You have not heard from me for several weeks because I have been on holiday – and I have been badly spoiled. Three weeks of almost uninterrupted sunshine. Good food, far too much wine and beer (but lots of water, too, to compensate), the company of my husband and, eventually, once they’d finished with their own gadding expeditions - one to the festival in Benicassim and t’other to Ibiza, the girls as well. Oh what a lovely time we had.
And now, here I am in Edinburgh and – nice to be home and all that BUT... where’s my sunshine???? I seem to have missed whatever paltry amount has been on offer since my return by being at work while it was making its brief appearance. Darn! My tan will fade and then I’ll be just a little, pale, old lady again (with a few extra wrinkles courtesy of la lovely France and Espan-with wiggle-a the excelente - but so worth it. I think... will keep you posted on that one) and all the loveliness will be forgotten.
I don’t know if anyone kept you in the Rudsambee loop while I was away but I doubt it as lots of other warblers were away at the same time. This appalling holiday-taking nonsense even led to the cancellation of one rehearsal as there were too few people around to make it worth meeting. Imagine! Perhaps we’ll have to institute a sort of office-type holiday rota so no two (or three or, God forbid, four) members of any one part are away at the same time. We have a concert coming up (Sunday 14th Aug, 6 o’clock, St Giles’ Cathedral btw) and most of us will be around for that, I’m glad to say and from what I could gather on Wednesday, in spite of the shameful summer-absenteeism, much hard work has been done while I’ve been away – particularly on Leonardo’s machine which just about sounds ready to take off now. As long as it launches itself in the right direction and doesn’t crash halfway through the flight it promises to be quite spectacular. There is the occasional cough in the engine and I am often in danger of running out of fuel but I think between us we might manage to keep airborne for long enough. And here’s to a gentle landing.
A few adjustments have had to be made to the programme and the parts because poor Marie Claire has to work during the concert – that’s the trouble with being clever and qualifying as a doctor; not very easy to get out of it if the hours don’t quite suit. We won’t be singing Quand j’ai ouy which is a shame because it’s a great song and MC’s solo is gorgeous and Natalie has taken over singing MC’s triplets in Leonardo – seems to have got the hang of them very quickly (they’re yummy, listen out for them if you’re at the concert). I’m not sure whether this rearrangement has led to Susan’s part changing or what but there was some discussion as to whether or not she was happy with whatever it is she’s doing now. Some sort of run somewhere (or is she actually going for a run? She did a charity walk recently, perhaps she’s moving on); apparently she can manage perfectly well when singing along with a recording, “Because”, she said, “there are lots of people singing the right notes.” “Ooo,” said Ollie, “so damning, Susan.” Quite amusing to watch her trying to wriggle out of that one. I knew what you meant, Susan. Those other sopranos are dreadful.
I’m not sure if Robin ever got an answer to his question – “How much wind should we be producing?” As much as poss, lads. We need to blow the audience away.
We did some perfecting work on Fog Elna Khel – without Arno to begin with because it’s quite high for him to sing without a warm-up. Having said that, none of us got a warm-up until about halfway through the rehearsal – what possessed the BW to allow us one then is beyond me. Maybe we were grating on his ears. We sang a few arpeggios or something and then Natalie asked what the highest note we sang was… “A C#, I think,” said Ollie, prodding at the keyboard. “Surely not!” someone exclaimed. “Yes, I think it was.” More prodding. “If it was, why are we singing alto?” asked Nat. Why indeed. And I echo the ‘surely not’.
We sang through Bog Off – which is being re-introduced after far too long a gap – for those newcomers who needed to learn pronunciation; Kiisu-miisu for Natalie who has never sung this with Robin doing the solo and was keen to give it a go (not sure why when all we do is make meowing noises in the background but hey! and it’s an absolute delight to hear it because Robin gets better every time – brilliant); Visur Vatnsenda-Rosu for ditto Bog Off; Envoi, which nearly caused fisticuffs... “That was rubbish,” the Lord and Master announced, stopping us after all of two bars of whichever bit we were practising. “Did he call us rubbish?” asked an outraged bass (or was it a tenor? It was male, anyway). “There’s only one of him,” says another b or t, male anyway, “We can take him.” We didn’t. Ollie protested innocence and he is only very small, so instead we just sang it again and did it better. He’ll never learn, will he, if that’s the way we behave? ; and Desh, during which we had to close our eyes and pretend to be Augustus Gloop, the fat greedy boy from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. “I want the sweets. I want the sweets,” we chanted as crossly as possible and boy! were we disagreeable. That is how we have to sound when singing bits of Desh. We will have to try and do it with a smile for fear our petulance upsets the audience and has them marching out in disgust.
Eh, voila! C’est tout. Oh – except for how’s this for stoopid? I spent really rather a lot of time this afternoon booking a ticket for a fringe show – the Traverse box office web site was being contrary – but I got my ticket in the end. It took me about half an hour to realise that I had booked a non-refundable, non-returnable ticket for Sunday 14th August at 6.30pm...
Am I not supposed to be elsewhere at that time?
A***.
xx from your bird-brained blogetteer.
Monday, 8 August 2011
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Rufus RIP
Sad day. Rufus, choir cat-mascot of the male variety, is no more. Rosie is still going strong but will no doubt start missing her pal very soon. We all send our love and condolences to the Wexler family, don’t we? Rehearsals will be very quiet – unless, of course, it’s Rosie who does the yowling. Trust me not to know.
You will have noticed that I missed a week... I had my reasons. Not good ones but reasons all the same. I was going to wait until after our concert on Saturday, which seemed like a sensible plan, but then I was very busy on Sunday – I started putting books back on shelves when tennis was cancelled (too windy, apparently! They can’t make that excuse at Wimbledon, can they? Where’s the commitment?), and once one starts a job like that – especially when everything must be in alphabetical order – it is almost impossible to stop. I went on so long that I didn’t start getting ready to go to Anne’s (60th – no, surely not) birthday party until almost the time I was supposed to be at John and Susan’s getting a lift. You will have gathered that I was at a party on Sunday afternoon (a great party, thank you, Anne and Dick) – no chance to blog there – and once I got home not only did I find a daughter in residence on the sofa expecting attention but I also HAD to finish the re-shelving. Over a thousand books later I’d done everything but the ones the girls and/or I used to love when they were little which I can’t possibly throw out and some mysterious tomes belonging to my husband which will probably have to go as he’s not here to stop me chucking them out. Sunday gone. Monday I had to work, then I went to Pilates, then I did the kiddies books. Monday gone. Today it’s Tuesday and Tuesday is nearly gone but anyway it’s too late for last week’s news now because there will be more tomorrow. Probably.
Until tomorrow, then. Or rather Thursday. But my next few days are shaping up to be extremely busy as well, so – oh dear!... you may have a long wait.
And you have had. It is now the evening of the Monday following the one mentioned above. Ooops. Perhaps I should use the ‘s’ word? I have avoided it very effectively for quite a while. Maybe it should make an appearance here. Or maybe not. Life gets in the way of many things and blogging is one of them. Life has included an inordinate amount of cleaning recently due to the necessity of hosting weekend houseguests – very lovely to have them and SO very lovely to have a spotless dwelling but not good for my duties as blogetteer. I even cleaned windows which is unheard of around here. It is so pleasant to be able to see out into the garden again though unfortunately, apart from sweeping the front path and removing a large pile of busily rotting garden waste from the (laughingly named) patio (i.e. a number of very ugly paving slabs rather carelessly laid – yet another job waiting... and waiting... and... to be done), the garden I am looking out on did not get tidied along with the rooms from which the windows look out upon it. I am going on holiday on Saturday – imagine the jungle to which I shall return in three weeks’ time.
What do I have to tell you? Great concert at the Reid Hall on June 25th. Lovely audience – and not a bad size, either. We raised a goodly sum for our charities – St Columba’s Hospice and Drake Music, Scotland. I made my bottling speech which must have been well received in spite of its ‘cheekiness’. Cheeky is a polite judgement, I think! Well, it did the trick and if people felt pressured into handing over their cash then I did my job well – and at least I made them laugh while I extorted the dosh. We sang well and (Ollie having decided not to air Leonardo for a practice run) were relaxed and able to enjoy ourselves. I had thought that we should give Leo a go but changed my mind the night before the concert because it would have been too much pressure and the rest of the pieces would probably have suffered from it, so I was delighted when the Boy Wonder announced his decision – and I was far from the only one. We will be singing it in St Giles in August.
