Adele Archer's Blog, page 2

The Great Outdoors

[image error]Roots manoeuvre

There aren’t many positives to this COVID19 outbreak. But if I were to look for one, I guess I would have to admit that the pandemic has forced me to pay attention to my garden. Yes, yes, we are currently allowed to go out for our one daily walk, but since lockdown began, we (and every other person on the planet who possesses a garden) has realised that since none of us are going on holiday, this is going to be our only outdoor haven for the foreseeable future.

I’m going to tell you right from the get-go that I don’t have green fingers. I never have and never will enjoy gardening. On many occasions I have deliberated with my husband that the best thing for that long meadow out back of our house would be to concrete the whole thing over and just stick a potted plant in each corner and call it a day. But since he’s never been in favour of that ingenious plan, the meadow stays. I’m still going out to work (count yourself lucky if you’re in lockdown being paid 80% of your salary to do absolutely nothing, because some are not), but I do have a couple of free days in my week that didn’t exist before the virus hit. And because of that (and the unseasonably good weather) we have been coerced into addressing the garden once more.

[image error]Mandrakes

I’m not going to lie to you, before we started work on the garden (most sunny non-work days since lockdown began) it looked a bit like modern-day Chernobyl; a garden a crack-den might be proud of. The thirteen-year-old mouldy trampoline, a swing surrounded by swathes of four-feet-high trifid-like brambles, grass so tall you would probably lose a small child in it. But not so much anymore. Like I say, I’ve been working in the garden A LOT, more than ever before in twenty years of owning this house. My husband was sitting eating dinner at the kitchen table (which looks out onto said garden) the other day, after a hard day’s gardening, and he said, ‘hmmm, but it still looks unbelievably horrible’. I felt that was a tad harsh. I think it was unbelievably horrible before lockdown commenced, now it’s merely horrible. The trampoline is a nightmarish monstrosity of the past, and the swathes of brambles have been hacked back with my trusty scythe (loppers). And I filled an entire big green wheelie bin with roots that I dug up from the (former) flower bed and under the (former) trampoline. The green bin looks like it is filled with mandrakes from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (I didn’t even have to look that reference up – impressed?). My husband and eldest daughter also re-stained the garden benches which were donated to us by my father-in-law (one of which has a plaque inscribed, ‘In Memory of Graham‘ which I really wanted to remove – so I don’t have to keep recounting the depressing story of Graham to enquiring friends just to see their crestfallen faces, but I can’t remove it because it feels disrespectful to Graham – whoever he was*). All in all, the garden has improved immensely, but there’s still a long way to go.

[image error]Site of former trampoline (remnants now hidden behind shed – ha ha ha ha ha!).

For one thing, all the recycling centres are closed, so I have an unsightly area behind the garden shed hiding all of our crap that needs to be disposed of in 15 car journeys once the tip reopens. I would feel bad for the neighbours who back onto our garden and have to look at it, but I don’t, because they recently put up a completely transparent chain-link fence, so we have no privacy at all. So, sod them, I say – that garden crap is for their eyes only – enjoy! And worse still, you just can’t go to a hardware store or a garden centre anymore. B&Q and the like have about an hour’s waiting list just to get onto the website to virtually ‘look around’. And delivery takes a month at least. So, I fear the unbelievable horribleness may go on for a while.

[image error]Power-washing the drive.

The worst thing about gardening is that…well…I’m just not cut out for manual labour. No, really – I’ve started to feel truly sorry for people who work outdoors for a living. I’ve broken countless nails, my hands are calloused, I’ve got deep gashes on my legs and arms from venturing into the bramble patch with a rather too Indiana Jones/hung-ho approach, and a few days ago, I strained my right pectoral muscles whilst lifting heavy paving stones. And my husband is STILL nursing a bad back which came on after power-washing the patio and front drive for two days straight. But it seems to have gone on for a fortnight, so I’m doing the lions-share of the work lately. Nope, the outdoor life just isn’t for me. I’m almost glad it’s been raining this weekend, so I get a much-needed break.

[image error]Dinner al fresco? No? Too many wasps…

However, it’s a work in progress. A labour of love (without the love). I’d like to show you some before and after photos, but because of the unbelievable horribleness of the past garden, I didn’t much feel like photographing it. And now I can’t remember how it looked before, so it doesn’t feel like much of a transformation (see recycling centre and hardware store woes). Still, when I sit outside now (apart from having to look at the annoying neighbours at the back who are also sitting outside), it feels far more pleasant than it did. Oh, and if lockdown is over by summer-proper, we could quite happily host a barbeque for our friends and family without being quite as embarrassed as in former years. I should be proud of myself, but there’s still that cruel whisper in my head that reminds me once winter comes, nature will just have its wicked way with our garden again and destroy most of our hard work. Because nature always wins. Gardening is a thankless task; a task that continually needs doing – that’s why I hate it. Anyway, today (Sunday) is supposed to be a sunny day, so I’m sure I’ll be out there again, cursing as another thorn pierces my gardening glove or ill-suited shoe, groaning as more muscles are pulled. But I won’t be beaten by the great outdoors. Not until October comes around and ruins everything, at least.

*Nope, not telling you the depressing Graham story, okay?

NB: These blogs automatically post to Facebook (or most people wouldn’t even know I’d written a blog). But I’m not using Facebook until the COVID crisis is over – due to the misinformation (and I feel much happier for it). But I do love your comments (which I won’t see on FB), so feel free to leave one here or on Insta (where life is simpler). Thank you.

Surviving the C-Word

[image error]When I originally wrote this blog midweek, I was feeling a little more chipper than I am this morning. But day by day, the C-Word is becoming more destructive. More people are falling sick, more businesses are being forced to close, more people are becoming isolated, more plans are ruined, more people are worrying about their financial future. But you already know this, and since I’m rather too prone to dwell on negative thoughts, I’m going to do my best to stay positive for as long as possible. And the once-chipper blog must go ahead as-is. If you’re not in complete lock-down, you probably soon will be (not so much me, as I’m still a nurse [not front-line like some poor souls]), but I’m going to need to plan out my days. Since I stopped writing books, I have been guilty of frittering away my free time, but that’s just not acceptable anymore – not if we’re in this for the long haul. So, I thought I’d post a list of my rough itinerary when complete isolation falls. And you’re more than welcome to join me (not in my house, or anything, it would be better to keep our distance in this current climate).

1: Get Up Early

[image error]I’m not talking ‘crack-of-dawn’ early, but at a decent time – certainly before 9am (for me, I’m thinking between 7 and 8 – my cats need to be fed). I’ve always said lie-ins are a waste of a day, and you just end up waking up sluggish and feeling fit for nothing. I mean, it’s entirely up to you, but I’d give myself half-an-hour/an hour tops more than I’d usually sleep on a weekday. Then I’m going to get up, make my bed, and start the day. There’s no point in having in itinerary if you’re going to sleep away most of it.

2: Exercise

[image error]This is the best way to start a day. I normally exercise first thing in the morning (fasted), but it really can be anytime that suits you. It’s just that a morning work-out sets me up for the day ahead. I cannot emphasise the importance of this enough; we all need to keep mobile – particularly if we’re rarely allowed out. If you’re normally swamped with work, use this enforced break to work on your fitness, boost your immune system, release good endorphins, and improve your chances of staying well. I’m the queen of working-out at home so this is no biggie for me, and I’m sure you’ve got a few workout DVDs knocking about that you haven’t played since 2003. The internet and YouTube are saturated with workouts too. I work-out five times a week with sessions lasting between 30-45 minutes, consisting of cardio and strength – but try to do at least three, aiming for 150 minutes a week. But it doesn’t all have to be rigorous. Throw in a couple of Yoga sessions or Pilates each week for strength and flexibility – not to mention inner tranquillity. We all need some of that right now.

