Things were getting a little fraught at Choir this morning.
This shouldn't have been the case, since we had (more or less successfully) sung our little hearts out at our
concert for the delectation of the Methodist Fellowship meeting on Wednesday afternoon. With the pressure of performance removed, one might have thought we could relax a bit and Sing For Pleasure which after all - as a grumpy few who don't like participating
in concerts would say - does happen to be the name of our musical gathering.
We started off just fine with Oh, What a Beautiful Morning. It was as well, a beautiful morning that is. Our conductor, The Redoubtable
Muriel, had a splendid view of the blue skies out of the window at the back of the hall, while we mere choristers were unfortunately facing a blank wall decorated with nothing more beautiful than a number of barres recently installed for the young pupils of
the ballet school whose lessons immediately precede our choir session. Still, I had walked with gladness in my heart the shirt distance from the road where I had parked my car to the Heene Community Centre, such a beautiful morning it was.
We followed up with Surrey With A Fringe On Top and Oklahoma plus a couple of love songs - everything was hunky-dory until Myra, who organises our group, took to her feet to remind us that in three weeks time we will be singing
at the U3a Strawberry Tea Party for which she had identified a short programme culminating with that Abba classic, Thank You For The Music.
Now I don't know whether you would agree with me but Abba songs are
deceptively difficult to sing. We all set off in fine voice, singing as we used to do when we crooned along to Agnetha and Co on the radio Back In The Day. We all knew the song like the back of our hands. Or did we? Stop, stop, stop! Muriel is rapping on her
music stand to signal distress. We may think we know the tune, she tells us, but we have the rhythm All Wrong.
Muriel is also worried that we will be singing in the open air. No, that's not the name of a song,
please concentrate. Apparently singing outside is a completely different matter from singing in a hall, even one with far too low a ceiling like ours. She needs to know more about where we will be standing, whether we will have musical accompaniment available.
Myra says she has been to the Strawberry Tea Party many, many times and there is Nothing To Worry About. Muriel retorts that she would rather see for herself and hates turning up places not knowing what to expect.
Sweet Rosemary, who sits in the front row of the alto section, seeks to pour oil on troubled waters. She lives in a flat at our venue and can talk Muriel through any concerns she may have. Myra replies that this won't be necessary; Muriel says she will
be the judge of that and can she speak to Rosemary later? Myra gives the most expressive shrug I have seen for a long time. My friend Sue and I exchange glances and try not to giggle.
At home I am feeling
a trifle fraught as the day of our Golden Wedding Celebration comes ever nearer. I keep remembering things I haven't so far thought about - like how much milk do I need to buy? Will people know the tunes of the hymns? Will there be enough seats for everyone
who doesn't want to wander around the garden? Will the sun shine?
The Middle of the Darling Daughters thinks I have nothing to worry about compared to her with no longer just one but three Rampaging Rascals
to keep under control, especially during the Church service. I tell her about the dream I had where, just at the most solemn of moments when I was about to renew my wedding vows, Young Faris (dressed in his best Batman shirt) grabbed hold of my hand. "Nyody!"
he said (which, in Our Racal's own special language, means "I need you to come with me! ) and dragged me out of the Church and into all kinds of mischief.
Don't laugh - it could just happen...