New faces

A new choir member; Sarah, alto, keen to return (hooray!). It was a really lovely rehearsal. Great atmosphere.

Kirsty did a rather good warm-up, just silly enough and very useful and then we got down to business. Firstly we sang Fog, beautiful work by Arno as always and Harriet did the wail-y bit all by herself and very effectively. Ollie then suggested we should sing something else we know quite well and, looking at the last concert programme, gave us a choice between O Lux Beatissima and the last verse of Une Puce. O Lux... is pretty straightforward but as for The Flea, only a very few of us are more than vaguely acquainted with its final pesky little stanza. Sebastian was heard to put in a word for Abendlied which we can hardly be said to know at all. Am I missing something? Is my interpretation of the words ‘know quite well’ different from other people’s? Having given us the choice the Boy Wonder then took it away again and insisted on Une Puce, which I happen to know very well indeed so could manage without looking at my music which was just as well as the BW had no copy (no Fog either; what does he do with all his music?) and I had to act as music stand for the duration. We sang verse one and the chorus-y bit through once to give those who’d never sung it before some idea of how it goes and then we went over verse four several times until people had almost got the words right and managed to fit them to the music. Progress indeed.

We sang the Lully pieces from the last concert. At this point Ol was to be seen nodding and winking (well, maybe not) at Nikos who was, at first, determinedly ignoring him and then pulled a questioning, and slightly triumphant face, as he cottoned on to what was required. He wasn’t going to get away with whatever it was, though, “There’s one in the other room,” said Ollie, grinning. Nikos visibly drooped. “He’s had a hard day,” explained our Lord and Master, grinning even more while Nikos, dejectedly, went off to find the guitar he really didn’t seem to want to play. But play it he did and with some verve and vigour for one who was doing it so reluctantly. Having sung through these pieces and worked at refining one of them we moved on to a third - the fourth. Still in Nonsense (yet another language we can claim familiarity with now) and as short and silly as the other two, it is also as much fun to sing and was delightfully easy to sight-read (page turns excepted). I actually had my specs with me and perched on the end of my nose instead of residing in my coat pocket – no doubt this helped.
More fun with Mateusz for the girlers and Zikr for the boysies – oh, ours is a struggle but ever so slowly we are making progress. It is two steps forward and one back because we can’t seem to remember week to week what we are doing but, as I say, there is a dim little light at the end of the tunnel towards which we are inching. The men returned to perform Zikr for us and it is sounding brilliant [miraculously!]. Full to the brim of brio and pizzazz. Nikos has a very high bit to sing and does it so well and they all look as though they’re having a whale of a time so it’s very amusing to watch. Good work, Lads. Must try harder, Lassies. There’s a turn-around.

We nearly all stayed for tea and coffee which has become rather unusual for some reason. Perhaps it was because I had made brownies????? They were a bit weird having been made with three different kinds of chocolate (one with ginger in it, one with fruits of the forest and one flavoured with rose water!) but they went down a treat and were complimented fulsomely. Unfortunately, I will never have just that combination of chocolate in my cupboard again so they were a real one-off (quite honestly, most of the things I cook are because I make them up as I go along) – I think that might be a bit of a disappointment to one or two choir members... sorry, mes amies. I had made brownies because both Ollie and Chris had had birthdays during the week. We howled at them in extraordinary style.
Today I had a terrible experience which I am going to share with you before I finish because I will never get over it and yet here I am making the time and effort, amidst my suffering, to write this blog and I feel you should appreciate it... I went to get passport photos taken.

OMG.

I have torn them up. I know perfectly well that I am never going to get a good passport photo. I know there is no such thing – especially as one is no longer allowed to smile (my only hope) but I am sure that someone or some machine somewhere can take one of me in which I look a little, tiny bit like ME and not some ‘orrible old crone of at least 65, with no shape to the head (where had the top of my head gone? I know it’s there) and a saggy, saggy, saggy face. Do all those people who tell me I don’t look my age really mean that I look much older than I am? I think they must.