3: Get Creative

[image error]This isn’t always easy, particularly if you don’t consider yourself to be a creative person, but I truly believe we all have a (perhaps hidden) creative talent. If I find myself in quarantine, I have plans to start writing another book. That’s easier said than done as I have no ideas WHATSOEVER (and I don’t much fancy writing about a dystopian future where a virus wreaks havoc on the world, for some reason), but I’m hoping the enforced solitude will encourage me to be inspired. I remember when I used to write books – there was nothing so absorbing. The problem was stopping writing; making time for other people and real life. But that was then, and this is now. Still, I plan to be writing in some way or another – even if it’s merely blogging. If writing isn’t your thing, then you could paint or draw or craft or make interesting cakes. We’re all a dab-hand at something – I promise you.

4: Fresh Air

[image error]I have no idea how much longer we are going to be allowed to go outside and get some fresh air. Things are escalating at an alarming rate. Some of us need to be in complete lock-down by now. But if we are able to get out in the open, even if it’s just to the garden, or a quick dog-walk, or out for basic food supplies (keeping a safe distance apart, of course) then we must take the opportunity whilst we still can.

5: Learn Something New

[image error]Certainly, our kids need to be cracking-on with academia whilst the schools are shut. But us adults could do with learning something new. I’m planning to pick up where I left off learning German on Duolingo. I know that pesky bloody owl, Duo, is going to be pestering me for the rest of my life once I do, but I always felt pleased with myself if I’d done a few lessons a day. I mean, I know I won’t be travelling abroad for a while, but when I do, I will be sh*t-hot, at German. Also, I read every day, but I know an awful lot of people tell me they don’t like reading. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I really think those people are missing a trick. Give it a try; pick up a book – be it fiction or non-fiction. Once you’ve got past the first few difficult paragraphs or chapters, you’ll find yourself immersed in another world. And another world might be better than this one right now.

6: Cooking and Eating (but not too much)

[image error]This might be a good time to improve on your culinary skills (if you can get the ingredients, that is, but even if you can’t, we will have to be more creative!). I virtually never make cakes; I’ve been avoiding unnecessary sugar for the last couple of years. But there’s nothing to stop you or your kids baking. Actually, I’ve never been a huge fan of cooking at all, really, but I do like eating, and I do like being in charge of what we eat. So, this is a good opportunity to get my kids to do their share – one day they’ll leave home (that isn’t looking certain yet, but they might). It’s important in these times when we are not as mobile as we were before the C-Word, that we’re a little bit more aware of portion control. It’s so easy when you’re bored to guzzle everything in the house but a) we mustn’t consume all our food whilst everyone is out panic buying everything off the shelves, and b) we’ll soon gain extra weight which we’ll find hard to shift in the current climate. We need to eat well – boost our immune systems. Eating crap isn’t going to help. I’m going to stick to three good meals and a couple of healthy snacks a day.

7: TV and Electronics

[image error]My daughter’s ‘Friends’ quiz creative entry knocked-up in about 20 minutes!

I think TV sometimes gets a bit of a bad rap. There are some great shows and great movies that truly deserve to be seen. You can learn a lot from TV – it would be great to get your kids watching some nature show narrated by David Attenborough whilst they’re off school. Personally, I tend only to watch TV at night – usually a Netflix series or two we are viewing together as a family. But you can over-binge on Netflix. I must admit I did in my ‘I don’t want to think about real life’ phase that I went through recently (and wrote a blog about). But I think that phase has passed – well, it had. TV has its place. And I’d die without my Kindle (I wouldn’t, but I’d have to dig out a real book from somewhere). And my laptop has saved me from myself more times than I can count (mainly because I write on it). And the other night I used it to attend my first virtual choir rehearsal (a bit of delay when trying to sing in unison/harmony but better than nothing), and the following evening my daughters and I attended a virtual ‘Friends’ pub quiz (7th out of 15 – I don’t understand how that happened). But maybe it’s best to use social media sparingly. Yes, we can get a lot of our news that way – but remember, not everything you read is true, and sometimes you’re better off not having total abject misery rubbed in your face.

[image error]Sorry, this sort of just turned out to be a post where I dictated what everybody else should do. And maybe there are more weighty issues surrounding the C-Word I could be writing about, but I of all people need to keep positive for as long as I can. This too – even this – shall pass. One day we look back and say, ‘do you remember 2020 when we had to-?‘. So, these are just some ideas –  way in which I’m planning to fill my days. My good intentions may go completely awry. But I’m honestly intending to schedule out my hours in this way – possibly in military fashion – because I cannot be trusted where frittering away my time is concerned. I’m just too damned good at it. Anyway, I spent a pleasant (ish) hour-and-a-half or so on this blog. Time well spent? Well, possibly not since you’re the poor buggers who are going to have to read it, but it filled a gap. Stay well, people.

I Told You I Was Ill

[image error]Despite my husband’s protestations to the contrary, I am rarely ill (shut up, husband, I’m not). Since I’ve improved my fitness and began to eat a healthier and less processed diet over the last couple of years, I don’t seem to pick up many viruses. But when I do contract something, I like to do it big-time. As you may have guessed, I have currently fallen prey to a virus and would consider myself…sick.

Now, before you get all panicky and start sharpening your pitchforks, I am HIGHLY unlikely to have contracted the Coronavirus. I haven’t been to China or Northern Italy – in fact, I haven’t so much as stepped outside the North Wiltshire area in over six months. We’re in the throes of another standard British winter, and OTHER VIRUSES DO EXIST, y’know. I may live to regret saying this, but I’m stick of all this media panic-mongering. I’m just ill. And tired. And I want to lie on my bed all day and watch period dramas on my laptop. I wouldn’t even say I have the flu, because I’ve had my flu jab, and if there were a fifty-pound note lying on the floor at the foot of my bed I would certainly be bothered to go and pick it up (that’s a standard medical tool of flu diagnosis, that is [and if you think you’ve heard that gag before, you probably have because it’s in one of my books – but it’s my gag and I reserve the right to use it more than once]).

[image error]What’s more, I haven’t even taken a day off work. I’m not sure that’s something I ought to be proud of, but you’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t. And if we all took a sickie due to a chesty cough, Britain would grind to a halt – and it’s not as though I actually work with sick people. I feel the weight of responsibility is very heavy on me. Usually, I find the nursing profession is rather unforgiving to its own when it comes to illness; your leg must have pretty much fallen right off in the night before your colleagues will accept that you really can’t come in. And even then! Therefore, due to many years of ‘I’m going to have to manage’ training, I don’t go off sick lightly. Having said that, nobody is thanking me for my heroic diligence and brave martyrdom right now. Because of the Coronavirus, you just so much as cough and everybody dives into their bag for a military-use face mask. I had a bit of a coughing fit in Sainsbury’s the other day, and you should have seen the alarmed faces of other shoppers in the dairy isle. Again, OTHER VIRUSES DO EXIST, y’know. Honestly, I may as well admit defeat and stay in bed – nobody seems to want to be around me.