Aaaagh!
On Wednesday there was a very small turn-out at rehearsal (happens so often after a concert) so Ollie suggested we sort out some of the tricky passages of the above-mentioned demon of a piece and finish early. I’m not sure if we did finish early in the end but we certainly went some way towards sorting out the tricky passages. And it was fun. Perhaps not everyone there would agree with that last statement but I enjoyed myself – except for when my voice started giving out; it seems not to have recovered fully from the problem before Christmas and I got into a bit of a sulk and a temper with it and announced - sotto voce – to Jenny that I would probably have to give up the choir and give up singing for good very soon. But I won’t. I shall continue screeching and squeaking until they chuck me out with une puce in my oreille. So if you come to a concert in the near future and hear weird and musically inexplicable noises emanating from the alto section I shall be looking innocent and trying to imply, with small grimaces and movements of the shoulder, that the tenors behind me are to blame - but you, Dear Reader(s) will know the shameful truth. Don’t tell, I beg.
Not a very satisfactory effort, this edition. Whomsoever, back in the dim and distant day, coined the word ‘erratic’ did it entirely for the future benefit of your Rudsambee blog, I think, which is nothing if not that. I‘m going to do it... I am... I can feel it coming on... it had to happen sooner or later... all that effort for nothing, dammit –
Sorry.
You will have noticed that I missed a week... I had my reasons. Not good ones but reasons all the same. I was going to wait until after our concert on Saturday, which seemed like a sensible plan, but then I was very busy on Sunday – I started putting books back on shelves when tennis was cancelled (too windy, apparently! They can’t make that excuse at Wimbledon, can they? Where’s the commitment?), and once one starts a job like that – especially when everything must be in alphabetical order – it is almost impossible to stop. I went on so long that I didn’t start getting ready to go to Anne’s (60th – no, surely not) birthday party until almost the time I was supposed to be at John and Susan’s getting a lift. You will have gathered that I was at a party on Sunday afternoon (a great party, thank you, Anne and Dick) – no chance to blog there – and once I got home not only did I find a daughter in residence on the sofa expecting attention but I also HAD to finish the re-shelving. Over a thousand books later I’d done everything but the ones the girls and/or I used to love when they were little which I can’t possibly throw out and some mysterious tomes belonging to my husband which will probably have to go as he’s not here to stop me chucking them out. Sunday gone. Monday I had to work, then I went to Pilates, then I did the kiddies books. Monday gone. Today it’s Tuesday and Tuesday is nearly gone but anyway it’s too late for last week’s news now because there will be more tomorrow. Probably.
Until tomorrow, then. Or rather Thursday. But my next few days are shaping up to be extremely busy as well, so – oh dear!... you may have a long wait.
And you have had. It is now the evening of the Monday following the one mentioned above. Ooops. Perhaps I should use the ‘s’ word? I have avoided it very effectively for quite a while. Maybe it should make an appearance here. Or maybe not. Life gets in the way of many things and blogging is one of them. Life has included an inordinate amount of cleaning recently due to the necessity of hosting weekend houseguests – very lovely to have them and SO very lovely to have a spotless dwelling but not good for my duties as blogetteer. I even cleaned windows which is unheard of around here. It is so pleasant to be able to see out into the garden again though unfortunately, apart from sweeping the front path and removing a large pile of busily rotting garden waste from the (laughingly named) patio (i.e. a number of very ugly paving slabs rather carelessly laid – yet another job waiting... and waiting... and... to be done), the garden I am looking out on did not get tidied along with the rooms from which the windows look out upon it. I am going on holiday on Saturday – imagine the jungle to which I shall return in three weeks’ time.
What do I have to tell you? Great concert at the Reid Hall on June 25th. Lovely audience – and not a bad size, either. We raised a goodly sum for our charities – St Columba’s Hospice and Drake Music, Scotland. I made my bottling speech which must have been well received in spite of its ‘cheekiness’. Cheeky is a polite judgement, I think! Well, it did the trick and if people felt pressured into handing over their cash then I did my job well – and at least I made them laugh while I extorted the dosh. We sang well and (Ollie having decided not to air Leonardo for a practice run) were relaxed and able to enjoy ourselves. I had thought that we should give Leo a go but changed my mind the night before the concert because it would have been too much pressure and the rest of the pieces would probably have suffered from it, so I was delighted when the Boy Wonder announced his decision – and I was far from the only one. We will be singing it in St Giles in August.
Aaaagh!
On Wednesday there was a very small turn-out at rehearsal (happens so often after a concert) so Ollie suggested we sort out some of the tricky passages of the above-mentioned demon of a piece and finish early. I’m not sure if we did finish early in the end but we certainly went some way towards sorting out the tricky passages. And it was fun. Perhaps not everyone there would agree with that last statement but I enjoyed myself – except for when my voice started giving out; it seems not to have recovered fully from the problem before Christmas and I got into a bit of a sulk and a temper with it and announced - sotto voce – to Jenny that I would probably have to give up the choir and give up singing for good very soon. But I won’t. I shall continue screeching and squeaking until they chuck me out with une puce in my oreille. So if you come to a concert in the near future and hear weird and musically inexplicable noises emanating from the alto section I shall be looking innocent and trying to imply, with small grimaces and movements of the shoulder, that the tenors behind me are to blame - but you, Dear Reader(s) will know the shameful truth. Don’t tell, I beg.
Not a very satisfactory effort, this edition. Whomsoever, back in the dim and distant day, coined the word ‘erratic’ did it entirely for the future benefit of your Rudsambee blog, I think, which is nothing if not that. I‘m going to do it... I am... I can feel it coming on... it had to happen sooner or later... all that effort for nothing, dammit –
Sorry.
Friday, 17 June 2011
Oo-er
And a very wide yawn. Up at 3.30 this-morning having only succumbed to sleep at about 1.30am (intended to stay up all night and ‘power through’ as elder sprog would say. Fail). Was walking down to Waverley Bridge by 4.20 in order to hop aboard airport bus. As a result of all this am feeling very slightly woozy and numb of brain. Was definitely at a choir rehearsal last night but not sure where or why or what we did. Also am using my dad’s lap-top with strangely small and curvy keyboard - most confusing. Hold out very little hope for this blog. Funny, isn’t it - and have meant to mention this many times before - how computers do not recognise the word ‘blog’ when it only exists because they do.
So - you may be pleasantly surprised by shortness of this update. Unless new burst of post-prandial energy kicks in and I start sp... - am unable to write the word I want as computer keeps changing it so will have to space out letters, sorry - s p r a f f i n g with typical over-volubility.
Computer wished me to write ‘strafing’. What on earth for?
A committee meeting was just coming to a conclusion when I arrived last night - I am not sure if anyone present was paying attention as most of them espied my arrival and waved at me through the window when I’m sure they should have been looking at whoever was talking and, at the very least, pretending to listen. I heard Anne bringing proceedings to a close sounding only a tiny little bit frustrated.
Through to the other room trooped the committee having done their duty and on we went.
Douglas was back with much improved eye but accompanied by Jean, ready, she said, to take him home at the first sign of weariness. She stayed in the kitchen reading a book so I presume she can see through doors - Douglas obviously doesn’t really need his eyesight with such a wife. He stayed until nearly the end of the evening and then, with no word from Jean it seems, slipped quietly away. Telepathy as well as x-ray vision at work? "Douglas, you have had enough, don’t over-do it. Douglas, you have had enough. Time to go home..." Hmm. I wonder. If she can see through wood...
Taught the new people Une Puce - oh, the memories of trying to read weirdy olde French words and music at the same time. I think they were picking it up very quickly, considering. I am a little vague (not unusual) about what else we did. Contre qui, Rose was one - pretty well remembered. Sang it very slowly. No breath. Blue in face. No one noticed. Ollie had the girls practise their over-toney,harmonics-y singing for Desh - every time I think I’ve got this it goes again but it’s much easier when everyone’s singing and you can just go for it underneath all the other noise. The altos are better at this than the sopranos. Lower voices come in handy now and again even if they’re not so show-boat-y in general. Once we’d done this for a bit we all got back together again and practised the whole thing, rather slowly because slowly is how we’ll have to perform it in St Giles in the summer and we might as well get used to it. The tenors have to start this piece and have often been in trouble for not looking up to take the beat and speed from the BW... the sight of Robin with his eyes out on stalks, almost falling over in his eagerness to be seen to be watching was one I will not soon forget. Priceless. Even Douglas was looking at Ol, with one eye at least...