I have spent far too much time since I got home checking my visage in various mirrors around the house. In some I look very old indeed and in others not. Which of them do I believe? Which should be sent charity-shopwards? When should I book in for surgery?

And when will I have the courage to try again?

Still waiting

We were a smallish group again on Wednesday, the Boy Wonder having failed in wondrousness and yet to audition the remaining Rudsambee possibilities. I think he has another four or five people to see – but I am hardly one to complain about procrastination, so I will presume that his duty is being done (or, maybe, has been done since Wednesday) and that we will see some new faces and hear some new voices next week. That’ll liven the blogging up. I hope.

I have to clear something up and thanks to John for the hint. The Colour Poems are not by Gesualdo at all but by Richard Nye. There is a distance in time of several centuries between the compositions. The Gesualdo we have been working on is called Io tacero (there should be an accent on the second ‘o’ [what sort!?]) which are the first words of the piece. I did think that 'Colour Poems’ was a remarkably modern concept for someone of Gesualdo’s vintage.

Io tacero is coming on – we did lots of work on it. I nearly know what I’m singing. Kirsty was away but Heather was back and once or twice I found myself singing the right thing while she sang the wrong which was great fun and very life-affirming. The sad fact is that Douglas and Chris still believed I was struggling. I do pull some bad faces but I also chortled gleefully and punched the air a few times so you’d think they might have cottoned on.

Once again we separated to practise girl and boy things – how did you do, boys? [we were fabulous as ever, of course!] We were appalling – no idea at all, suddenly, how Mateusz was supposed to sound. We made a bit of effort to get it right but, having pretty much failed entirely, we gave up and gossiped instead. Those men went on for ages. Eventually, at 9.45pm, we had to go in and tell them to stop. Tea and coffee and beds were calling and our girlish enthusiasm had waned long before.

Rudsambee sang a traditional Happy Birthday to me. It started off incredibly tunefully. I was getting ready to be seriously disappointed but then, led by Susan with wickedly glinting eye, the howling began and things fell apart in the most ear-splitting fashion imaginable. A real classic and most gratifying. I received a lovely card and someone posted a jar of yummy chocolate-y pot au chocolat (should that ‘o’ have a hat on?) scrumminess into my coat pocket so I went home a happy bunny indeed.

Ta-rah. Ooo – you should see my new bathroom btw. It’s fab.

I was robbed, Guv!

Well, I suppose it’s my fault for being so slow again. Kirsty got there first. Anyone who has access to Rudsambee weekly notes will have read everything I had to say, already – and written quite as amusingly as I could/would have done it, too (if that doesn’t sound over-presumptuous!) (that’s a hard word to spell – had to resort to the dictionary; a paper one at that, having no idea at all how to spell-check on this – or any other – computer. Having said that, I doubt this, or any other, computer would have been able to identify the word I was trying to spell, so woeful were my efforts) so I am wondering if there is any point in my continuing with this...

HOWEVER – let us presume that there is an odd reader, here or there... no, let’s be realistic and pretend that there is an odd reader, here or there, who has no access to said notes and would like to hear about this (last) week’s rehearsal and let’s carry on.

We had no new members to meet as Ol still hadn’t got round to seeing them all. He auditioned a few last week, I believe and this few included a tenor who proved to be a bit of a disappointment. “He wasn’t very good,” said the Boy Wonder to the bijou gathering of Robin, Susan and myself, early arrivals (well, Robin and I were early; Susan was simply at home as usual). “And he was a tenor? Blimey, he must have been bad,” offers yours truly, mistress of tact and diplomacy. Poor Robin looked a little jaundiced while agreeing with my sentiments, whereupon Susan and I felt it necessary to spend several minutes bolstering his (really quite recently gained and now sadly-) undermined confidence. Later, once all who were going to arrive had done so, this same topic of conversation resurfaced. Now there were Three Tenors to discombobulate. To my shame (!), I repeated my unkind observation. Quite bad enough, this repetition, but Kay provided the final nail, the straw that broke... “He must have been completely tone deaf,” says she, guffawing. Protests were heard, unsurprisingly, from Tenor Corner, “Now you’ve gone too far,” complained a re-crushed Robin and even Chris appeared to have his head in his hands (though he may just have been catching a catnap, being somewhat over-worked at present). Yes, well, poor tenors, how mean we were. They are really very good once they know what they’re doing. They’re just a little slow, a little tentative with the sight-reading. Does this sound familiar. “Pot,” you could say. “Kettle.” Fair. Entirely fair.