[image error]I know, I know – I’m feeling rather sorry for myself today. But I haven’t slept properly in about a week. Every time my head touches the pillow, an uncontrollable bout of coughing and spluttering starts, which can only be stopped with a large drink or a cough sweet. But my mouth has now become too sore to have any more cough sweets. I’ve taken to propping my pillows up so high that I’m practically in a seated position all night long. But it’s a bit like trying to sleep on a bus (for the record, I can’t sleep on a bus); you’re far too upright to nod off. So repeatedly, I wake up in the night finding my upper body has slipped down due to exhaustion, and yet another period of ‘hacking’ starts. I’ve had to move to another bedroom because my husband simply wouldn’t sleep if I was there thrashing about beside him trying to get my fiftieth coughing episode of the night under control. By the way, I apologise for the overuse of the word ‘cough’ in this blog, as I do hate to overuse words, but my thesaurus doesn’t seem to have an alternate. And ‘barking’ and ‘hacking’ really need to be followed by the word ‘cough’, don’t they?

[image error]So, at the time of writing this blog (Thursday 5th – my day off, thank God, I’m literally good for nothing today), I’m lying on my daughter’s bed procrastinating. That’s where I’ve decamped to whilst she is off skiing – I hope she doesn’t mind. I’ve not long finished stacking the dishwasher, cleaning the cat trays, putting out the recycling (my husband could have done all these things, but I’m saying nothing). Oh, AND completed a 20-minute ‘yoga for when you’re sick’ session (because I’m SOOOO frustrated about the lack of exercise that’s gone on in my life for the last ten days or so – I can literally see my hard-earned abdominal muscles wasting away). But even that burst of activity has done me in. Everything feels like too much effort. I even had to miss my beloved choir practice last night because I literally cannot sing (I made an attempt in the car yesterday – nope, can’t do it). But remember, I couldn’t possibly have flu (don’t forget the fifty-pound note test) or I wouldn’t even be able to function as inefficiently as I am. And remember (again), the Coronavirus is super-unlikely too, because (at the time of writing) there have been no reported cases in my town yet. So, I‘m just hoping that my health improves a little bit so I can get back to normal. But the good news is that my appetite has been largely unaffected. And there’s no weight-loss going on here. No change there, then.

NB: OTHER VIRUSES THAN CORONAVIRUS ARE AVAILABLE

Change is as Good as a Rest…

[image error]Oddly enough, I’ve just logged into my blog for the first time in ages (we won’t talk about that), and today – on the day of writing this blog – 13th February – is the apparently the fifth anniversary of this blog’s existence. So, yeah…that’s…a thing, I guess. I tried updating the look of the site to mark the occasion, but I just ended up losing all of the menus and widgets (if you know anything about blogging or websites, you’ll know what that means), so I ended up putting it all back how it was before. Big accomplishments today, people! But then I thought, you know what? It doesn’t matter how many years you’ve been (ahem) blogging, it doesn’t matter about the layout and the colour pallet and the fonts and the sidebar and the footers of your website. It means absolutely nothing at all if you don’t write on the damn thing. So here I am. How have you been?

[image error]I’m not going to lie to you, 2019 wasn’t one of my favourite years. It’s been a year of upheaval and change. I HATE change (no, you might be thinking you also hate change, but you don’t hate it as much as me, I promise you – you don’t; I’ll fight you for that title, baby). And there was more change in 2019 than my poor little constitution could handle. I’m not going to go into massive amounts of detail (or I’d have to kill you), but we’re talking about my career. My home life has always been happy and settled; husband, kids, cats – what more can a girl ask for? But last year, I pretty much decided to turn my working life upside down – a job of thirteen years standing. It was a mundane lifestyle I was pretty comfortable in, and I’m usually of the opinion that ‘if it ‘aint broke, don’t fix it’. But, if I’m honest it was a little bit…’broke’ (as you can see, my grammar has gone downhill in the intervening months). However, events forced my hand – yet even then, I still could have chosen to hang on in there if I’d really wanted to. But I decided it was time to walk away and do something new – just read a few of my more recent blogs (if you can stomach it) and you’ll get the basic gist.

[image error]*Lying?*

With that new life came a thing they call ‘learning’…ew… (you can teach an old dog new tricks, but the old dog isn’t exactly going to enjoy it), a loss of old friends and colleagues, and a new way of life I just wasn’t entirely prepared for. No, it’s worse than that. It was a bit like the death of something, and all the while – for months on end – wondering if I’d made a massive mistake. I’m quite comfortable admitting to you that I was deeply unhappy. All the little pleasures that I derive from life suddenly became…effort…effort I simply no longer had the energy for. I just couldn’t engage my disquieted mind enough to be able to do anything. Normally, I read every night – I have for over twenty years, but I couldn’t even read a book. And even though I love to write (it usually cheers me right up), the blog was one of the first things to go out of the window; my mind was just in too much turmoil to even spin a yarn or turn a phrase. I managed to keep attending my weekly choir somehow; it was the one and only thing that really took me out of myself. But even my beloved workouts suffered – the one thing I know for a fact that will release those good endorphins and set me up for the day – even that became a monumental effort. I remember turning on a fitness DVD one day and realising five minutes in that I wasn’t actually following the routine at all. I was just…standing there worrying about my problems. You see, my head just wasn’t right. The constant worry and angst, which wouldn’t relent in my waking hours, had started to take its toll. I could only look forward to going to bed at night – at least then I could shut off the stress for a few hours. And the worst of it was that I couldn’t even tell people how miserable I was, because everyone was so proud of me for changing my career so late in life. And I didn’t want to disappoint people. Regrets; I’ve had a few.

[image error]I’ll try…

It’s only now at the beginning of 2020 that I’m finally starting to feel settled again. The big and scary changes are (more or less) behind me. I’ve managed to exercise throughout ‘the troubles’ (even though I didn’t always want to), I’m reading again, I’m less reliant on watching non-taxing TV shows (Poirot, Miss Marple, Jonathan Creek – that kind of thing) in my bedroom to still my hectic brain, and (fingers crossed) the writing is back on the agenda. Do you know what? It’s a big fat lie when they tell you that change is as good as a rest. If that’s a rest, then I’m absolutely knackered. When you’re forty-eight, change is simply hideous. But as hideous as it was, it was necessary. And I’m now glad I did what I did. Those nagging doubts and secret regrets have begun to fade away. Without challenge, there can be no change. Anyway, I sincerely hope your 2019 was better than mine – here’s to a rewarding yet comfortable 2020. And, if things go to plan, maybe even a sixth year of blogging?

I.Just.Can’t.Even.

[image error]“…But…why…?”