At some point during or after the singing of this piece I turned to see Jenny yogically propped on one leg , with the fingers of her left hand resting on her knee, middle finger to thumb, eyes fixed and staring as if she were in a meditative trance. "Are you being a tree?" I asked (that is a yoga posture btw, one which inevitably causes me to fall over unless I have the right trousers on - long story, don’t ask). The tree was instantly felled and became hysterical. I can’t be certain but I’m not sure she knew she was doing whatever she was doing... should we worry?
Then we sang Leonardo all the way through and in the bits where it didn’t sound dreadful it sounded amazing. Really. And there were quite a few bits which didn’t sound dreadful. By George, I think we’ve almost got it. OK, OK - slightly optimistic assessment perhaps, but there are a fair few of us who think we should just go for it and try it out at the next concert - there’s got to be a first time and it’s not necessarily easier the longer it’s left. Kay, for one, is not so keen. She has missed a rehearsal or two (in San Francisco, don’t ask me to feel sorry for her!) and Tamsin is not going to be at the Reid Hall concert so that leaves just Harriet (she does know what she’s doing) and Kay herself on the Soprano 1 part which is very high and pretty tricky, but - quit yer moaning, Ms Russell and listen to yer mp3!!!!!!!!!! [The BW, btw, sent around carefully crafted recordings of each part to help people to rehearse. There is a suspicion that only two people have actually listened to theirs.]
All over and more yummy biscuits and that’s when I decided to stay up all night because tea and biscuits after 10pm do not make for an easy drift off nod-landwards. Had long conversations about lord knows what with heaven knows whom. And then, as we were getting ready to leave, Jenny was talking about son Josh’s temper. "I just don’t listen", she says, putting the middle fingers of both hands to corresponding thumbs, "I just do this and close my eyes". Ah-ha. Now we know what she was doing in rehearsal. Not doing. She was not listening. Obviously. Duh. Trees have no ears...
I bid you farewell from not-at-all-sunny Sussex. Oh, no, wait - there are shadows on the lawn. Can this mean...??????? Yey! I see blue sky. I go out under it.
Mwah.
So - you may be pleasantly surprised by shortness of this update. Unless new burst of post-prandial energy kicks in and I start sp... - am unable to write the word I want as computer keeps changing it so will have to space out letters, sorry - s p r a f f i n g with typical over-volubility.
Computer wished me to write ‘strafing’. What on earth for?
A committee meeting was just coming to a conclusion when I arrived last night - I am not sure if anyone present was paying attention as most of them espied my arrival and waved at me through the window when I’m sure they should have been looking at whoever was talking and, at the very least, pretending to listen. I heard Anne bringing proceedings to a close sounding only a tiny little bit frustrated.
Through to the other room trooped the committee having done their duty and on we went.
Douglas was back with much improved eye but accompanied by Jean, ready, she said, to take him home at the first sign of weariness. She stayed in the kitchen reading a book so I presume she can see through doors - Douglas obviously doesn’t really need his eyesight with such a wife. He stayed until nearly the end of the evening and then, with no word from Jean it seems, slipped quietly away. Telepathy as well as x-ray vision at work? "Douglas, you have had enough, don’t over-do it. Douglas, you have had enough. Time to go home..." Hmm. I wonder. If she can see through wood...
Taught the new people Une Puce - oh, the memories of trying to read weirdy olde French words and music at the same time. I think they were picking it up very quickly, considering. I am a little vague (not unusual) about what else we did. Contre qui, Rose was one - pretty well remembered. Sang it very slowly. No breath. Blue in face. No one noticed. Ollie had the girls practise their over-toney,harmonics-y singing for Desh - every time I think I’ve got this it goes again but it’s much easier when everyone’s singing and you can just go for it underneath all the other noise. The altos are better at this than the sopranos. Lower voices come in handy now and again even if they’re not so show-boat-y in general. Once we’d done this for a bit we all got back together again and practised the whole thing, rather slowly because slowly is how we’ll have to perform it in St Giles in the summer and we might as well get used to it. The tenors have to start this piece and have often been in trouble for not looking up to take the beat and speed from the BW... the sight of Robin with his eyes out on stalks, almost falling over in his eagerness to be seen to be watching was one I will not soon forget. Priceless. Even Douglas was looking at Ol, with one eye at least...
At some point during or after the singing of this piece I turned to see Jenny yogically propped on one leg , with the fingers of her left hand resting on her knee, middle finger to thumb, eyes fixed and staring as if she were in a meditative trance. "Are you being a tree?" I asked (that is a yoga posture btw, one which inevitably causes me to fall over unless I have the right trousers on - long story, don’t ask). The tree was instantly felled and became hysterical. I can’t be certain but I’m not sure she knew she was doing whatever she was doing... should we worry?
Then we sang Leonardo all the way through and in the bits where it didn’t sound dreadful it sounded amazing. Really. And there were quite a few bits which didn’t sound dreadful. By George, I think we’ve almost got it. OK, OK - slightly optimistic assessment perhaps, but there are a fair few of us who think we should just go for it and try it out at the next concert - there’s got to be a first time and it’s not necessarily easier the longer it’s left. Kay, for one, is not so keen. She has missed a rehearsal or two (in San Francisco, don’t ask me to feel sorry for her!) and Tamsin is not going to be at the Reid Hall concert so that leaves just Harriet (she does know what she’s doing) and Kay herself on the Soprano 1 part which is very high and pretty tricky, but - quit yer moaning, Ms Russell and listen to yer mp3!!!!!!!!!! [The BW, btw, sent around carefully crafted recordings of each part to help people to rehearse. There is a suspicion that only two people have actually listened to theirs.]
All over and more yummy biscuits and that’s when I decided to stay up all night because tea and biscuits after 10pm do not make for an easy drift off nod-landwards. Had long conversations about lord knows what with heaven knows whom. And then, as we were getting ready to leave, Jenny was talking about son Josh’s temper. "I just don’t listen", she says, putting the middle fingers of both hands to corresponding thumbs, "I just do this and close my eyes". Ah-ha. Now we know what she was doing in rehearsal. Not doing. She was not listening. Obviously. Duh. Trees have no ears...
I bid you farewell from not-at-all-sunny Sussex. Oh, no, wait - there are shadows on the lawn. Can this mean...??????? Yey! I see blue sky. I go out under it.
Mwah.
Friday, 10 June 2011
80% of what?
I should be in my garden planting things that should have been planted weeks ago but the weather’s looking a bit dicey (what, again?) and I only garden in the sun so here I am instead, feeling slightly guilty for not getting on with one job and rather pleased with myself for substituting another rather than curling up with a book. You are lucky the tennis hasn’t started yet – blogging does not stand a chance against goggling at people walloping a ball back and forth and over and into a net. (And this in spite of the dearth of heart-throbby types. Where are all the pretty boys? Someone needs to start picking potential world-beaters on the basis of their facial features – the bodies look after themselves, after all...)
Too much from one old enough to be (quite a young) grandmother? Possibly. But we all like something nice to look at, don’t we?
Arno mentioned on Wednesday evening that the blogs seem to be getting longer – I think they are and perhaps they shouldn’t be. I go on about myself a good deal, don’t I? See – there’s the flaw in the blogospherical world. Who is going to bother except egocentric types who imagine they have something worthwhile to broadcast about their lives when really they are no more interesting or articulate than anyone else. Quite possibly less so. Almost definitely less so. Well, I’m not going to promise to change my ways. Not when I’m so marvellous and fascinating.
We were sadly down on numbers – again – this week. Douglas is still having to rest his eye, Kay is still on holiday, Heather is still getting married. How long does it take to get hitched these days? For goodness sake! Put on a pretty dress, show off a bit, say “I do” a few times and Bob’s yerunc, Fanny’s yer aunt and you are a Mrs Whoosit. Easy!
As for the others, Luke is no longer recovering from the root-canal work (one hopes) but is being over-worked, as is Christopher. Poor lambs. I have no idea how that feels though I hear about it a lot from my husband. No idea about the rest of the absentees. Hope they’re OK and not in the ranks of the OW’ed as well. Congratulations to Marie-Claire who turned up even though she is doing her (medic) finals and after a not particularly pleasant exam and Anna Lauren who came for a while but had to go home early through tiredness (I think). Hope you’re feeling better, AL. Take it easy whenever possible, that’s my advice. (To everyone – pregnant or not!)