As to what we sang... we began with a new piece, Colour Poem IV, by Gesualdo (I think). Kirsty and I took the Alto 2 part and some of the sopranos the Alto 1. I was glad to have company; you know me and the sight-reading (though I was standing next to the tentative tenors so I might have been OK by myself – less pressure when you know you’re not the only one going wrong!) [AHEM!] and there was some tricky old timing in this. Looked easy. Deceptive. But we did quite well in the end. I wasn’t in complete despair and that’s always a bonus. And Kirsty is a much better SR-er than me but, very kindly, didn’t make me feel like a fool, pulling enough faces and sighing often enough to give me the impression she wasn’t as on top of things as, otherwise, I might well have imagined she was.

I have some notes scribbled on this music but have forgotten what they were supposed to help me remember. That happens SO often, doesn’t it? There is something here about avoiding horrible Clannad-like, Gaelic breathiness such as was evident, for example, in the theme tune to Robin of Sherwood, TV series of yesteryear (?) [see below]. At this point Kirsty, who was either not listening or was displaying quite astonishing ignorance, asked, “Clannad? Was I in that one?” Explanations had to be given, amidst hysteria. I don’t know – perhaps she was living in Germany at the time of the hoody-man. I’m not sure Sebastian or Arno, or any of the young things, knew what we were talking about either.



After this the girlies went off to Polish [oh very punny] our new song, Mateusz. It still needs a deal of buffing but Ollie has transcribed the music for us which makes it all much easier. Ha! Rubbish. It makes it much clearer – and we have parts. End of. It’s great fun, though. We sang it to the men later, (no idea, again, what they were up to while we did our thang but I’m sure they worked hard – they must have done because, when we returned to them, Rachael was heard to comment, “This room smells of boy.” and it did.); Douglas said, “That’s definitely a women’s song,” (????????) and then asked if it was African. He wasn’t the only one who wondered that. You see, we were right with the reggae stuff last week – and we must be doing it some sort of justice if the men picked up on it, n’est-ce pas?



We had a sing through of the Lully pieces for a bit of fun et c’est tout,
as far as I can remember.

Tad boring. Apologies. Will try harder next time. But it’s ‘ard when someone’s ‘alf-inched all yer best lines, innit?

Lu-urve.

Reggae a la Poles

Please imagine an accent on that ‘a’. I really must learn to put them on myself.

So – an apology is fidgeting away at my conscience but I am ignoring it, manfully. This edition is very late indeed (in case you hadn’t noticed). It is Monday evening (night) and I am only just settling down to write. Now, sometimes these blogs are not posted until Monday anyway, even if I have written them considerably earlier. This all depends on Christopher’s other activities. As I have said before, he is a very busy lad. I am not complaining. Not at all. Honestly. No, really, please believe me. If I must rely on a very busy lad then I have to take my turn. It may be that this is not posted until Wednesday or Thursday. It may be that it is not finished ‘til Wednesday or Thursday but I will try extremely hard to stay awake long enough to get it done. There is not very much to say, after all.

I have been pretty busy myself, actually. Thursday was a day which involved shopping for various things I will need this week and won’t have time to buy because I am working more than usual. Then yoga. Then food. Then starting to prepare for installation of new bathroom i.e. moving all my stuff into a downstairs bedroom, emptying the hall of furniture, dust-sheeting bookshelves. Then packing. An early start on Friday; a weekend in Munich mit hubby; a late-ish return yesterday and then more preparation for the great works mentioned above which started today. Do you see any opportunity there for blogging???