Now, you’d be forgiven for thinking this is just another one of my many ‘ranty’ posts. It isn’t. But that’s okay. Like I say, I forgive you. And although I have been known to moan about stuff, I’ve also been known to write posts about things that make me happy. Well, I did once. Things like…oh, I can’t remember…ah, yes…bin day! I like bin day. Anyway, you could read that one positive blog for yourself here, if you like. But I have been noticing a few things mounting up that are starting to get to me. So much so that I was forced to make a list – just to prove to myself that, no, I’m not paranoid, but there is a pattern forming. A pattern of very small and innocuous things – but things that have a darker nature lurking behind their well-meaning façade. An insidiousness that, after a while, you just can’t ignore. Things like these…

[image error]My nemesis…

1: Cups

No, no, not cups; not the ones you drink from. We need those. It’s the (non) metric food measurement I don’t get. I’m sorry, Americans, but why would any logical human being want to measure anything in cup-format? I was looking on the internet for a new and low-ish carb meal to make for dinner the other day (and settled on a sausage, broccoli and cheese bake). I’d already had to come to terms with the fact that I was going to need to make the meal twice because my youngest has just turned vegetarian. But because the internet is the internet, and a lot of these low carb recipes come from the States, I was forced to plump for this one. I know what you’re thinking, ‘you can turn cup conversions into metric’, and sometimes the recipes will even let you click a link for a metric version. But oh, frikkin’, no. Not this one. Remember, a fluid cup is not the same as a dry cup, so there’s often a fair bit of calculation to do. AND I forgot to do this conversion prior to starting on dinner. So, I had to fish out my ‘cup’ measurement-instrument-thingy and had the stress of trying to decipher half a cup of mayonnaise, quarter of a cup of cream, two cups of cream cheese (yes, I know, it was a high fat meal, wasn’t it?), and two cups of grated cheese (how are you supposed to measure cheese in cups? You’ve got to grate it blind without knowing if you’ve done too much or too little until you’ve awkwardly stuffed the greasy bits into a ****ing cup!). And all the while, fifteen alarms are going off as the broccoli has par-boiled, and the meat sausages have fried, and the veggie sausages have fried, the bastard-thing ought to have been in the oven ten minutes ago, and I still haven’t finished smearing mayonnaise into a sh*tting cup! Wouldn’t it be far easier to measure everything into one bowl – accurately – on a weighing scale like Europeans do? My kitchen looked like a bloody dairy factory had thrown up all over it. Cups suck. And you know it.

2: Committing to memory if my daughters’ friends are called, Georgie, Georgia, Georgina, or Georgiana

I kid you not, there are tonnes of them. All with very slight variations of the same name. Both my daughters have befriended a plethora of them. And I’m expected to remember which child has which insubstantially and infinitesimally different name. Well, it’s just not on. I’m going to ban my daughters from making friends with anyone with a name like the above in future. I’ve already got too many to contend with and I can’t go on like this.

[image error]Mmmm!

3:  The lengths people will go to just to decorate a cake

I’ve never enjoyed baking, and I’m probably only jealous because I very rarely allow myself to eat cake. The thing is, I see so many of these extreme cake decorations on my social media feeds (not done by people I know, I’ve know idea who they are or why I’m seeing so much cake), and you can see these cake-bakers have spent at least three days on their creations. And I think to myself, ‘…what’s the point? You’re just going to stuff it into your mouth, grind it to a paste with your molars, and have that piece of work you sweated blood and tears over dissolve in your gastric enzymes…’. And I mean, I know the old saying ‘the first bite is with the eye’, but some of the cakes really are pieces of art – so why work so hard on something that’s going to be horribly destroyed in your stomach? Having said that, I saw one cake just the other day that was supposed to look like a volcano, it had its middle hollowed out to allow for this (that’s the other thing I dislike, the often wasted cake pieces cut off to create a fancy shape) and some kind of dry ice in the middle to recreate ‘lava’ (like you do). They’d melted coloured sweets in the oven to resemble flames of fire for the top, and everything. It must have taken bloody ages! Unfortunately, this cake had a greater likeness to a dog’s dinner. In fact, I’ve seen my cat consume an entire sachet of cat food, then instantly throw it back up again (a result of eating too much grass, methinks), and it was just about as attractive. Look, I can see the need for a show-stopping wedding cake; that kind of cake needs to be a spectacle. And maybe for a very special birthday – like a fortieth; when you’re having a party and people are coming over. But if you’re like me and cake just isn’t that important – bake a standard cake, I’ll allow a sandwich cake; that’s alright. Forget about hollowing out the middle, shaping it into the Cysteine Chapel or Mont Blanc or something. Forget marbling, swirls or multi-coloured layers. Forget that disgusting dayglo fondant icing that’s rolled on, which tastes so sweet it would rot your head off. Bake a basic cake, slap on a smear of chocolate icing, and that’s about as much effort as is required. *Ignores the fact that much of bitterness stems from banning self from eating cake*

[image error] 4: Surprises

I’m not good with surprises. I just like to be told what’s going on. I’m a firm believer in being prepared for things. Surprise holidays or birthday parties may be exciting for some, but for me they just cause angst. It would be far kinder to tell me EXACTLY what is happening, leaving no detail spared (I’m talking dates, ETA’s, expected duration [this is of vital importance], other invitees, etc etc). That way, I know precisely what to wear/pack/expect/psyche myself up for. And if it’s an occasion for which I’m going to be expected to tidy the house (let’s face it, no other bugger in my house will do it), then of course, I’m going to need to know. I’m not even that great with other peoples’ surprises. I don’t feel I can trust myself to keep a secret. With this failing of mine in mind, I think it’s best we’re all honest and above board about things. It’s safer that way. *Worriedly prepares self to never to receive a surprise (or decorated cake) ever again*

[image error]Don’t do it, kids.

5: Photographing your bare feet in the foreground on a sandy beach/by an outdoor pool whilst on holiday, then posting it on social media

I dare say I have been guilty of such an offence in the past. You could probably delve through my Facebook feed, scrolling back many years, and maybe you’d find one. Maybe. Probably. But I hope I’ve grown since then. Mind you, the temptation to do it is immense, I agree. I was just in the French Alps on holiday the other week, lying on a sun lounger by the outdoor pool, and in a strange kind of mesmeric and dream-like state, I found my phone being hypnotically raised to photograph my feet. But luckily, there was a mortified voice in my head that screamed out, ‘what are you, a monster?!’ and the mission was aborted. I think we can all agree that we dodged a bullet there. Especially with my weird feet.

Okay, I think I’d better wrap it up now. I’ve offended half my readership as it is. And Georgina (or was it Georgiana?) has vowed never to visit this site again. But there were so many more I.Just.Can’t.Even’s I had to miss out; subjects like, ‘is it an essential parenting requirement that I make conversation with my child’s monosyllabic school friend during an after-school dinner?’, or ‘why I don’t like musical mash-ups’ (I’ve been watching a lot of Glee re-runs lately, and you really shouldn’t mix two perfectly good songs together), or ‘should I be losing my sh*t every time somebody writes, “don’t mind if I do/it would be rude not to” beneath the photograph of a cocktail on Facebook or Instagram?’. But we’d be here all night. And none of us want that.

(Falling at) the Final Hurdle

Penned Friday 5th July 2019: [image error]

I was just considering the disgusting prospect of writing a first draft of this blog on paper (ugh! Paper? What is this, the bloody dark ages?), when the nurse called me in for my consultation. And my two-and-a-half-hour Minor Injuries Unit stint was finally over, with a suspected ‘badly sprained ankle’. Now I’m lying on the sofa with my super-fat foot propped up on two cushions, and a pair of spanking-new crutches nestling on the couch beside me. But how did I get to be in a predicament like this? Well, sit yourself down with a cup of coffee, readers, and I’ll fill you in.