This week we were mostly working on Leonardo. Used Nobis Datus as a warm-up and spent some time perfecting blended vowels which proved to be wasted effort as we had to do it all again when we got to Leo and his machine. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” says our Lord and Master, “You just can’t be bothered to remember”. Well, either stupid or lazy. Take your pick. One way or the other we need to be reminded to an extent which must put oLaM in danger of ulcers. And consider the number of people who were absent... he will have to start reminding all over again next week.!
No change there then.
We are getting the hang of this piece, gradually. Working on a section here, a few bars there, it is beginning to come together. We might even try it out in our next concert. Harriet is going to be the only Sop 1 who knows what is going on and even she-who-is-nearly-perfect found herself going wrong and "trying to follow the tenors". What? Why? I think we’d all agree that this is absolutely no way to go to get things right. [heeeeyyyyy!] Harriet must be aware of this now. The hilarity which followed her admission would be enough to convince anyone that they’d made a fundamental misjudgement. The tenors never know what they are doing, this is accepted fact. Never, ever follow a tenor. Even if – especially if – you are another tenor. [oh okay, fair point.]
Back to the dodgy vowels and, asks Sebastian, “Should I be hearing ‘pisses and writes’?” Well, no. Not ideally. The word is ‘paces’. He is pacing and writing – is he pacing back and forth to his desk, writing a bit then moving on or is he carrying a notepad and a quill with him? Alas! We will never know–he is pacing and writing and not, as someone suggested, causing the candles to burn low by practising his aim. (To such depths, I’m afraid, do your innocent choristers descend from time to time).
Once we’d finished singing someone asked to know what we’re supposed to be singing on June 25th. Ollie said it would be 80% of the London programme. “80% of each song?” asked Robin. “No, we leave four people out each time,” suggested Sebastian. I have no idea if the maths of that notion is correct or not but which is the right answer?
Jenny was quite remarkably quiet this week. Apart, that is, from some muttering during and after bar 90 of the above song (a question of grammar or sentence construction or somesuch – basically no comma where our Jen thinks there should be one); and no, one cannot sing and mutter at the same time but we have 3 bars rest after the problem area and she put these to good use. She told me she’d had no coffee all day and that she’d had some tea before leaving the house (being English, at first I thought she meant a cuppa then realised that she, being from Yorkshire, was referring to dinner). Thus was she in a stable frame of mind. No, no, no, Jenny. Don’t be boring. Drink an ocean of coffee on an empty stomach next Wednesday and come and amuse us properly, please.
Delicious Spanish biscuits, courtesy of John and Susan, at coffee time which meant that I ate far too many and indeed, as a result, more or less lived off biscuits on Wednesday having eaten very little else except for biscuits (homemade and very healthy... hmmm) earlier in the day. Bad me. Some be-wailing of the aging process with Susan and Anne (the latter being much more accepting of it than either Susan or me) over a cup of tea and all those cookies (which are not going to help maintain a healthy, youthful glow now are they?) and time to go home. Jenny offered me a lift, as usual; I accepted, as usual, even though I should have run home as fast as little, fat legs could scamper in order to mitigate effects of appalling diet.
...and I only made the biscuits for the decorators but they don’t seem to eat biscuits and so who’s going to carry on consuming biscuits until they’re all gone...?
Too much from one old enough to be (quite a young) grandmother? Possibly. But we all like something nice to look at, don’t we?
Arno mentioned on Wednesday evening that the blogs seem to be getting longer – I think they are and perhaps they shouldn’t be. I go on about myself a good deal, don’t I? See – there’s the flaw in the blogospherical world. Who is going to bother except egocentric types who imagine they have something worthwhile to broadcast about their lives when really they are no more interesting or articulate than anyone else. Quite possibly less so. Almost definitely less so. Well, I’m not going to promise to change my ways. Not when I’m so marvellous and fascinating.
We were sadly down on numbers – again – this week. Douglas is still having to rest his eye, Kay is still on holiday, Heather is still getting married. How long does it take to get hitched these days? For goodness sake! Put on a pretty dress, show off a bit, say “I do” a few times and Bob’s yerunc, Fanny’s yer aunt and you are a Mrs Whoosit. Easy!
As for the others, Luke is no longer recovering from the root-canal work (one hopes) but is being over-worked, as is Christopher. Poor lambs. I have no idea how that feels though I hear about it a lot from my husband. No idea about the rest of the absentees. Hope they’re OK and not in the ranks of the OW’ed as well. Congratulations to Marie-Claire who turned up even though she is doing her (medic) finals and after a not particularly pleasant exam and Anna Lauren who came for a while but had to go home early through tiredness (I think). Hope you’re feeling better, AL. Take it easy whenever possible, that’s my advice. (To everyone – pregnant or not!)
This week we were mostly working on Leonardo. Used Nobis Datus as a warm-up and spent some time perfecting blended vowels which proved to be wasted effort as we had to do it all again when we got to Leo and his machine. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” says our Lord and Master, “You just can’t be bothered to remember”. Well, either stupid or lazy. Take your pick. One way or the other we need to be reminded to an extent which must put oLaM in danger of ulcers. And consider the number of people who were absent... he will have to start reminding all over again next week.!
No change there then.
We are getting the hang of this piece, gradually. Working on a section here, a few bars there, it is beginning to come together. We might even try it out in our next concert. Harriet is going to be the only Sop 1 who knows what is going on and even she-who-is-nearly-perfect found herself going wrong and "trying to follow the tenors". What? Why? I think we’d all agree that this is absolutely no way to go to get things right. [heeeeyyyyy!] Harriet must be aware of this now. The hilarity which followed her admission would be enough to convince anyone that they’d made a fundamental misjudgement. The tenors never know what they are doing, this is accepted fact. Never, ever follow a tenor. Even if – especially if – you are another tenor. [oh okay, fair point.]
Back to the dodgy vowels and, asks Sebastian, “Should I be hearing ‘pisses and writes’?” Well, no. Not ideally. The word is ‘paces’. He is pacing and writing – is he pacing back and forth to his desk, writing a bit then moving on or is he carrying a notepad and a quill with him? Alas! We will never know–he is pacing and writing and not, as someone suggested, causing the candles to burn low by practising his aim. (To such depths, I’m afraid, do your innocent choristers descend from time to time).
Once we’d finished singing someone asked to know what we’re supposed to be singing on June 25th. Ollie said it would be 80% of the London programme. “80% of each song?” asked Robin. “No, we leave four people out each time,” suggested Sebastian. I have no idea if the maths of that notion is correct or not but which is the right answer?
Jenny was quite remarkably quiet this week. Apart, that is, from some muttering during and after bar 90 of the above song (a question of grammar or sentence construction or somesuch – basically no comma where our Jen thinks there should be one); and no, one cannot sing and mutter at the same time but we have 3 bars rest after the problem area and she put these to good use. She told me she’d had no coffee all day and that she’d had some tea before leaving the house (being English, at first I thought she meant a cuppa then realised that she, being from Yorkshire, was referring to dinner). Thus was she in a stable frame of mind. No, no, no, Jenny. Don’t be boring. Drink an ocean of coffee on an empty stomach next Wednesday and come and amuse us properly, please.
Delicious Spanish biscuits, courtesy of John and Susan, at coffee time which meant that I ate far too many and indeed, as a result, more or less lived off biscuits on Wednesday having eaten very little else except for biscuits (homemade and very healthy... hmmm) earlier in the day. Bad me. Some be-wailing of the aging process with Susan and Anne (the latter being much more accepting of it than either Susan or me) over a cup of tea and all those cookies (which are not going to help maintain a healthy, youthful glow now are they?) and time to go home. Jenny offered me a lift, as usual; I accepted, as usual, even though I should have run home as fast as little, fat legs could scamper in order to mitigate effects of appalling diet.
...and I only made the biscuits for the decorators but they don’t seem to eat biscuits and so who’s going to carry on consuming biscuits until they’re all gone...?
Thursday, 2 June 2011
Are you as confused as I am?
