Heavens above

Last night I heard a very soft crackling in the air. I wondered whether I was sensing snow through triple glazing. Even so, I was surprised to see when I woke up that I was.

This evening, when I arrived at the church, the orchestra was rehearsing. We'd been told that the church had no heating but it did and I'd cycled there fast in my thermals. I sat quietly in a pew, melting.

Garrulous choir member 1 (who I have been tempted to eliminate from our choir WhatsApp group) arrived and told me in a stage whisper that her leggings were falling down. Garrulous choir member 2 arrived and asked me loudly to admire her fur coat.
I moved to less accessible pew. I have a hunch they feel I am anti-social. If so, the feeling is mutual.

As soon as we started rehearsing with the orchestra it became excruciatingly clear that the orchestra were out of tune and out of time, so badly that it was impossible to know when to come in. But when we did, we were also painfully out of tune and out of time and it wasn't just the orchestra's fault.

The humiliating memory of being told in a school orchestra concert to stop and start again because everything was so wrong came crashing back. But this evening at the end of each piece our conductor told us how marvellous it was. I began to wonder, quite seriously, whether I was in a dream.

I felt hugely relieved that my mum had turned down the invitation to come.

I texted the local friend I'd invited and rescinded my invitation to her.

The concert was better than the rehearsal but I wish I'd stuck to my original plan and gone with Tivoli to the annual David Bowie jam in Bedford.