A new bathroom? I hear you ask. Did the woman not have a new kitchen recently? Has she come into an inheritance/won the lottery/been a-thieving? Yes, a new bathroom. Which is needed as badly as the new kitchen was. I have been ashamed of my bathroom for years – since we moved in here, to be honest and it will be wonderful to show people where to find... ahem... facilities, without feeling either embarrassment or the urge to apologise. I only hope I like it once it’s done tee hee.

Wednesday last was an odd occasion. For a start, I arrived at the almost-end of a Recruitment Committee meeting. Not much interest in the position of Ollie Replacement yet so some hard work to do (not to say desperate measures to take). I put my ha’pence-worth in, of course. I do like to be of assistance if at all possible.

Also, poor Heather was there with a bare foot and a half-empty (-full?) pack of frozen peas resting on her ankle. She had given it a twist when getting off the bus and a fair old wrench it had got judging by the swollen state of it. Eventually she decided to go home as it was causing her such discomfort, so she called her husband to come and get her and bid us goodbye as we headed off to rehearse. We were a very small group because Ollie hadn’t finished auditioning all the potential new members. He would like to get everyone started on the new repertoire (oo, posh) at the same time so is hoping to be able to ask his chosen people along next week. Robin did the warm-up and was very theatrical about it all, wiggling and shaking and then testing us with one of his favourite challenges – he only does this so he can laugh at our feeble efforts. Try it yourselves at home: start by holding one hand up in front of your face. Then lift this hand up and stretch your arm above your head. Do the same thing with the other hand/arm. Once you’ve done this a few times add in another move: after holding your hand in front of your face, move it around to the back of your head before stretching your arm above your head. This is all very straightforward until you try to do it quickly with both arms alternating. Chaos. Like trying to pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time only worse. I can manage the pat-ty, rub-by thing (if I concentrate really hard) but this, as above, not at all.

So, once that was, hilariously, out of the way we got down to the little work we did. The ‘we’ in that sentence applies to the women because we split into two groups again and the men worked very hard indeed, it seemed, on Zikr while we began by working hard and ended up doing nothing much at all. I think Ol was expecting to get more done but then, having done some teaching-of-Polish (again), and teaching of (a little tiny bit of) music with us he went off to see how the boys were getting on and didn’t come back for ages by which time it was after 9.30 and time to stop.

[When we left the lads to themselves we returned to the dining-room where the committee-meeting had been taking place. Heather was still there, frozen footed and forlorn, awaiting her husband. Talk about taking his sweet time. And they’ve only been married since the summer. Shocking behaviour. I hope he had a good excuse.]

I have no idea what our new piece is called but I know (sort of) how to pronounce most of the words and what some of them mean (kissing behind the stove has got something to do with it; hot stuff, eh?) and, best of all, how it is supposed to sound. Well! If we can manage that I, for one, will be delighted. Once the BW took off to work with the men, Chris arrived with music for us to listen to – our new song (a Polish folk-song, in case that had slipped past you) as performed by a group called The Warsaw Village Band. Listen to them if you can. “I know they’re Polish,” says Kay, “But are they black?” You will see what she meant if you listen. Their music is a sort of fusion and there is a definite hint of reggae in there. And jazz. It is fantastic. And that harsh, nasal tone Eastern-European voices can manage so brilliantly when required to do so. Wonderful and really rather weird and crazy stuff. Chris put it on a loop and we listened in awe as these girls managed to fit five words into the space two fit in comfortably. We listened many times without working out how to do it and then we gave up and just chatted.

And then Ollie came back and apologised for being away so long and said that would do for the night.

So we went home.

No Jen to give me a lift.

Just as well, really. I have got very lazy about walking home and it only takes about five minutes.

Bedtime. Night-night.

All About Nothing

We had no rehearsal this week. Several people were sick or tired (or both) so Ollie decided we should all have a week off and meet again next Wednesday with some new music and some new faces. However, I feel I must write a few words at least in order to keep up the blog-count. Once it starts dropping, as we have seen in the past, there is no hope for it and it falls and falls and finds it as hard to get back up again as my voice does from the depths of alto-2-I-don’t-think-so-make-that-tenor-1 parts. And (see previous blogs if necessary), I reiterate, that is HARD.