So, here I am once more - having been forced to leave you to Jenny’s tender mercies last week due to yet another internet malfunction. I have said it before – and here I go again (and it won’t be the last time either) – technology is pants. Quite why pants are used as an object of odium I don’t know, I’m sure; darned useful things they are and we’d be lost without them. Or coldish around the nether regions for far too many months of the year, anyway. And, if American, forced to live amongst men in skirts – which, as we well know, faced with some of the be-kilted monstrosities to be seen hinginaboot the streets and byways of Scotchland, can be an unsavoury experience to say the least.
Thank you, Jenny, for your contribution – much shorter and to the point than anything I seem able to produce; but I was sorry you did a me and forgot the funny thing(s) I said. I can remember them extremely clearly (there’s a wonder) but it’s too late now to repeat them (sob) and my wit is lost to the wider world (that’s you, Dear solitary Reader) forever (sigh).
Well, I’d better get a move on while the internet-sticky-thingy deigns to do its job so here goes:
Last night. Thought I was running late but arrived to find nearly everyone congregated in the hall – something of a squash – in no particular hurry to move and get on despite our Lord and Master having been quite stern on the subject of tardiness at last week’s meeting and at one or two rehearsals earlier in the year. However the L&M was also rather sloth-like and, dawdling from the basement regions some minutes behind time himself, proceeded to engage my attention with tales of a wedding attended last weekend (of which more later) instead of chivvying us through to start practising.
Eventually we were gathered in the correct place, missing a few notables: Douglas, recovering from a detached retina (eek); Luke, recovering from root-canal work (yuck); Kay, John and Susan on holiday (grrr) and Heather, getting married soon (aah). Anna Lauren was back and recovered from foot-failure (yey), (tentative diagnosis, tendonitis) and looking every inch the blooming mother-to-be but, she says, feeling like the chap in Alien just before the gruesome bit.
Robin was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Bert and whoosit on it (help, please, Christopher – can’t remember the other one’s name [It's Ernie]). “Ahh, is that you and Gordon?” asks Jenny. “Ur.. um.. no.. yes,” answers Robin (that’s clear then). “I always thought Bert and Ernie were brothers,” offers Behm. “Oh, no. No oh no,” say Robin, Chris and Ollie. “Perhaps I had a strange relationship with my brothers then,” Behm suggests. Perhaps he did.
We began by trying something new – Nobis Datus by Victoria. I don’t remember why Jenny was fussing but I do remember that Christopher guffawed far too loudly and quite unnecessarily when Ollie said to her (with only a small touch of equally superfluous irony and a large grin), ‘Nevermind, just follow Claire’. Now, as you will witness, I am always willing to admit my failings when it comes to sight-reading (and counting and singing in tune) but I am not a complete numpty and actually – apart from the counting – this was not at all a difficult piece to sight-read and I did it perfectly well. And our Jenny had got some literary notionette into her head and spent the whole evening trying to get her thoughts down on paper, scribbling away on a tiny scrap of something that resembled a crumpled old receipt from an ancient shopping trip, so that her mind was entirely elsewhere. When we moved on to Leonardo I can safely submit that I was upholding the Alto 2's honour pretty much all by myself even in the impossible parts. So there, Mr Editor. There have been rehearsals when Jen has been absent – not many, but she does go off on holiday now and again – and I know I can make a bit of a fuss about singing on my own if there is a new piece or something we’ve not done much but this is only because I do not like, never have liked and never will like, making a fool of myself. I am full of admiration for people who get on with the job and get it wrong and ask for assistance but I like to get things right (and first time if at all possible) – which is silly, I know but can’t be helped. But at these Jenny-less rehearsals, I am not entirely lost and it should not be presumed that I am, thank you very much.
That told ‘em.
Yes, we spent a fair amount of time on old Leo which is good. I, for one, am quite a bit clearer on what happens where and I actually managed to sing and count (not much watching Ollie but you can’t have it all at once) all the way through to the end before the evening was over. We still didn’t practise the beginning, which has been sadly neglected, but I am sure that will come and Anne assures me that our part isn’t too difficult [The first page isn't hard, it's just loud and high]. I don’t remember and can’t tell from just glancing at it but I’m sure she’s right. (!) Once we’d finished Ollie was telling us which bits we’d rehearse in detail next week. He told the tenors to look at page 6. I suggested they might like to look at the music on page 6 as well. Nikos asked if the basses could work on page 5, “Particularly bar 21... And 22... and 23, and – up to 26, actually.” “Perhaps we could start at bar one”, Sebastian added. I think we all know how they feel.
Afterwards we gave Rachael a very late birthday card – a first and very feeble offering from yours truly. She should have had one a couple of weeks ago but Douglas has been off (see above) and so Natalie asked me last week if I could arrange something instead. Well, I thought I’d have lots of time at work to make something worth giving her but I didn’t as it turned out so, sorry, Rachael – perhaps next year. A raucous rendition of the birthday song may have made up for the poor quality of the card itself. I hope so.
During the coffee-and-tea-drinking session that inevitably follows rehearsals we heard more about Ollie’s wedding. Well, not his – God forbid! – but the one he went to. Old school friend marrying into the Greek community this was one big, fat Greek wedding. 500 guests. £27,000 pinned to or draped over the happy couple. Ol said he was embarrassed to offer his meagre £20 when others had made necklaces of £50 notes so it went back in his pocket! I think £20 is a generous offering myself but perhaps under the circumstances and in such a public arena... But then – imagine – he went to sign the Guest Book only to discover they were charging £25 for the privilege. Hmm... Have we non-Greeks been getting things seriously wrong all these years? Either I need to find my girls Greek husbands (Nikos? One of the sopranos (????) thinks he has “a... captivating voice” – there’s no way of doing justice to the way it was said - and he seems like a lovely young man) or I need to start a new way of doing things. (In Scotland? Amongst the Scots? Is it likely to take off?)
And speaking of new ways of doing things we decided that Marie Claire, once qualified as a doctor, should set about making hospitals more like those of Holby City and Casualty. Living personal crises out on the wards to enliven things. Forgetting about the patients while emoting about yer love-life. That sort of mullarkey.Much more fun. During this conversation I suffered the thoroughly-deserved intervention of the karmic: “So, you’ll be a real doctor soon,” says Robin during discussion about the horrors of final exams. “If she passes”, I say (why?) and kick over a glass the contents of which merrily take off in an unstoppable stream across the carpet (the room must slope). I ran to the kitchen for mopping paraphernalia while Robin and Marie Claire laughed heartily at my misfortune. At least it was just water. The gods must know I really didn’t mean to be mean.
Ollie was causing great hilarity in the kitchen but I was in the wrong place saying the wrong thing so I’ve no idea what he was talking about. Regaling his appreciative audience with more wedding stories, I believe. Chris was cooking Ollie’s dinner and a very delicious pancake was shoved into my hands and pretty quickly after that into my mouth. Yum. And there was more later, of a sweet variety and bang went the smug feeling I’d been experiencing due to having consumed slightly fewer-than-recommended calories during the day. Ah well! Skinny quite often = scrawny at my age and is scrawny a good look? Is it? I think you all know what I want you to say...
Bye-bye, Lovelies.
Thank you, Jenny, for your contribution – much shorter and to the point than anything I seem able to produce; but I was sorry you did a me and forgot the funny thing(s) I said. I can remember them extremely clearly (there’s a wonder) but it’s too late now to repeat them (sob) and my wit is lost to the wider world (that’s you, Dear solitary Reader) forever (sigh).
Well, I’d better get a move on while the internet-sticky-thingy deigns to do its job so here goes:
Last night. Thought I was running late but arrived to find nearly everyone congregated in the hall – something of a squash – in no particular hurry to move and get on despite our Lord and Master having been quite stern on the subject of tardiness at last week’s meeting and at one or two rehearsals earlier in the year. However the L&M was also rather sloth-like and, dawdling from the basement regions some minutes behind time himself, proceeded to engage my attention with tales of a wedding attended last weekend (of which more later) instead of chivvying us through to start practising.
Eventually we were gathered in the correct place, missing a few notables: Douglas, recovering from a detached retina (eek); Luke, recovering from root-canal work (yuck); Kay, John and Susan on holiday (grrr) and Heather, getting married soon (aah). Anna Lauren was back and recovered from foot-failure (yey), (tentative diagnosis, tendonitis) and looking every inch the blooming mother-to-be but, she says, feeling like the chap in Alien just before the gruesome bit.