As you may remember, thirteen billion years ago when I wrote my last blog, I was just embarking on a Fitness Instructor/Personal Trainer Diploma for five weeks. And that five weeks has finally come to an end. Today. I’m not going to lie to you you, the last five weeks have been utter hell. No, really, I feel like I’ve been through an incredibly traumatic experience – like having a baby, or being thrown in a foreign prison for a crime I didn’t commit (as you can tell, I really didn’t like having babies). I’m literally scarred for life.[image error]You see, I haven’t been in full-time education for a LOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG time. And the shock to the system was almost a little bit too much for me. Over those five weeks, I have sat in class convinced I wouldn’t be returning the next day on numerous occasions. I’ve cried all the way home in the car more times than I’m happy to admit. I just couldn’t decide what it was; perhaps I was incredibly dense. Or perhaps I was, y’know, just too old to absorb new information. Maybe you really can’t teach an old dog new tricks (are you calling me an old dog?). What’s more, I often felt a little intimidated amongst this field of super-fit and super-talented peers; iron men, sports-science grads, doctors, Olympic athletes – I kid you not – but never a more humble bunch of people could you wish to meet. Still, mainly out of sheer bloody-minded pride, and the fear of admitting I’d made a rather expensive mistake, I have dragged myself through this course kicking and screaming. And it is finally at an end. Well, sort of…we’ll get on to that.

[image error]I knew it was a bit premature to put on those ‘qualified PT’ T-shirts…

My last experience of education ended in 1995. I started my nurse training at the tender age of 20. I was the young one then, and like some young people (not all), I did the bear minimum, scraped through my course, and enjoyed almost every evening of it pissed down the hospital social club. But our nurse training intake had a few ‘oldies’. They had kids; nursing was their second chance, they had made a lot of sacrifices to be there, they had the fear. And we sort of…didn’t. Those oldies worked like dogs. They never joined us on our nightly nights out; they were too busy revising or carrying out their other motherly responsibilities. But now I’m the oldie. And now I feel their pain. I’ve made a lot of sacrifices, I couldn’t afford to fail, because the fear wouldn’t let me. So, I’ve worked my arse off; each and every day at University, every evening, every weekend. And I’ve literally crawled (with bloodied fingertips) through the ordeal. Heaven knows, I haven’t had time to even think about this blog until today. 

On a positive note (what? Positive? Moi?), I have learned a few things about myself that I didn’t know before. It turns out I quite like multiple choice exams. If you just put a positive spin on them (positive? Moi?) and try to imagine you’re just doing a pub quiz or a magazine crossword or something, it really does take the sting out of it. And I’ve learned I have resources I didn’t know I possessed – I could sit down and revise for hours on end. I don’t think I’ve ever studied this hard in my life – I didn’t know I was capable of it (my anatomy and physiology knowledge, for one, is at an all-time high). Also, I’ve learned a lot of young people are incredibly lovely, and age doesn’t really add up to a hill of beans when you’re amongst people you genuinely like. I’ve met some wonderful characters – young and old (there were only four of us over forty, I was the second eldest…ahem).

[image error]Love an afternoon spent at MIU…

So, I’d like to close this blog with a happy ending. Like, y’know, I’ve passed, and I’m now a fully qualified PT. But I’m afraid it’s a soap-opera-world out there, and life doesn’t always go according to plan. At 8 am this morning, nervously on my way into the gym to take my final practical examination, I tripped down the stairs and turned my ankle completely over. Look, I don’t like exams, but I stress, I DID NOT THROW MYSELF DOWN THE STAIRS ON PURPOSE TO GET OUT OF IT. Anyhoo, to cut a long story short (that would be a first for me), I was unable to sit (stand) my practical exam, and have to take it in a few weeks when I can walk again. I’m currently a qualified Fitness Instructor, but not a Personal Trainer yet. I’ve passed my PT theory and assignments – there’s just this one dreaded practical to do. One more hurdle.[image error]

So, there you go. In a roundabout way, I’ve got my old life back again. That is, I can sit on the sofa and watch Netflix in the evenings once more. Probably in the daytime too – I can’t walk, you see. But it’s nice to chat to you readers again. Maybe I can make more time for this blog now. And although this (incredibly traumatic) episode of my life is over, I have no regrets (apart from the ‘stairs’ incident. That was sh*t). I’ve met some amazing characters. Good luck with your future endeavours, guys. You’re all ace.

PS: Sorry to let you down at the last minute, Jason. I’d have been your ‘pretend’ client for the practical exam any day of the week – but my blasted ankle just wouldn’t let me… 

PPS: Thanks, Gary, for the lift to MIU.

PPPS: Thanks, Hanorah, for rushing to my rescue at MIU and bringing me food and drugs (Paracetamol, you understand). You’re a real pal.

 

Mid-Life Crisis!

 

 

[image error]Perhaps it’s something about being in your late forties (forty-seven *cough-cough*, actually), but I’ve been and gone and done something rash. Don’t get me wrong, I have no regrets, I have been living the quiet life – the safe life – for far too long. But last month I took voluntary redundancy from my Practice Nursing job. A role which I had being doing for thirteen-and-a half-years. Some may call this a mid-life crisis. But I think I’m taking a carefully calculated risk. Let me explain…

If you know me personally, this won’t be a big revelation to you, but next month I am undertaking a Level 3 Diploma in Fitness Instructing/Personal Training. It’s something I’ve had at the back of my mind to do for at least twenty years. I’ve always loved exercise (big-time in the last eight years; I truly believe it got me through a bereavement). And I’ve also become obsessed with nutrition in the last few. I enjoy eating properly, and I really love to talk about it (you ask my friends, I’m so boring when it comes to diet and exercise). But the time was never right to take that leap before: I just wasn’t fit enough, with two young children I didn’t have time to re-train, I had too many financial responsibilities, or I just didn’t have the initial capital to put down for the training required. However, right now, all those obstacles just aren’t in the way anymore – or perhaps they are. But they just don’t seem insurmountable. So, now is the time to take the plunge. Now or never.

[image error]Photoshop skillz!

I have nothing but positive words to say about nursing. Nursing has been kind to me. Nursing brought me knowledge that can never be taken away, nursing allowed me to meet and help a multitude of interesting personalities, nursing brought me life-long friends, nursing brought me my husband – and consequently my children. Anybody who has been a nurse will tell you they will always be a nurse at heart. It’s in your blood. But it’s just not something I want to do anymore; I haven’t been happy for some time. Some people think it’s sad when a nurse leaves the profession. But I’m not irreplaceable. And the place where nurses are the most lacking in numbers is on the wards. And I haven’t been a ward-nurse for YEARS (thank God). They deserve a medal.

[image error]Horrible haircuts I have known.

The thing that surprises me when I tell other nurses my plans, is their bafflement at my decision (yet others openly admit they’d like to get out too), but there’s still this core bunch who cock their heads to one side and narrow their eyes – like they literally cannot fathom why I’d want to do this. Like nursing is the be-all-and-end-all of their existence. Those same people warn me that the health and fitness industry is a saturated market; maybe it is. But I have a medical angle, and I have a vision. I’m not decrying the value of nursing or nurses. It’s a wonderful profession to be proud of. Like I say, nursing has been good to me. But would I recommend it to my kids? I don’t think so. It’s not an easy road, and I’ve done my time (twenty-seven years, to be precise). I believe I have every right to call it a day. And I certainly don’t have to justify myself (btw, this post is not me justifying myself. I’m a blogger; I write about what I do).

When my beloved sister, Lynn, died in 2011, I inwardly promised her I would live a more fulfilled life. I promised her I would stop living the ‘safe life’. That old adage, ‘life is short’, it was proven to me in the most horrible way. And I vowed to stop being a coward and start living life to the full – take a few risks. But I let my sister down. My cowardly nature took hold again, and I decided to stick with the safe life – it was easier, and carried fewer risks. But it’s taken me until 2019 to take the bull by the horns and make a change while I still have time. Seriously, who knows how long we’ve all got?

