This will only be a short message as I am rather tired.
Last week, I trundled along to the Village Hall for a meeting about a new musical which is going to be performed next year and to which I felt I could make a contribution. Unfortunately the hall was in darkness as the meeting had been postponed and no-one had let on.
There was, however, a choir practice in the church and when the choirmaster arrived, he cunningly suggested that as I was already dolled up and out, I might as well join in. He has been trying to get me to join for some time now, so I gave in and pulled up my singing trousers.
I used to be reasonably good (2000 years ago) and was even considered to be quite promising, had lessons as an outpatient at the Royal College of Music etc but for one reason and another I never carried it on. This was, then, the first choir practice I had been to since 1983 and I can’t tell you how much fun it was. We are practicing furiously for a Christmas concert in four weeks time and I don’t know half the songs, but the joy of singing again is beyond words.
So now, with a piece of toast and a mug of Ovaltine, I am climbing the wooden hill to Bedfordshire a Happy, if slightly Hoarse, Housewife.
Good night!
Wartime Housewife 