Robin was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Bert and whoosit on it (help, please, Christopher – can’t remember the other one’s name [It's Ernie]). “Ahh, is that you and Gordon?” asks Jenny. “Ur.. um.. no.. yes,” answers Robin (that’s clear then). “I always thought Bert and Ernie were brothers,” offers Behm. “Oh, no. No oh no,” say Robin, Chris and Ollie. “Perhaps I had a strange relationship with my brothers then,” Behm suggests. Perhaps he did.
We began by trying something new – Nobis Datus by Victoria. I don’t remember why Jenny was fussing but I do remember that Christopher guffawed far too loudly and quite unnecessarily when Ollie said to her (with only a small touch of equally superfluous irony and a large grin), ‘Nevermind, just follow Claire’. Now, as you will witness, I am always willing to admit my failings when it comes to sight-reading (and counting and singing in tune) but I am not a complete numpty and actually – apart from the counting – this was not at all a difficult piece to sight-read and I did it perfectly well. And our Jenny had got some literary notionette into her head and spent the whole evening trying to get her thoughts down on paper, scribbling away on a tiny scrap of something that resembled a crumpled old receipt from an ancient shopping trip, so that her mind was entirely elsewhere. When we moved on to Leonardo I can safely submit that I was upholding the Alto 2's honour pretty much all by myself even in the impossible parts. So there, Mr Editor. There have been rehearsals when Jen has been absent – not many, but she does go off on holiday now and again – and I know I can make a bit of a fuss about singing on my own if there is a new piece or something we’ve not done much but this is only because I do not like, never have liked and never will like, making a fool of myself. I am full of admiration for people who get on with the job and get it wrong and ask for assistance but I like to get things right (and first time if at all possible) – which is silly, I know but can’t be helped. But at these Jenny-less rehearsals, I am not entirely lost and it should not be presumed that I am, thank you very much.
That told ‘em.
Yes, we spent a fair amount of time on old Leo which is good. I, for one, am quite a bit clearer on what happens where and I actually managed to sing and count (not much watching Ollie but you can’t have it all at once) all the way through to the end before the evening was over. We still didn’t practise the beginning, which has been sadly neglected, but I am sure that will come and Anne assures me that our part isn’t too difficult [The first page isn't hard, it's just loud and high]. I don’t remember and can’t tell from just glancing at it but I’m sure she’s right. (!) Once we’d finished Ollie was telling us which bits we’d rehearse in detail next week. He told the tenors to look at page 6. I suggested they might like to look at the music on page 6 as well. Nikos asked if the basses could work on page 5, “Particularly bar 21... And 22... and 23, and – up to 26, actually.” “Perhaps we could start at bar one”, Sebastian added. I think we all know how they feel.
Afterwards we gave Rachael a very late birthday card – a first and very feeble offering from yours truly. She should have had one a couple of weeks ago but Douglas has been off (see above) and so Natalie asked me last week if I could arrange something instead. Well, I thought I’d have lots of time at work to make something worth giving her but I didn’t as it turned out so, sorry, Rachael – perhaps next year. A raucous rendition of the birthday song may have made up for the poor quality of the card itself. I hope so.
During the coffee-and-tea-drinking session that inevitably follows rehearsals we heard more about Ollie’s wedding. Well, not his – God forbid! – but the one he went to. Old school friend marrying into the Greek community this was one big, fat Greek wedding. 500 guests. £27,000 pinned to or draped over the happy couple. Ol said he was embarrassed to offer his meagre £20 when others had made necklaces of £50 notes so it went back in his pocket! I think £20 is a generous offering myself but perhaps under the circumstances and in such a public arena... But then – imagine – he went to sign the Guest Book only to discover they were charging £25 for the privilege. Hmm... Have we non-Greeks been getting things seriously wrong all these years? Either I need to find my girls Greek husbands (Nikos? One of the sopranos (????) thinks he has “a... captivating voice” – there’s no way of doing justice to the way it was said - and he seems like a lovely young man) or I need to start a new way of doing things. (In Scotland? Amongst the Scots? Is it likely to take off?)
And speaking of new ways of doing things we decided that Marie Claire, once qualified as a doctor, should set about making hospitals more like those of Holby City and Casualty. Living personal crises out on the wards to enliven things. Forgetting about the patients while emoting about yer love-life. That sort of mullarkey.Much more fun. During this conversation I suffered the thoroughly-deserved intervention of the karmic: “So, you’ll be a real doctor soon,” says Robin during discussion about the horrors of final exams. “If she passes”, I say (why?) and kick over a glass the contents of which merrily take off in an unstoppable stream across the carpet (the room must slope). I ran to the kitchen for mopping paraphernalia while Robin and Marie Claire laughed heartily at my misfortune. At least it was just water. The gods must know I really didn’t mean to be mean.
Ollie was causing great hilarity in the kitchen but I was in the wrong place saying the wrong thing so I’ve no idea what he was talking about. Regaling his appreciative audience with more wedding stories, I believe. Chris was cooking Ollie’s dinner and a very delicious pancake was shoved into my hands and pretty quickly after that into my mouth. Yum. And there was more later, of a sweet variety and bang went the smug feeling I’d been experiencing due to having consumed slightly fewer-than-recommended calories during the day. Ah well! Skinny quite often = scrawny at my age and is scrawny a good look? Is it? I think you all know what I want you to say...
Bye-bye, Lovelies.
Friday, 27 May 2011
Spoiled you are!
It seems like our blogstress is stressed by her computer's kapuz-ted-ness. Could her tired mind have been thinking straight when she asked me to have a go at taking over her precious blog until she's fixed? However, it is a great pleasure dwelling on our AGM which poor Natalie valiantly brought to order several times and managed to keep us from too much discussion on the nitty gritty of things. Such as Robin asking me when and in which context I would use the expression - "Eeee, lad, A'll go to t'foot o' ow-er stairs!" - and Behm being surprised that my Granny actually used the expression.
I don't know what Sebastian's poor visiting daddy made of it all, him not speaking much German... I mean English.... (He may not speak much German either, but he seemed to make a pretty good attempt at it!!) Personally, I think he should be writing this blog, and next time I propose we do the AGM in subtitles.
In the midst of a nice selection of biscuits, crisps, tea, coffee, and sweets, we thanked Anne and Dick, most profusely, for their hard work as Admin and Treasurer. And we cheered heartily for the members willing to take on new posts (mainly relief... no one enjoys feeling they have to volunteer or be elected on the spot!). However Heather, our new Administrator, is going to find the job difficult without any arms... the said limbs having been twisted off!! Thanks also to Susan, who, on top of everything else she manages is willing to be treasurer and our blogstress who volunteered to HAND MAKE birthday cards for everyone. Thank you to Douglas who has been doing birthday cards (not hand made, though cleverly chosen) for a few years now. He is taking over the Xmas card list. A congratulations to Gordon, our auditor, who got a raise of £5 on his token of thanks. Chris said he will continue to manage the marketing side of things but doesn't promise to manage it unless people ask to be managed, or come to him with good ideas he can unpick and say why they won't work. If I've missed anyone out, sorry, Chris to fill in blanks.... I was too busy being surprised at being a trustee. I forget I am until these AGMs , and Anne is looking at me knowing full well I haven't been a very responsible one.
Nikos had a very clever idea about everyone paying subs in instalments, but it was too much for poor brain cells. People have to excuse my maths - I couldn't tell the time, understand money, do mental arithmetic or fractions way into my teens. But had math solely been binary codes, triangles, bar/ pie charts, or long division, I could have beaten Einstein any day!!
Where was I? Oh, yes.... oh, no .... someone thought I was volunteering for everything, though I'm not sure what and why it amused everyone.... Claire said something funny but I forget what.
Generally our AGMs do not follow the laborious-ness of serious meetings and it's rather difficult for people who need to go through the 'constitution of this that and the other' to get a decent solemn audience. Well done, Herr Meller, who was the only person in the room who was taking any notice whatsoever of the treasurer's report. Having time for a sing after the meeting (what an achievement!!) was anyone else amused or confused by seeing two Sebastians singing bass, or was anyone expecting a double outburst of manic scatting?!
We all deserved a slice of lime cake which Claire had baked, probably to prove to us that her new kitchen is now actually functioning! Then four of us sloped off to the pub.
That's all. I'm off to catch up on the Apprentice.