[image error]Farewell, friends.

My training starts at the beginning of June, and will be undertaken 9-5pm Monday to Friday for an entire month at my local University. I am excited and terrified in equal measure. What if (as a nurse) they expect me to be sh*t-hot on anatomy and physiology (I’d really better brush up on that this month)? What if the class is choc-full of super-fit eighteen-year-olds…and…me…? Still, I’ve got to look at the positives, because maybe I have an edge; I have prior medical knowledge, I’m fitter than I’ve ever been in my entire life, I really care about exercise and nutrition – for once, I actually believe in something. I want to inspire people; I want to let people know how exercise changed my life mentally and physically, and how it can change theirs. I want to stop people getting sick in the first place by advising on the right food to put in their mouths, and the right way to exercise safely. I hope I can do this justice – because it means a lot to me.[image error]

So, have I done my last nursing shift ever? Well…probably not. I think I’ve got a couple of days nursing a week lined up from July onwards. And I think, as a grown-up with responsibilities (yes, I still have those), it is the wise thing to do whilst I grow my fitness empire. And take over the world (mwh-hah-hah-hah!). I’m registered to be a nurse until the end of 2022. I could even go back to it full-time…if I wanted to. For now, I’m happy to continue to utilise my skills and knowledge in a decreased capacity for a little while. Nursing, exercise, and nutrition – they should all go hand-in-hand, shouldn’t they?

[image error]Some of you may be thinking (one or two, at best), ‘but what about your writing?‘. Well, you know how much I love that. Even if I don’t do it as much as I ought to. Being a writer defines me; it’s a part of who I am and always will be. But I very much doubt it will be the way I make my living. Not in this lifetime. And that’s okay. So long as writing remains a part of my life in some form or another, if only to connect with you guys, that will be enough. This venture, though – health and fitness – it has opportunities, paths, and avenues. And who knows where those avenues will take me?

NB: I’ll keep you posted on how it all goes. Wish me luck.

 

Sing II (Competition Special)! 🎶

If you ever read this blog (c’mon, you do, don’t you?), you’ll know I joined an all-female choir a couple of months back. Well, since that time, we’ve been involved in a competition! So, I thought you might like to hear about my exciting experience of top-level, all-female, fight-to-the-death, choir face-off…type…deals…

As you will recall, we have been learning four songs since January; ‘Michelle’ by the Beatles, Rodger and Hammerstein’s’ ‘Oklahoma’, ‘Sahayta’ by Ben Allaway, and ‘Tread Softly’ – a Yeats poem set to musical arrangement by one of our clever choir tutors. I believe I may have bellyached a little bit in the former blog (really? Moi?) about how immensely difficult I found it to commit these tunes to memory (and when I say tunes, not the tunes you may be familiar with, but a harmony peculiar only to the Alto 1’s section of these melodies (and there were only five of us Alto 1s, so you couldn’t just mouth along silently or get it wrong) – whilst simultaneously listening to thirty-eight other harmonies going on at the same time [slight exaggeration]). However, with a great deal of practice over the course of eight weeks, I managed to sing all four songs relatively confidently.

In those eight weeks I learned how to ‘note crunch’ – for me, at least, that means deciphering actual musical notes into letter-form, to learn the tune. Even though I can now recognise middle C, D, E, and F by sight, I still evidently can’t read music. But what I lack in musical talent, I make up for in not-liking-to-look-stupid-ness. Not that looking at a note in letter-form ever really conjures up the actual sound or pitch of that note in my head, but for some reason, having the lettered-notes jotted down underneath the actual ones in pencil always helps me to understand in which direction the musical score is going next. But by far and away the thing that really helped me turn the corner was when the class tutors emailed us recordings of them singing our particular sections. I have a good ear – especially for harmony. I can remember the things I hear far better than the things I see, so after this, I found the business of learning the songs by rote relatively straightforward. But please don’t think it was ever easy. ‘Oklahoma’ alone was twenty pages long to learn from memory (no sheet music allowed on competition day). Eeeek.

So, last weekend around thirty-five members of my choir converged in a small church in the city of Bath with seven other choirs in the morning (to sing two choir-standards) and five other choirs in the afternoon (to sing two popular/show songs). I was blown away by the standard of the other choirs. Not that I ever expected other groups to be sitting around week after week practising ‘Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star’ in unison – but they were gooooood. Really good. Obviously, all choirs were female, and all dressed in black, but all adorning a splash of identity; some with brightly-coloured scarves, some with necklaces of pure bling, some wore turquoise cardigans, some wore cerise cardigans (one group wore royal-blue, floor-length bridesmaid dresses – I still don’t know what that was about). Some, during warm-up,  even sported identical jackets with their choir name printed on the back (I really think we ought to invest in some boxing-style silky, hooded bathrobes for our choir next year, and enter the church ducking and weaving to the theme of ‘Rocky’). But our thing was colourful heels – leopard-print boots, in my case.  I’m going to refer to those other choirs by their ‘identity’ from now on – their bit of flair. I mean, I could go and look up the choir names, but that would require…y’know…effort.

I personally believe our morning set was good, but I didn’t think it was as flawless as we’d have liked. One of our songs required staggered and fast-paced clapping (oh my God, isn’t singing hard enough??!). And the adjudicator seemed to think our clapping was a little ‘dicey’ in places. I don’t know, perhaps she was right. Anyway, I was surprised and terribly pleased to hear we came second in the morning session, even after the ‘dicey’ feedback.

But I had always known we were REALLY in with a shot with our afternoon set (‘Michelle’ and ‘Oklahoma’ – particularly ‘Oklahoma’ due to its complexity, and five-part harmony). Like I say, every choir there performed to an astonishingly high standard – there was to be no smug gloating from me. But I think – if I’m honest – one choir did stand out a bit. These were ‘The Turquoise Cardigans’ (their real name is unpronounceable). I particularly liked their version of ‘On a Clear Day’. They really knew how to atmospherically fill a church. Mind you, there were thirty-thousand of them. And I know that because I had to clap for over two minutes whilst all of them ceremoniously trooped up on stage. They didn’t even fit up on stage. My hands were actually sore when I could finally stop politely clapping. But I knew just by their swagger that they were the choir to beat. And ‘On a Clear Day’ proved it. I think they also performed ‘Everything’s Coming up Roses’ which was also really good.

Then it was our turn. Battling hard to remember every word, every note, we performed ‘Michelle’ and ‘Oklahoma’. Both went well from where I was standing. But ‘Oklahoma’ had people (choirs and audience alike) bouncing around in the pews – I kid you not. I could actually see the choir conductor of ‘The Poppy-Print Scarves’ smile and sigh resignedly when we finished. Follow that, baby! The equally talented ‘Cerise Cardigans’ even kindly tweeted about our great afternoon performance later on Twitter (I do like choir-folk). It had gone well – very well.

Once all six choirs had performed, the adjudicator’s announcement was a bit of an anti-climax, to say the least. She didn’t announce any of the runners-up, merely the winners. And I’m afraid to tell you, readers, that wasn’t us. We didn’t beat those pesky ‘Turquoise Cardigans’. However, I only found out later that we came second. But it was a very respectable second, if you ask me. All the other choirs really were amazing, so I was thrilled that we did as well as we did; second in both morning and afternoon categories. BOOOOOMMSHAKALAK!