What can I tell you about instead? I did nothing on Wednesday night although free to do whatever I fancied. Lazy? Unimaginative? Me? Oh, well, go on then, perhaps I am. Of course I may have done something quite exciting and simply forgotten all about it but I think not. Speaking of forgetting all about things, I actually forgot my PIN number the other day; the one I use all the time, the one I know as well as I know my own name. What a numpty. How did that happen? The gaping, four digit space in my brain – well, two digit, slightly less agape, I had remembered the first couple of numbers – was filled again pretty quickly, thank heaven, but oh, it’s a bit scary. I have been thinking very hard about remembering things since then and can report that, so far, all seems as per (i.e. a little raggedy at times but nothing too concerning); however, if, at any point in the near future, you think I am a-slip mentally – if you can tell, that is - please leave a comment on the blog and I will take immediate action (more crosswords and Sudoku or something).

Yesterday I did some gardening. This followed a trundle to-and-from Craiglockhart for a tennis session. Impressive, eh? Yes, but just how badly did I play? Oh, my! Maybe three or four shots to be quite proud of but as for the rest... and, unfortunately, most (OK, all) of the other ladies who attend this session are better players than I am and some of them are a little inclined to tut, albeit sotto voce (if one can tut in such a manner), which doesn’t make me play any more competently I can assure you. I am going to persevere, though, because otherwise I’ll never improve and they will just have to put up with me. Interestingly, the very best players (very good indeed) are less likely to display frustration and are full of encouragement. I suppose their competitiveness is under control due to winning on a regular basis (unless they have me as a partner) while others feel they have something to prove. Anyway, I am much more relaxed with the people I play with on a Tuesday and I still play like a dog half the time... an old dog; old dog/new tricks. Oh dear, does this mean there is no hope for me?

So, the gardening. Only the front garden. This is manageable (unlike the back which I look out on in despair) and I smartened things up quite well. There are lots of snowdrops and the bluebells are coming; things are a-stir and how lovely it was to be out there in the warm sun, working really rather hard. I even got the ladder out to cut away some stuff (note my expertise in nomenclature) from around the window. I filled the brown bin up to the top so had to stop though there is still more to be done. Ivy, for example, is invading from around the more inaccessible side – naturally – so I must get out there and saw it off at the bottom before it can make its way into the sitting room by way of under-the-window. It appears to be making a good job of insinuating itself between the stone, the mortar and the wood of the frame. Not good. Not good at all. Bring me my trusty blade.

I spoiled all this healthy living by going out in the early evening yesterday and not returning until the early morning today, having spent the intervening time with friends who practise drinking much harder and more regularly than I do but with whom I think I kept up fairly well. I had a lovely time but genuinely thought I was going out for an hour or two for a drink or two, not for seven hours and several bottles – you can imagine how I am regretting this behaviour now and vowing not to do it again. Often in my life I have made vows of a similar sort. Often I have broken them. I have no will-power or – let’s face it – common-sense. I am, in short, a fool.

But you know that already.

Now, I have to go into town to collect some rings that have been in the jewellers for surgery. Why is it that the rest of me is very little, if at all, bigger than I was in my youth and yet my fingers seem to have got fatter? This seems mighty unfair. And is definitely rather costly.
Adieu, for the nonce, my dear Reader(s).

Your fond (and fairly efficient), Blogetteer.

Pitch(ure) Perfect

Well, OK, maybe not but not bad at all: Lovely concert at the Portrait Gallery beneath all the newly scrubbed great and good; all very shiny-clean and gilded. Didn’t get much chance to look around but really liked what I saw of the new café area – very open and bright and welcoming. Must go back for a better nosey (perhaps I’ll peruse a picture or two as well. What a revolutionary!) before too long.

