While the odd mood swing over the weekend has definitely got in the way of writing, there is another, wholly more vital and important reason: the start of the Choir year.
As much trash as I talk about my singing, you must fundamentally understand that it's the one thing that keeps me going more than anything else in the entire world. I yearn not for earthly riches or fame, notoriety, fame or even infamy (even if I know they've all got it in for me), as long as I will still sing. I don't think a night out goes by without me proclaiming wildly about how much I hate singing, how little money there is (and therefore advising the Scholars to get out of music as quickly as they can), and even how utterly ridiculous countertenors are, all the while recalling the glory days when I used to play bass all the time... Ahhhh, those were the days!
I suppose I was institutionalised at a young age, as a chorister at Derby Cathedral, my favourite building that has a pink ceiling. There's plenty more that I love about Derby actually, not least the confident serenity of the English Classical nave juxtaposed with the Perpendicular Gothic tower, the "unruly Daimler" of a West End Compton, and the spacious acoustic that belies the size of the building. You know there's usually a probationer that's so short that even by the time they get into the stalls, they're still too short? Well... Of course that was me. Rather than spending almost the entire year out of the stalls though, we started in Easter and were stood with choristers by October instead. There'll be plenty of opportunity in future to tune in to my exact opinion of these dissimilar systems; I'd hate for you to forget how outspoken I am. Due to a quirk in the attendance of the boys on my side, I got left with a folder on my own a lot earlier than the rest of the probs, so I had to actually look after myself.
Anyway, before I bore you all with my origin story any further, let's skip to the bit where a bat burst through the study window. I stuck with choir all the way through school; it was an anchor, where I was a ridiculous little maelstrom of a hyperactive child. The rules of choir, enforced by the Master of the Music and his Assistant Organist, were an absolute, that any breach would result in an ear-splitting admonishment, leaving even the hardest perpetrator shaken. I was also bullied a lot at school. I know I often joke about being beaten as a child by my alcoholic father, but being harassed almost every day at school without fail has quite a damaging effect on a young mind, not that I need any particular help to be bitter about anything. Choir was a safe place, somewhere where I was welcome, my efforts praised and appreciated. I get the feeling I'm retreading old ground here, but onwards, nonetheless. I kept going to sing in services all through both my GCSE's and my A-Levels, in fact through every end-of-year examination period. The regularity of the service routine kept me going through strange schedules and being forced to revise in every spare moment that was filled with a test of some sort. I missed out all of three services in my UVIth year, twice due to ill health and once due to performing in the school production of Little Shop of Horrors. Where was I? Bass guitar. I'm one of them, you know, them, the ones whose voice never dipped and went back up.
Ironically, I'd say that quite a lot of choir at Uni was actually more damaging that not. My gripes with Mancroft are already well documented, and I have no need to descend into some sort of mudslinging now. The fact that I never gave up does make me wonder - am I of a stronger character than I give myself credit for, or just fatally bloody minded? Still, I would turn up on time every time, once leaving a bicycle for dead to do so, and once sailing in so comically drunk that it forms the basis of a three part ITV docu-drama, funny yet poignant. Actually, I was slightly late that time as well, and had it not been for my great Sensei, it would have been a great deal less amusing.
But being at Truro, that's where all that time spent singing as a kid really came into play. An increased workload of 6 services over 7 days, with just enough rehearsal time to sight sing the day's office. It's great. I love it. I couldn't imagine doing any less. I am cut out for a life at the stall rather than anywhere else, although solos on podiums in front of Oratorios is definitely something else I want to get my teeth into. Having worked full time over the summer without Evensong to go to has been the ultimate drag, and not an experience I'd wish to repeat... Although I get the feeling that I'll have to do so in order to keep my enormous fortune going. No, choir keeps me going, and now we're back into term. It's not exactly ideal working at the desk all day before the service (or being ever so slightly late to the rehearsal beforehand because of it), but this is what happens when you fall into the trap and grow up. Admiral Ackbar was right! Truthfully, I'm looking forward to the time where I shall no longer be working as I can iron my shirts whenever I damn well wish, rather than having to do so whenever I can fit it in with existing commitments; this weekend is going to be a particular killer, with the Old Choristers' service and dinner taking up the chunk of this coming Saturday that I usually spend feet up playing videogames and bantering with my Landlord. It's a hard life, eh...
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