My husband, kids, sister-in-law, niece, and mother-in-law had all been spectators, but were a tad disgruntled. You see, they felt we should have won; ‘you woz’ robbed!’ they barked in Costa coffee shop later that afternoon (they really need to improve their grammar). Hmmm…I’m not sure if we woz, though (I mean, were). ‘Turquoise Cardigans’ were truly impressive. As were all the other choirs. There was only one point in it between first and second place. Maybe it was anyone’s game. And as a non-impartial choir-member; my attention entirely focused on remembering my individual part (a tiny cog in a large machine), I just couldn’t say. But I’m still massively happy with the result. And it only makes me more competitive for next time. If that’s humanly possible

But all that’s water under the bridge now. Choir practice this week presented us with three new songs. So, I’m back to square one – where I started at the beginning of January. Flummoxed again; more note-crunching, more weeks of warbling alone in my bedroom (much to my cats’ delight – they really love a belted-out show tune). But this time, I have the benefit of experience. This time, I know those songs can be learned by rote in only a few weeks, if you put in the work. And this time, there is the added excitement of some SOLOS! Eeeek! Do I dare put my hand up for one of those, readers…? Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.

NB: If you were at the competition and I haven’t got some of my facts straight, please allow for A) my poor, nerve-wracked memory, and B) artistic licence. But I always try to give at least a passing nod towards the truth.

Sing II (Competition Special)!

[image error]

If you ever read this blog (c’mon, you do, don’t you?), you’ll know I joined an all-female choir a couple of months back. Well, since that time, we’ve been involved in a competition! So, I thought you might like to hear about my exciting experience of top-level, all-female, fight-to-the-death, choir face-off…type…deals…

As you will recall, we have been learning four songs since January; ‘Michelle’ by the Beatles, Rodger and Hammerstein’s’ ‘Oklahoma’, ‘Sahayta’ by Ben Allaway, and ‘Tread Softly’ – a Yeats poem set to musical arrangement by one of our clever choir tutors. I believe I may have bellyached a little bit in the former blog (really? Moi?) about how immensely difficult I found it to commit these tunes to memory (and when I say tunes, not the tunes you may be familiar with, but a harmony peculiar only to the Alto 1’s section of these melodies (and there were only five of us Alto 1s, so you couldn’t just mouth along silently or get it wrong) – whilst simultaneously listening to thirty-eight other harmonies going on at the same time [slight exaggeration]). However, with a great deal of practice over the course of eight weeks, I managed to sing all four songs relatively confidently.

[image error]

In those eight weeks I learned how to ‘note crunch’ – for me, at least, that means deciphering actual musical notes into letter-form, to learn the tune. Even though I can now recognise middle C, D, E, and F by sight, I still evidently can’t read music. But what I lack in musical talent, I make up for in not-liking-to-look-stupid-ness. Not that looking at a note in letter-form ever really conjures up the actual sound or pitch of that note in my head, but for some reason, having the lettered-notes jotted down underneath the actual ones in pencil always helps me to understand in which direction the musical score is going next. But by far and away the thing that really helped me turn the corner was when the class tutors emailed us recordings of them singing our particular sections. I have a good ear – especially for harmony. I can remember the things I hear far better than the things I see, so after this, I found the business of learning the songs by rote relatively straightforward. But please don’t think it was ever easy. ‘Oklahoma’ alone was twenty pages long to learn from memory (no sheet music allowed on competition day). Eeeek.

[image error]

So, last weekend around thirty-five members of my choir converged in a small church in the city of Bath with seven other choirs in the morning (to sing two choir-standards) and five other choirs in the afternoon (to sing two popular/show songs). I was blown away by the standard of the other choirs. Not that I ever expected other groups to be sitting around week after week practising ‘Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star’ in unison – but they were gooooood. Really good. Obviously, all choirs were female, and all dressed in black, but all adorning a splash of identity; some with brightly-coloured scarves, some with necklaces of pure bling, some wore turquoise cardigans, some wore cerise cardigans (one group wore royal-blue, floor-length bridesmaid dresses – I still don’t know what that was about). Some, during warm-up,  even sported identical jackets with their choir name printed on the back (I really think we ought to invest in some boxing-style silky, hooded bathrobes for our choir next year, and enter the church ducking and weaving to the theme of ‘Rocky’). But our thing was colourful heels – leopard-print boots, in my case.  I’m going to refer to those other choirs by their ‘identity’ from now on – their bit of flair. I mean, I could go and look up the choir names, but that would require…y’know…effort.

I personally believe our morning set was good, but I didn’t think it was as flawless as we’d have liked. One of our songs required staggered and fast-paced clapping (oh my God, isn’t singing hard enough??!). And the adjudicator seemed to think our clapping was a little ‘dicey’ in places. I don’t know, perhaps she was right. Anyway, I was surprised and terribly pleased to hear we came second in the morning session, even after the ‘dicey’ feedback.

[image error]

But I had always known we were REALLY in with a shot with our afternoon set (‘Michelle’ and ‘Oklahoma’ – particularly ‘Oklahoma’ due to its complexity, and five-part harmony). Like I say, every choir there performed to an astonishingly high standard – there was to be no smug gloating from me. But I think – if I’m honest – one choir did stand out a bit. These were ‘The Turquoise Cardigans’ (their real name is unpronounceable). I particularly liked their version of ‘On a Clear Day’. They really knew how to atmospherically fill a church. Mind you, there were thirty-thousand of them. And I know that because I had to clap for over two minutes whilst all of them ceremoniously trooped up on stage. They didn’t even fit up on stage. My hands were actually sore when I could finally stop politely clapping. But I knew just by their swagger that they were the choir to beat. And ‘On a Clear Day’ proved it. I think they also performed ‘Everything’s Coming up Roses’ which was also really good.

[image error]

Then it was our turn. Battling hard to remember every word, every note, we performed ‘Michelle’ and ‘Oklahoma’. Both went well from where I was standing. But ‘Oklahoma’ had people (choirs and audience alike) bouncing around in the pews – I kid you not. I could actually see the choir conductor of ‘The Poppy-Print Scarves’ smile and sigh resignedly when we finished. Follow that, baby! The equally talented ‘Cerise Cardigans’ even kindly tweeted about our great afternoon performance later on Twitter (I do like choir-folk). It had gone well – very well.

Once all six choirs had performed, the adjudicator’s announcement was a bit of an anti-climax, to say the least. She didn’t announce any of the runners-up, merely the winners. And I’m afraid to tell you, readers, that wasn’t us. We didn’t beat those pesky ‘Turquoise Cardigans’. However, I only found out later that we came second. But it was a very respectable second, if you ask me. All the other choirs really were amazing, so I was thrilled that we did as well as we did; second in both morning and afternoon categories. BOOOOOMMSHAKALAK!

My husband, kids, sister-in-law, niece, and mother-in-law had all been spectators, but were a tad disgruntled. You see, they felt we should have won; ‘you woz’ robbed!’ they barked in Costa coffee shop later that afternoon (they really need to improve their grammar). Hmmm…I’m not sure if we woz, though (I mean, were). ‘Turquoise Cardigans’ were truly impressive. As were all the other choirs. There was only one point in it between first and second place. Maybe it was anyone’s game. And as a non-impartial choir-member; my attention entirely focused on remembering my individual part (a tiny cog in a large machine), I just couldn’t say. But I’m still massively happy with the result. And it only makes me more competitive for next time. If that’s humanly possible

[image error]

But all that’s water under the bridge now. Choir practice this week presented us with three new songs. So, I’m back to square one – where I started at the beginning of January. Flummoxed again; more note-crunching, more weeks of warbling alone in my bedroom (much to my cats’ delight – they really love a belted-out show tune). But this time, I have the benefit of experience. This time, I know those songs can be learned by rote in only a few weeks, if you put in the work. And this time, there is the added excitement of some SOLOS! Eeeek! Do I dare put my hand up for one of those, readers…? Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.