Jenny
I don't know what Sebastian's poor visiting daddy made of it all, him not speaking much German... I mean English.... (He may not speak much German either, but he seemed to make a pretty good attempt at it!!) Personally, I think he should be writing this blog, and next time I propose we do the AGM in subtitles.
In the midst of a nice selection of biscuits, crisps, tea, coffee, and sweets, we thanked Anne and Dick, most profusely, for their hard work as Admin and Treasurer. And we cheered heartily for the members willing to take on new posts (mainly relief... no one enjoys feeling they have to volunteer or be elected on the spot!). However Heather, our new Administrator, is going to find the job difficult without any arms... the said limbs having been twisted off!! Thanks also to Susan, who, on top of everything else she manages is willing to be treasurer and our blogstress who volunteered to HAND MAKE birthday cards for everyone. Thank you to Douglas who has been doing birthday cards (not hand made, though cleverly chosen) for a few years now. He is taking over the Xmas card list. A congratulations to Gordon, our auditor, who got a raise of £5 on his token of thanks. Chris said he will continue to manage the marketing side of things but doesn't promise to manage it unless people ask to be managed, or come to him with good ideas he can unpick and say why they won't work. If I've missed anyone out, sorry, Chris to fill in blanks.... I was too busy being surprised at being a trustee. I forget I am until these AGMs , and Anne is looking at me knowing full well I haven't been a very responsible one.
Nikos had a very clever idea about everyone paying subs in instalments, but it was too much for poor brain cells. People have to excuse my maths - I couldn't tell the time, understand money, do mental arithmetic or fractions way into my teens. But had math solely been binary codes, triangles, bar/ pie charts, or long division, I could have beaten Einstein any day!!
Where was I? Oh, yes.... oh, no .... someone thought I was volunteering for everything, though I'm not sure what and why it amused everyone.... Claire said something funny but I forget what.
Generally our AGMs do not follow the laborious-ness of serious meetings and it's rather difficult for people who need to go through the 'constitution of this that and the other' to get a decent solemn audience. Well done, Herr Meller, who was the only person in the room who was taking any notice whatsoever of the treasurer's report. Having time for a sing after the meeting (what an achievement!!) was anyone else amused or confused by seeing two Sebastians singing bass, or was anyone expecting a double outburst of manic scatting?!
We all deserved a slice of lime cake which Claire had baked, probably to prove to us that her new kitchen is now actually functioning! Then four of us sloped off to the pub.
That's all. I'm off to catch up on the Apprentice.
Jenny
Thursday, 26 May 2011
They went, they sang, they conquered. Or some such thing.
So we was in Lunnun, innit. And we was good, man. Mos’ly, anyways. A likklebittabovva on Sunday, yeah? bu’ nuffin much. Wicked, me bruvvas. True.
Actually, it really did go quite well and just to prove it, the Belgian choir we sang with on Sunday are very keen – I’m reliably informed – to have us go to visit them and sing in Belgium. And that’s in spite of the fact that we made a right old mess of Jaani Hobu. Disaster struck at a point where stopping to start again was unrealistic so we had to keep going somehow…which we did but only because Harriet refused to be broken and kept singing when all others had given up. I say ‘we’ but the truth is that the altos weren’t supposed to be singing and neither, I believe, were the basses so we can all feel blameless and smug and point fingers at the sopranos and tenors who went wrong BIG TIME – no idea how [this is all a big fib, it was totally the Basses to blame]. Don’t suppose they know either. Eventually things came back together again but rather too together because we all finished at the same time which we shouldn’t have. I doubt anyone in the audience noticed that particular blunder, so much less glaringly obvious than the first. Just as well we don’t take ourselves too seriously, eh? Once we had finished Ollie turned to the audience and explained that we had just been singing about a man riding his horse... ‘And we all know,’ says our BW, ‘that people who ride horses sometimes fall off. I think that’s what happened there.’
Well, it was a good weekend all in all. Unfortunately Anna Lauren was unable to join us having (somewhat mysteriously) damaged her foot and no one wants to be traipsing around London with a sore foot – (I know this having broken my toe while at college when, being unable to get my shoe on, I had to hobble around the city barefoot for two or three weeks. Yuck. And imagine... your blogetteer, a filthy-footed drama student. How, um, bohemian) – especially when pregnant. AL sensibly decided to stay at home (which meant that Rachael had to take over singing her solo in Cheenar Es which she did beautifully, brave girl. To think she was once an alto...)
Those of us who made it to the centre of the universe met up in Ealing on Saturday afternoon where we had a chance to change, chat and check out some of our rival performers before a short rehearsal. After another chin-wag we made our way into St Matthew’s church and awaited our turn for ten minutes of fame. The quality of the singing was variable but all were enthusiastic. There was a lovely Estonians-in-London choir which included three babes-in-arms (Anna Lauren take note), a community choir with a huge age range and a sad story of lost funding and last ever performance, an enormous male-voice choir from Croydon who lifted the roof and were followed by a madrigal group of six – quite some contrast and perhaps not the best bit of programming! We sang second-to-last and did it beautifully – of course, tee hee. The Estonians loved our Tormis and I think everyone appreciated our slightly quirky choice of music. Afterwards we all went our separate ways for the evening – no post-concert hobnobbing this time... people to see, places to go. I went off to my friend Sharon’s for the night, which was lovely. There are some people you just don’t see enough of in life, are there not?
I was hoping to finish this tonight as I’ve left it so long – good excuse; been working ALL week. Six days in a row. What is the world coming to? But if I am to get up to play tennis at 9.30 tomorrow morning and have any chance at all of seeing the ball let alone hitting it I shall have to stop now and tuck myself down (I’m doing this in bed) and try to sleep. Younger daughter phoned earlier to tell me that the world is supposed to be coming to an end tonight - which answers rather neatly the question posed above (and in which case, what a waste of my last hours writing this) - and to tell me she loved me, just in case!! but I shall behave as if I will get my game of tennis in the morning and will get some rest now.
A demain xx
Demain is now aujour d’hui and here I am again having played tennis very badly indeed in the high winds and general dampness of the Meadows courts. Not the best – especially when there is a short-tennis tournament on with very small people playing a whole hell-of-a-lot better than moi. Grrrr.
Where had I got to? Sunday concert. West Hampstead. Glorious day. Arrived for rehearsal at 1.30. I had had breakfast ‘out’ in a lovely place called Le Pain (bread). (My friend Sharon texted her daughter who is currently in Vietnam, ‘In Pain with Claire and dad’. Daughter texted back, ‘Oh dear’! Most amusing) and then a wander around Liberty’s pretending I could afford their wares. Lovely way to start the day. Came upon a slightly dubious conversation, on arrival at Emmanuel Church, involving sleeping with snakes... hmm, don’t ask, but it involved Robin and Marie Claire and some snorts of unbridled laughter until son-of-the-manse Robin remembered where we were and put his Sunday face back on again. A short practise ensued and then the concert at 2.30. Not a bad turn-out really. Mostly family and friends, I think but I’m not certain about that. Considering there appeared to be no advertising except one small notice on the church notice-board, I suppose we were lucky to have an audience at all. And those who were there were very appreciative, as stated above somewhere and the very tight, professional Belgian group – of whom there are only eight or so, liked us muchly it appears. I’m sure we would be delighted to go and sing in Belgium for them but the mini-ness of their choir may make hosting our number a little tricky. We’ll see. I couldn’t stay for the whole of their performance as I had to get to Gatwick so I heard only the first three pieces. They sing beautifully but a very different sort of song choice and a very different style of singing... one with no mistakes, from what I could gather. Not our way at all.
