Stoic no more [addendum]

Oh dear, yes – or, indeed, no. Have to relinquish hard-earned title as I didn’t manage to get to choir this week. Shame on me. But this cold-in-the-nose-in-the-head-in-the-throat is hanging on in a quite unprecedented and unnecessary fashion and it was SO chilly on Wednesday (having said that, anywhere – even outside in a blizzard, would have been warmer than it is at home) and I was feeling tired, tired, tired so I huddled in front of the open oven door with heat on full belt (yes, really!) and felt guilty for staying away but oh, so cosy as long as I kept myself cooking.

Anne, bless her, sent round some pretty comprehensive notes so I have some idea of what went on and I thought I’d keep you (lot?!) informed as far as possible because, after all, Chris did point out to me not so very long ago that Claire(1) was very much better at blogging than I am and continued to do so whether she attended rehearsal or not. And I realise that Chris has already blogged but it's done now so here it is.

Mostly the notes seem to be concerned with pronunciation of one sort or another. The odious English version of The Swallow and the Bells has, at last, been replaced with the promised Ukranian but this, of course means learning to sing in Ukranian. I tried to print out the notes so that I could sit somewhere in comfort with them and partake of a nap or two when it all got too much but for some reason my (new) printer won’t do as it’s told and so I have visions of poor, freezing little me sitting here trying to make sense of a computer screen pronunciation lesson and failing dismally. If I fall asleep here I shall next fall off my chair and bash my head against the wall or the bottom step of the stair, (that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a poem) and this is not a happy prospect, is it?

Not only must I try to get a hold of Ukranian but we have another new song to learn and this one is in Swedish. Ditto the extensive ‘phonetics’ and the sorry prospect of unconsciousness. I learned proper phonetics at drama college (to help with accents, doncha know) and I was very good at it indeed – 99% in the last exam I took which is why I gave it up and didn’t attempt to get a qualification in the subject, foolish youth – but I have forgotten it all now (and no doubt would have done so even with the certificate) so the poor old brain has no resource to call upon anymore and it can take quite some time to get a handle on these foreign ditties, I’m afraid. Not good if the only place available in which to try to do so is this sub-zero troglodyte dell where I sit at present.

Ollie, the dear boy, has offered to hold extra practices on Monday evenings and even on Tuesdays for those who can’t ‘do’ Mondays so that those of us who have missed out, or who are new to the choir and trying to learn old repertoire, have a chance to catch up. I think I’ll need to be there Mondays and Tuesdays every week until the concerts if I am to make significant inroads into my ignorance.

Anne has sent out two appeals recently (demanding or what??); one, that a group of us takes some time to go and sing at the Christmas party held for pensioner members of Contact the Elderly, a charity with which she has been involved for some time; and two, that as many people as possible lend thermos flasks – 1 litre capacity at least - for the transportation of the mulled apple punch (or ‘cup’ as there will be no alcohol and therefore no fisticuffs) to be served at the Rosslyn Chapel concert. I am able (I think I will be by then, anyway) and willing to warble merrily at the Christmas party and equally willing but less able to offer help with regard to supply of thermos flasks which, considering that the whole hot apple cup beverage notion was one of my own (finest) is a little embarrassing. However, if I see any likely looking receptacle lying around in the kitchens of my friends or reclining sad and desperate-looking in the local charity shops I shall lay hold of said article (handing over some small financial compensation in the latter case, of course) and proffer it for use.

OK. Enough. Can no longer feel my fingers or toes. Brain solidifying alarmingly. Take back title of stoic. No one else would suffer so for their art when there are (probably) so few people out there who appreciate the effort. Thank you, those of you who do.

Kisses (though rather cold and possibly still infectious ones).