We didn’t get much time to rehearse because not everyone was able to arrive by 5 o’clock. Eventually we ended up doing a fair bit of practising in front of our gathering audience but they didn’t seem to mind too much; indeed, why should they? One and a bit concerts for the price of none can’t be bad, can it?

Naturally there was a dodgy moment or three – Abendlied went better than expected, I think, though I messed up the bit I had been telling Jenny on Wednesday I found perfectly easy – typical! At this point the Tenor 1 part (yes, Jen and I were growling again) comes in on the same note as the Altos have just finished on (or started on or something) only, in spite of how it’s written in the music, we should be an octave lower. I came in merrily on exactly the same note as the Altos, a whole octave too high and when I realised what I had done I had to swoop down to where I was supposed to be rather too quickly for any elegance of tone. Jenny said she didn’t notice but this was her last concert (sob, wail, gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair) so perhaps she was being kind. Or perhaps her hearing is not what it was after 5 years of me screeching in her ear...

The Lully Entrées were wonderful – our little band quite superb and I echo Anne and Harriet in their delight that the band was not just a band but consisted of three choir members who just moved along to where their instruments waited for them, played brilliantly and then returned to sing with us again. ‘Twas special. And well done to a very colourful Chris for staying in both his mind and body and producing a splendid solo – I knew he would.

Robin came along to sing with us after all which was a joy. We had the pleasure of his company in spite of his having had a trying day. The Tenor section was much stronger as a result – there would only have been a lonely two of them without him. Then there was the joy of his solo in Kiisu Miisu [see below] which gets better every time, (and, while I’m writing about this, Susan’s miaowing during this song has taken on a new life recently – she says she is doing it In Memoriam for Rufus and Rosie; fabulous stuff it is) >>> back to Robin ... a solo Ollie would have had to do otherwise (perhaps he was disappointed to see Robin running in, shirt-tails flapping and hair a-flop, but I don’t think so) and he joined us for the meal afterwards too which was lovely. (Having Robin there, I mean, though the meal was good too).




The pesky Lamb was up to its usual tricks, gambolling off out of control (tune) here and there but we managed to shepherd it back under some sort of order before we finished.

Everything else was OK – some quite lovely, of course. The audience was a good size and seemed to enjoy themselves – though there was a fair bit of wandering in and out and not all of it quiet. Anne was glaring at people from her seat in the middle of them but, rather surprisingly considering Anne’s glare, this didn’t make much difference. Why people (mis-)behave like this I don’t know – especially during quieter songs. It wouldn’t be difficult to wait until there’s some applause before coming in or going out; we do get applause, quite a lot of it really and none of the songs is so long that the waiting would be unacceptably protracted. Ah well! People, eh?!

Post-concert almost all of us headed off to Vittoria’s on Leith Walk for a farewell-to-Jenny-and-Anne meal. We thought it was a farewell-to-Harriet meal as well but it turns out she’s not actually leaving us just yet. Oops. We tried to include her in the Irish Blessing at the end of the concert but she waved her hand rather desperately, mouthing "No, I’m not going," so we had to give up on that one. I’d made her a card, too but I’ll just keep it until she really does leave (which will be all too soon once she’s completed her PhD). It will be signed by Jenny who’ll be long gone and anyone else who decides to leave before Harriet (don’t you dare) which will be a bit odd but... well, this IS Rudsambee.

Cards and presents given (Anne got gardening vouchers and gin (!), Jenny a teddy in a Rudsambee t-shirt (inspired, Sebastian Arno! [apologies for the confusion]) and a voucher for the Queen’s Hall, (or actual tickets – anyway there’s a ukulele festival on there in April and I think the idea was that she might enjoy that (I love over-using brackets, don’t you?))) we said our sad goodbyes and headed home. Choir will not be the same without those two. There will be no Anne to organise us and to whip the women into shape when Ol has his hands full with the men (oo-er)... and I might have to be serious and well-behaved with no Jenny beside me to provoke into giggles and to giggle with. As to managing the singing without them, well…I think I’m going to have to do some growing up.

At my age, I ask you!

