My friend Ann says she needs to change. And quickly.
Sue and I look at each other then, as one, tell her not to go changing, "we love you just the way you are," we say.
I know a song about that.
We are at choir, the very last session until the middle of September. Opinions vary as to whether we are having too long a break or not long enough. I am in the first camp. What will
I do with my Friday mornings for the next two months? They will be singularly tuneless. However I do accept that our choir conductor, the Redoubtable Muriel, at the truly amazing age of 91, probably does feel in need of a break. Faris, please take note: Muriel
really has reached A Great Age.
Ann says that when the new term begins, she will be joining the Altos along with Sue and me. She will be, she explains, a Trans-Alto. I think this means that she will sing high
and low, according to the song we are singing which means she will fit in very well with the rest of us in the Failed Sopranos Section.
Malcolm, who is an extremely talented singer, as borne out by his performance
of "Can you feel the love tonight?" at our recent Soirée, took me to task when I described us thus. The Alto section, he reprimanded me, had possibly the most important part to play in creating musical harmonies. He was very serious about this so I
reckon he didn't realise I was joking. It must be the way I tell 'em.
I will long remember when a colleague was leaving to set up a holiday gite business in France. I planned an appropriately French themed
send off, complete with varieties of cheese and wine. Not just any wine, moreover, but - in honour of the season - Beaujolais Nouveau. In my short speech of farewell on behalf of us all, I joked that, to demonstrate the esteem in which he was held, we had
invested in "vintage Beaujolais Nouveau." At which our departing colleague interrupted me to explain, as if to a two year old, why the wine we were quaffing so merrily could not be described as "vintage." There was not much I could do but accept his chiding
and hope that the rest of the assembled company had understood the joke.
Ann would sympathise. She says that every time she opens her mouth, something inappropriate pops out. Like what? Sue and I are on tenterhooks
to hear. Ann says she was in a queue at the Post Office when she turned round to see the man behind her in the queue appeared to be looking at her. Without thinking she scolded him: "I don't know what you're looking at, but you can't have me!" Now why did
I say that? she despairs while Sue and I struggle not to giggle. Ann's husband who happens to be listening in on our conversation from his seat in the Men's section, shrugs his shoulders expressively. This is nothing unusual where Ann is concerned, his face
clearly tells us.
Talking of changing, I think I have moved a few steps nearer to the coveted Domestic Goddess status. Today I managed to cook a roast lamb dinner with all the trimmings, an apple and blackcurrant
pie and - my piece de resistance - a blackcurrant coulis. A coulis! I've never made one of those before. What's more, all these culinary masterpieces were created without missing a single ball of the Djokovic - Federer Men's Singles Final. To be honest I think
poor Roger would have fared better had I not been watching. I do seem to cast a jinx on any player I am supporting. Andy might have won his second Wimbledon if I had gone shopping instead of watching his semi-final.
Some things never change, of course, and that includes my children's unerring understanding of my abilities or lack thereof.
Today, just as Federer and Djokovic were warming up on Centre Court, my new
vegetable trough arrived. It has been made for me by a friend of a friend, using reclaimed wood and I am extremely pleased with it. So pleased that I posted a photograph of it on Facebook with a caption to say that I was "giving vegetables a home." At which
my sister in law posted a comment, asking if I had made this myself.
The Middle of the Darling Daughters can hardly have drawn breath.
"Lol" she posted.
I gather this doesn't mean Lots of Love...