I promised a post-concert update and then decided that I might as well wait ‘til after the Christmas party, which is why I’m writing now and not three days ago. I am slightly sluggish of brain this morning (no, not due to excess alcohol) – that first sentence took me about five minutes to construct, two and a half minutes per letter, oh dear – and I suspect that this will be a very s...l...o...w process. But here’s hoping I have something to send you before the day is out for I have so much still to do in the way of present purchasing and tree sourcing and food buying and mince-pie making and cake baking and, most important of all, hair-do appointment attending (your faded-looking blogetteer is badly in need of beautification (as far as humanly possible anyway)), that if I fail I fear you may have to wait until New Year to hear about the aforementioned festive activities. Which already have that hazy, misty halo of something lovely too quickly forgotten. Which means this blog is probably not going to enlighten you very much. Which inevitably means deep disappointment. Which means I don’t deserve the present I received last night in recognition of my status as official Rudsambee Bloggetteer. Which was most unexpected, by the way. Which.
We, as I think I mentioned last blog, had to face the disappointment of a cancelled Rosslyn Chapel concert and much wasted hard work, the St Giles effort being so much shorter and so many well-rehearsed songs having to be put to one side, but we stormed into our one and only Christmas concert this year (yes, only one instead of the usual four – how bad is that?) all guns blazing and managed to get at least ten enthusiastic people lurching to their feet at the end (Quite an achievement when you think about it because if I had guns blazing at me I’d be diving for the floor). Jenny was counting the stander-uppers – loudly – and luckily there was significant applause or those still attached to their seats may have felt obliged to leave them, her manner of comment verging on the petulant, and one only wants genuine plaudits after all.
We were joined by our former holy-high-one, Helen, who had managed to escape the hurly-burly horrors of London Town for the weekend and came to sing with us. She didn’t know all the songs but seemed to manage to sing them anyway. Another pesky, show-offy sight-reader. The world seems to be full of them. I was delighted to be able to sing all the way through O Morgenstern without making a fool of myself by squeaking on the high notes – all that happened was the said notes were a little slow in coming out but when they appeared they did so smoothly and joined those already being sung by the other altos without making a spectacle of either themselves or me. There were the usual sticky moments though we all seem to have identified different ones which suggests that the concert was a mess which it wasn’t. Several people think the new African piece was the most malicious tripper-upper but my own personal nemesis for some reason was Dormi Jesu which I actually know off-by-heart but which seemed to go out-of-control for a few bars at one point and, as usual, I felt like it was all my fault though it may not have been. No idea what happened there but something nasty did. I’m not sure many people noticed. I hope not.
Tricky old (new) Jajang went very well, I think. I daresay we were all terrified and concentrating really hard. The faces may well have been a picture – I would like to have been watching – but as long as the sound was OK and the grimaces not too distracting... Our Natalie was actually sitting in the audience having decided not to sing as she’d missed so many rehearsals but she was no good as a commentator on appearance as she listened to the whole thing with her eyes closed. No doubt a sensible move. Many illusions could be undone by the untimely twitching of an eye-lid.
St Giles was warm and welcoming as usual (We would have had the welcome but not the warmth at Rosslyn. It is quite nice not to have to try and sing with chattering teeth and violent shivers to interfere with voice production). It was also pleasantly full - even more so than usual - which seemed to take our newbies by surprise. We may be a small choir but we do manage to get a large audience whenever we ‘do’ St Giles – I remember being quite overcome by the sight of so many people my first time there but they are a friendly, appreciative lot and not at all scary. Elaine and Alison were both there, as well a throng of other ex-Rudsambeeites – lovely to see them – and Elaine joined us for the post-concert feeding session at Vittoria’s so we had a chance to catch up a little with her life –after-Rudsambee. And we sang The Irish Blessing at her. She wasn’t allowed to escape it. She may have imagined that she was safe in a public place. Ha! Wrong.
Onto last night’s party which was woefully badly attended due to colds (man-flu, I mean), over-indulgence at lunch-time office Christmas parties and... exams (Exams??? – Should that ever prevent partying? Ever? I have an uncomfortable feeling we have let someone conscientious into the Rudsambeee ranks). Those of us who made it made it in style. Christopher wore a suit. You may think you need to visit an optician but no. A SUIT. With long trousers and everything. Even a tie. He looked remarkably smart. And very nearly grown-up. Behm wore a tie too. So did John. His had hieroglyphics on. Anne and Jenny sported their ball-gowns. I was sure that our rapidly shrinking Jen would be tumbling out of her dress this year but she assured me that certain parts of her anatomy are a large as ever and would keep everything in place. She was right, I’m glad to say.
Food, as always, excellent. Highlight for me – and not a few others – was Behm’s corn bread which was really cake but which we ate as a savoury (which may be how you’re supposed to do it – it worked anyway) – it was delicious. I think it should become a staple of our pot-luck parties. For as long as we have his company, anyway. John’s mulled wine was, as ever, very, very good indeed and a great time was had by all.
There was a great deal of conversation. I know there was. And much of it very amusing. I remember being rude about the tenors. More than once. I remember unsuitable-for-the-dinner-table subject matter but have no recollection of details. I do remember discussing nappies and the ecological impact thereof, potty-training and the dietry idiosyncrasies of an underweight mother with Kay. Perhaps anybody who reads this and regards this section as very poorly executed – which it most certainly is – could fill it out a bit with those all important particulars I seem to have forgotten, as usual. Not, I reiterate, due to the ravages of excess alcohol but because I only ever remember things these days if I make a special effort to do so and I wasn’t on duty last night - even if I should have been in order to earn my Christmas present; for which many thanks and I really do not deserve it.
Jenny is the buyer and distributor of pressies and did her job with her usual kind words and charm. I do hope she bought herself something as a thank-you present for a job well done. I was overcome to receive another gift – this time for the CD cover design – even more undeserved than the one for Chief Blogetteer. What a lucky woman I am. What a lovely choir Rudsambee is and what fun it has been to keep you (lot) informed about its goings-on.
So – that’s it for this year. Happy Christmas every one.
Here’s to a stellar 2011 (gulp!) xx
xx
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