IT’S NOT FAIR (stamp, scowl, stamp again).

So that’s that. I did it – two blogs. Good me.

Maybe I shall start calling myself your blogetteer again.

P.S. Re last week’s blog and the mention of "dusty, scratchy amber stuff" – I meant amber-coloured. Do you, Mr Commentator, think I am a fool????????

Pre-Portrait Gallery

So – tomorrow night we sing at the Portrait Gallery for the first time since it was closed for refurbishment, however long ago that was… any ideas, Mr S?  [I think that's just shy of 3 years since we were last there] It is a lovely space to sing in and we used always to get good-sized audiences so we’ll see what the morrow brings and how/if things have changed.  We have to meet in the Educational Lunch Room!?!  At least, I think that’s what I heard.  Sounds awful, doesn't it?  When I eat my lunch I wish to enjoy my food, if at all possible, along with some idle chit-chat (always possible); on the odd (I use that word advisedly) occasion a meaningful discussion on a topical subject is acceptable but only if one’s lunch companions are really serious types who don’t understand the notion of a good natter.  I certainly don’t want educating while I eat – imagine what that would do to the digestion.

Anyway, tonight we sang through almost everything we will be singing tomorrow.  Note the ‘almost’.  It will be a fine day – and probably the end of the world – when we actually go through the whole programme the day before a performance.  That would be far too cosy and safe, wouldn’t it?  Can’t be having us cosy and safe.

I arrived a little early for once and was delighted to come upon an intense rehearsal of the musical accompaniment to the Lully pieces.  All three of our musicians had turned up and it was sounding really rather good.  Tamsin was almost asleep, having had a looooooong day but still managed to pluck her harp strings with extraordinary energy.  It was lovely to hear the three of them play together at long last – we’ve had Nikos on his guitar and Sebastian on his cello but never Nikos and Sebastian and never Tamsin at all.  Once everyone turned up we spent a fair bit of time putting the whole thing together and it’s going to be fun.  The basses – the three that are left (I forgot about Luke last week because he wasn’t there – that’s a bit insulting, isn’t it?) - were a little hesitant at first and they do have a tricky time coming in in the right place bit they were certainly sounding OK by the time we finished.  Chris has a solo in the first (second) Entrée (oo! An  accent.  Thank you) and sings it splendidly.  Usually.  For some reason, on one of our run-throughs, he went completely and horribly wrong for no discernible reason at all…. one second he was singing merrily away and then came a wrong note and then another one and then…. well, there were no more notes, just the wrong one repeated rather a lot of times.  Oh, it was funny.  Kay was beside herself and she wasn’t the only one.  It is so very hard to sing when killing oneself laughing.  There was many a squawk and splutter.  Poor Christopher had no idea at all how things went so badly wrong.  I think it was a sort of out-of-body experience.  Let’s hope he stays well inside his body tomorrow evening. [Poor Christopher realised later that he had mysteriously started singing the next page of the piece]

Abendlied was a bit of a nightmare.  I had very little idea what I was doing first time round but had remembered it by the second go, only finding it pretty tricky to sing with any confidence or gusto – gusto isn’t quite what’s required for this one but it does go a long way towards making it sound as if we know what we’re singing.  And I’m not sure we do, not really.  Ah well.  Another practise tomorrow and maybe we’ll get through it without too many nasties.  Ah, the wishful-thinking phenomenon…. where would we be without it?

Oh yes, forgot to mention that Ollie’s friend, Andrew, came to beat a drum and tap a tambourine along with us in the Lully pieces.  He learns quickly, he does.  And he knows Ol well enough to be able to say to him, “I do need to know the difference between…” (hand flap) “And…” (almost imperceptibly different hand flap).  Don’t we all?  The percussion adds just that little je ne sais what to the proceedings.  Good stuff.

Well, I promised you two reports this week and I have delivered numero uno.  Short and sweet (uninformative) but very much in evidence.  Clever me.  How much are you willing to wager against me managing  the second?  I shall do my best to confound your expectations but

don’t hold your breath waiting….