Why did I bother?

Oh, dear me. I have just read over that last and most feeble of contributions. What a waste of time. Clearly not of effort. I can’t believe I submitted such rubbish for your perusal. Next time I am in a hurry I shall think twice about blogging. Or maybe I will save myself the effort and not think about it at all.

True, there really wasn’t much to write about last Wednesday – not once I’d done me usual and mislaid all memory of anecdotal material. We went, we made some nice noises, we left. It wasn’t dull though (unlike my blog); we chuckled a fair bit as usual (but about what, Claire, about what?) and Christopher prodded me once or twice with a pencil.

Now, I promised to write about Kay’s 40th birthday party. I say again, ‘40! Surely not.’ But, yes, dear reader, indeed - she has reached that great age without, it has to be said, much in the way of wear and tear to show for it but perhaps with some wisdom. (Perhaps. Not all of us who are considerably older are so blessed). Certainly in possession of a cracking sense of humour and a very sharp tongue, as I have often had occasion to mention. 40 isn’t all bad. In fact, it’s not at all bad. Life even looks quite rosy another decade on if I don’t wear my glasses to look in the mirror. Or expect to sport a bikini in public. (Damn. However, it may never have been a very good idea).

It was a great party. Lovely house. Lots of people. No children (what an excellent notion. Much as I love them. And all hail Kay’s mum and dad). Good nibbles. Copious amounts of alcohol. And a performance from those members of Rudsambee who managed to get there. There were 11 of us: Robin, upholding the virtuosity of the tenors alone, but with some sort of help from Jenny gallantly sight-reading at the foot of the stairs. (We sang in the hallway btw and a good place it was to warble, too). Arno and John, halfway up the stairs, represented the basses; Susan, Kay, Marie Claire and Heather, borrowed from the alto section, sang soprano by the front door and Anne, Natalie and I - with occasional interpolations from Jenny when she lost the tenor line – were the altos on the bottom step. (Well, I think Natalie was on the bottom step but I must be allowed a little poetic licence. For the flow, darlings, for the flow). All of the altos were in attendance. What does that tell you about altos?

We sang only four of the songs we’d rehearsed so as not to try the patience of our audience who, after all, had muchos drinking and talking to do. We started with Monateng Kapele, I think, followed by Akanamandla, (or it could have been the other way around – does it matter?? NO), then Island Spinning Song and, to finish, a grand rendition of Kay’s favourite, Son ar Chistr. Lost all Ollie’s refinements – or nearly all, we did manage some quieter bits and a crescendo or two – but we made a good sound for such a reduced number and my, did we have fun! Which was the point.

And our efforts were much appreciated. Which was great.

No time (or opportunity, rather) for the world premiere of my Meisterwerk, but – never mind, eh? It’ll mean I have something new for our next choir party-piece party. And I can spend a bit of time refining it. Of course this means I have no excuse if it’s rubbish.

Hmmm.

Jenny, Arno and I were the last to leave. Hope we didn’t outstay our welcome but it wasn’t THAT late. Jenny, who lives down the road from Kay had brought her car (?) and offered me, who lives on the other side of town, a lift home (??). I was most grateful (having shoes I don’t often wear rubbing holes in my feet), though somewhat nonplussed (not an unusual feeling when in Mrs Fardell’s company) and I accepted her offer with unattractive alacrity (some small protest but not enough to make her rethink). Arno lives nearish to me so Jen offered him a lift, too. He was more of a gentleman (no, really) and said he was quite happy to walk. Once he understood that Jenny was taking me almost past his door he realised he was not at all happy to walk. So off we went all three.

Good night.

Goodnight.