NB: If you were at the competition and I haven’t got some of my facts straight, please allow for A) my poor, nerve-wracked memory, and B) artistic licence. But I always try to give at least a passing nod towards the truth.

Sing II (Competition Special)!

[image error]

If you ever read this blog (c’mon, you do, don’t you?), you’ll know I joined an all-female choir a couple of months back. Well, since that time, we’ve been involved in a competition! So, I thought you might like to hear about my exciting experience of top-level, all-female, fight-to-the-death, choir face-off…type…deals…

As you will recall, we have been learning four songs since January; ‘Michelle’ by the Beatles, Rodger and Hammerstein’s’ ‘Oklahoma’, ‘Sahayta’ by Ben Allaway, and ‘Tread Softly’ – a Yeats poem set to musical arrangement by one of our clever choir tutors. I believe I may have bellyached a little bit in the former blog (really? Moi?) about how immensely difficult I found it to commit these tunes to memory (and when I say tunes, not the tunes you may be familiar with, but a harmony peculiar only to the Alto 1’s section of these melodies (and there were only five of us Alto 1s, so you couldn’t just mouth along silently or get it wrong) – whilst simultaneously listening to thirty-eight other harmonies going on at the same time [slight exaggeration]). However, with a great deal of practice over the course of eight weeks, I managed to sing all four songs relatively confidently.

[image error]

In those eight weeks I learned how to ‘note crunch’ – for me, at least, that means deciphering actual musical notes into letter-form, to learn the tune. Even though I can now recognise middle C, D, E, and F by sight, I still evidently can’t read music. But what I lack in musical talent, I make up for in not-liking-to-look-stupid-ness. Not that looking at a note in letter-form ever really conjures up the actual sound or pitch of that note in my head, but for some reason, having the lettered-notes jotted down underneath the actual ones in pencil always helps me to understand in which direction the musical score is going next. But by far and away the thing that really helped me turn the corner was when the class tutors emailed us recordings of them singing our particular sections. I have a good ear – especially for harmony. I can remember the things I hear far better than the things I see, so after this, I found the business of learning the songs by rote relatively straightforward. But please don’t think it was ever easy. ‘Oklahoma’ alone was twenty pages long to learn from memory (no sheet music allowed on competition day). Eeeek.

[image error]

So, last weekend around thirty-five members of my choir converged in a small church in the city of Bath with seven other choirs in the morning (to sing two choir-standards) and five other choirs in the afternoon (to sing two popular/show songs). I was blown away by the standard of the other choirs. Not that I ever expected other groups to be sitting around week after week practising ‘Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star’ in unison – but they were gooooood. Really good. Obviously, all choirs were female, and all dressed in black, but all adorning a splash of identity; some with brightly-coloured scarves, some with necklaces of pure bling, some wore turquoise cardigans, some wore cerise cardigans (one group wore royal-blue, floor-length bridesmaid dresses – I still don’t know what that was about). Some, during warm-up,  even sported identical jackets with their choir name printed on the back (I really think we ought to invest in some boxing-style silky, hooded bathrobes for our choir next year, and enter the church ducking and weaving to the theme of ‘Rocky’). But our thing was colourful heels – leopard-print boots, in my case.  I’m going to refer to those other choirs by their ‘identity’ from now on – their bit of flair. I mean, I could go and look up the choir names, but that would require…y’know…effort.

I personally believe our morning set was good, but I didn’t think it was as flawless as we’d have liked. One of our songs required staggered and fast-paced clapping (oh my God, isn’t singing hard enough??!). And the adjudicator seemed to think our clapping was a little ‘dicey’ in places. I don’t know, perhaps she was right. Anyway, I was surprised and terribly pleased to hear we came second in the morning session, even after the ‘dicey’ feedback.

[image error]

But I had always known we were REALLY in with a shot with our afternoon set (‘Michelle’ and ‘Oklahoma’ – particularly ‘Oklahoma’ due to its complexity, and five-part harmony). Like I say, every choir there performed to an astonishingly high standard – there was to be no smug gloating from me. But I think – if I’m honest – one choir did stand out a bit. These were ‘The Turquoise Cardigans’ (their real name is unpronounceable). I particularly liked their version of ‘On a Clear Day’. They really knew how to atmospherically fill a church. Mind you, there were thirty-thousand of them. And I know that because I had to clap for over two minutes whilst all of them ceremoniously trooped up on stage. They didn’t even fit up on stage. My hands were actually sore when I could finally stop politely clapping. But I knew just by their swagger that they were the choir to beat. And ‘On a Clear Day’ proved it. I think they also performed ‘Everything’s Coming up Roses’ which was also really good.

[image error]

Then it was our turn. Battling hard to remember every word, every note, we performed ‘Michelle’ and ‘Oklahoma’. Both went well from where I was standing. But ‘Oklahoma’ had people (choirs and audience alike) bouncing around in the pews – I kid you not. I could actually see the choir conductor of ‘The Poppy-Print Scarves’ smile and sigh resignedly when we finished. Follow that, baby! The equally talented ‘Cerise Cardigans’ even kindly tweeted about our great afternoon performance later on Twitter (I do like choir-folk). It had gone well – very well.

Once all six choirs had performed, the adjudicator’s announcement was a bit of an anti-climax, to say the least. She didn’t announce any of the runners-up, merely the winners. And I’m afraid to tell you, readers, that wasn’t us. We didn’t beat those pesky ‘Turquoise Cardigans’. However, I only found out later that we came second. But it was a very respectable second, if you ask me. All the other choirs really were amazing, so I was thrilled that we did as well as we did; second in both morning and afternoon categories. BOOOOOMMSHAKALAK!

My husband, kids, sister-in-law, niece, and mother-in-law had all been spectators, but were a tad disgruntled. You see, they felt we should have won; ‘you woz’ robbed!’ they barked in Costa coffee shop later that afternoon (they really need to improve their grammar). Hmmm…I’m not sure if we woz, though (I mean, were). ‘Turquoise Cardigans’ were truly impressive. As were all the other choirs. There was only one point in it between first and second place. Maybe it was anyone’s game. And as a non-impartial choir-member; my attention entirely focused on remembering my individual part (a tiny cog in a large machine), I just couldn’t say. But I’m still massively happy with the result. And it only makes me more competitive for next time. If that’s humanly possible

[image error]

But all that’s water under the bridge now. Choir practice this week presented us with three new songs. So, I’m back to square one – where I started at the beginning of January. Flummoxed again; more note-crunching, more weeks of warbling alone in my bedroom (much to my cats’ delight – they really love a belted-out show tune). But this time, I have the benefit of experience. This time, I know those songs can be learned by rote in only a few weeks, if you put in the work. And this time, there is the added excitement of some SOLOS! Eeeek! Do I dare put my hand up for one of those, readers…? Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.

NB: If you were at the competition and I haven’t got some of my facts straight, please allow for A) my poor, nerve-wracked memory, and B) artistic licence. But I always try to give at least a passing nod towards the truth.