So, now we start preparing for our next concert. Wednesday was quite a laid-back affair - apart from the traditional bickering about French pronunciation – but the Boy Wonder has mastered that language now so we are obliged to listen to him which should help. Should. Don’t hold yer breath. We concentrated on just two songs; the new Lauridson Contre qui, Rose (see petit probleme – avec accent which I must learn to put on for myself - above) and Abbie Betinis’ Envoi. Ollie even gave us a break in which to have a chat in the hope that this would focus our minds better. Wrong. It was really very hard to get back into singing mode once we’d relaxed out of it and considering how much yawning was going on before the break it’s really quite remarkable that anyone remained awake after it. However we managed to make some progress with the pieces and will be able to move on to sorting out old Leonardo next time. He needs some sorting, let me tell you. I am still entirely unable to make head or tail of the last three pages of la-la-la-ing – who would ever have thought it could be so darned difficult to ‘la’ and count and watch Ol all at the same time? My biggest problem these days is the fact that I need reading glasses to see my music with any great clarity now – eventually, failing brain not withstanding, I will know it well enough not to need to worry but seeing it is quite an advantage at this stage – however, with my glasses on, as well as looking like a scary-old granny,teacherly-type (which is not a good look for me), I struggle to see anything but a wavery blur of a conductor who could be doing anything or nothing for all that I can tell and this is even less helpful than failing to see which notes I’m supposed to be warbling and when. Bi-focals, you will suggest but I am in denial and have absolutely no intention of spending even more money on fancy-pantsy stuff such as that. Susan has the peering over the top of her specs down to a fine art but she’s older than me and I just can’t resort to that technique yet awhile. I can’t. Shan’t. So there.
We were missing Anna Lauren so no up-date on the pedi-problem. If you are reading this, AL (how unlikely is that??) I wish you better very soon, my dear.
Not much of an improvement on the anecdotal front. Going to get a very bad school report this term. Promise to make more of an effort from now on. What is the point of everyone being so very funny and witty and clever if I forget what they say as soon as they say it so that I can’t pass the amusement on to you, dear reader?
Bye for now, then, I say; head hanging in shame...
Must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must d
Actually, it really did go quite well and just to prove it, the Belgian choir we sang with on Sunday are very keen – I’m reliably informed – to have us go to visit them and sing in Belgium. And that’s in spite of the fact that we made a right old mess of Jaani Hobu. Disaster struck at a point where stopping to start again was unrealistic so we had to keep going somehow…which we did but only because Harriet refused to be broken and kept singing when all others had given up. I say ‘we’ but the truth is that the altos weren’t supposed to be singing and neither, I believe, were the basses so we can all feel blameless and smug and point fingers at the sopranos and tenors who went wrong BIG TIME – no idea how [this is all a big fib, it was totally the Basses to blame]. Don’t suppose they know either. Eventually things came back together again but rather too together because we all finished at the same time which we shouldn’t have. I doubt anyone in the audience noticed that particular blunder, so much less glaringly obvious than the first. Just as well we don’t take ourselves too seriously, eh? Once we had finished Ollie turned to the audience and explained that we had just been singing about a man riding his horse... ‘And we all know,’ says our BW, ‘that people who ride horses sometimes fall off. I think that’s what happened there.’
Well, it was a good weekend all in all. Unfortunately Anna Lauren was unable to join us having (somewhat mysteriously) damaged her foot and no one wants to be traipsing around London with a sore foot – (I know this having broken my toe while at college when, being unable to get my shoe on, I had to hobble around the city barefoot for two or three weeks. Yuck. And imagine... your blogetteer, a filthy-footed drama student. How, um, bohemian) – especially when pregnant. AL sensibly decided to stay at home (which meant that Rachael had to take over singing her solo in Cheenar Es which she did beautifully, brave girl. To think she was once an alto...)
Those of us who made it to the centre of the universe met up in Ealing on Saturday afternoon where we had a chance to change, chat and check out some of our rival performers before a short rehearsal. After another chin-wag we made our way into St Matthew’s church and awaited our turn for ten minutes of fame. The quality of the singing was variable but all were enthusiastic. There was a lovely Estonians-in-London choir which included three babes-in-arms (Anna Lauren take note), a community choir with a huge age range and a sad story of lost funding and last ever performance, an enormous male-voice choir from Croydon who lifted the roof and were followed by a madrigal group of six – quite some contrast and perhaps not the best bit of programming! We sang second-to-last and did it beautifully – of course, tee hee. The Estonians loved our Tormis and I think everyone appreciated our slightly quirky choice of music. Afterwards we all went our separate ways for the evening – no post-concert hobnobbing this time... people to see, places to go. I went off to my friend Sharon’s for the night, which was lovely. There are some people you just don’t see enough of in life, are there not?
I was hoping to finish this tonight as I’ve left it so long – good excuse; been working ALL week. Six days in a row. What is the world coming to? But if I am to get up to play tennis at 9.30 tomorrow morning and have any chance at all of seeing the ball let alone hitting it I shall have to stop now and tuck myself down (I’m doing this in bed) and try to sleep. Younger daughter phoned earlier to tell me that the world is supposed to be coming to an end tonight - which answers rather neatly the question posed above (and in which case, what a waste of my last hours writing this) - and to tell me she loved me, just in case!! but I shall behave as if I will get my game of tennis in the morning and will get some rest now.
A demain xx
Demain is now aujour d’hui and here I am again having played tennis very badly indeed in the high winds and general dampness of the Meadows courts. Not the best – especially when there is a short-tennis tournament on with very small people playing a whole hell-of-a-lot better than moi. Grrrr.
Where had I got to? Sunday concert. West Hampstead. Glorious day. Arrived for rehearsal at 1.30. I had had breakfast ‘out’ in a lovely place called Le Pain (bread). (My friend Sharon texted her daughter who is currently in Vietnam, ‘In Pain with Claire and dad’. Daughter texted back, ‘Oh dear’! Most amusing) and then a wander around Liberty’s pretending I could afford their wares. Lovely way to start the day. Came upon a slightly dubious conversation, on arrival at Emmanuel Church, involving sleeping with snakes... hmm, don’t ask, but it involved Robin and Marie Claire and some snorts of unbridled laughter until son-of-the-manse Robin remembered where we were and put his Sunday face back on again. A short practise ensued and then the concert at 2.30. Not a bad turn-out really. Mostly family and friends, I think but I’m not certain about that. Considering there appeared to be no advertising except one small notice on the church notice-board, I suppose we were lucky to have an audience at all. And those who were there were very appreciative, as stated above somewhere and the very tight, professional Belgian group – of whom there are only eight or so, liked us muchly it appears. I’m sure we would be delighted to go and sing in Belgium for them but the mini-ness of their choir may make hosting our number a little tricky. We’ll see. I couldn’t stay for the whole of their performance as I had to get to Gatwick so I heard only the first three pieces. They sing beautifully but a very different sort of song choice and a very different style of singing... one with no mistakes, from what I could gather. Not our way at all.
So, now we start preparing for our next concert. Wednesday was quite a laid-back affair - apart from the traditional bickering about French pronunciation – but the Boy Wonder has mastered that language now so we are obliged to listen to him which should help. Should. Don’t hold yer breath. We concentrated on just two songs; the new Lauridson Contre qui, Rose (see petit probleme – avec accent which I must learn to put on for myself - above) and Abbie Betinis’ Envoi. Ollie even gave us a break in which to have a chat in the hope that this would focus our minds better. Wrong. It was really very hard to get back into singing mode once we’d relaxed out of it and considering how much yawning was going on before the break it’s really quite remarkable that anyone remained awake after it. However we managed to make some progress with the pieces and will be able to move on to sorting out old Leonardo next time. He needs some sorting, let me tell you. I am still entirely unable to make head or tail of the last three pages of la-la-la-ing – who would ever have thought it could be so darned difficult to ‘la’ and count and watch Ol all at the same time? My biggest problem these days is the fact that I need reading glasses to see my music with any great clarity now – eventually, failing brain not withstanding, I will know it well enough not to need to worry but seeing it is quite an advantage at this stage – however, with my glasses on, as well as looking like a scary-old granny,teacherly-type (which is not a good look for me), I struggle to see anything but a wavery blur of a conductor who could be doing anything or nothing for all that I can tell and this is even less helpful than failing to see which notes I’m supposed to be warbling and when. Bi-focals, you will suggest but I am in denial and have absolutely no intention of spending even more money on fancy-pantsy stuff such as that. Susan has the peering over the top of her specs down to a fine art but she’s older than me and I just can’t resort to that technique yet awhile. I can’t. Shan’t. So there.
We were missing Anna Lauren so no up-date on the pedi-problem. If you are reading this, AL (how unlikely is that??) I wish you better very soon, my dear.
Not much of an improvement on the anecdotal front. Going to get a very bad school report this term. Promise to make more of an effort from now on. What is the point of everyone being so very funny and witty and clever if I forget what they say as soon as they say it so that I can’t pass the amusement on to you, dear reader?
Bye for now, then, I say; head hanging in shame...
Must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must do better, must d
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