys to be had in various exotic holiday locations written in almost totally incomprehensible English. Translators seem to have a favourite trick of giving up on difficult words and simply substituting something from their own language, vaguely anglicised and this is what appears to have happened here. I read "taterous" to begin with and wondered if it might have something to do with spuds – though it seemed unlikely – but then I noticed the second "t" which no doubt makes all the difference. Please enlighten, if at all possible. Or send suggestions as to what these words evoke in your creative and cultured imaginations.

Bisous.