I finished my day today with 44 under 14 boy trebles, which in itself is astonishing. It is even more surprising when you know that there have been three other classes of equally large numbers of boy trebles singing in this week alone ! I would be hard pushed to find a handful of non chorister boys in numbers like that in the whole of the U.K. ? Other than cathedral and church schools trebles are a dying breed. These little lads, of all differing standards you understand, were bright, happy, engaged and actually ‘doing it’ without a shred of embarrassment or looking like they were hating every minute of the ordeal. Quite an amazing feat. The song was hideous and even my stalwart assistant remarked on the fact that it was boring and not tuneful. I couldn’t have put it better myself. It was The Owl by Richard Rodney Bennet, and frankly it had all the charm of a nest of squawking owls fighting over a dead, and already mouldy mouse. It was also very very difficult and I felt for the weeks of work these boys had put in practising long hours with pianists, and all for something so completely unrewarding ! It squeaked and swooped and changed key 28 times in four bars. The words were impossible to sing well, even if one were a native English speaker. The set piece person must have been having a bad day, or at least a row with her husband to be cruel enough to inflict this upon innocent children !
We fought our way through 44 upping and downing performances, hoping a sniper might come along and put the aforesaid owl out of its misery, but no, some little chaps fought with the notes, others fought with the piano and about three boys won the Owl v Boy match. My little winner had a lovely voice, but more even than that, he could actually sing the flippin notes ! Enough about a song which is not really worth the mention.
I managed to snap a quick picture of the rule book whilst my friendly and efficient assistant was out of the hall for a second, you can see how big it is. I find it unbelievable that the association can actually find that many rules and regs, a tour de force of legality, punishment and cussedness. You have got to admire the singleminded attitude, and the sheer doggedness of the committee. I get a touch of nervous exhaustion just thinking about it being only a metre from me at the desk, looming ominously with its fat list of misdemeanours.
So far this has been a ‘Four Pen Festival’. When I was doing this all the time I graded festivals by how many pens ran out as much as the quality of the performing. My fourth rollerball hit the dust at 3pm today and now I am on the last one. I told my lovely assistant Catherine, and she very obligingly took me to a stationary shop in the Jade Garden, where I could buy some more ! Now rollerballs are expensive at home, I paid £9.99 for a pack of four a few weeks ago, and I got these today at the cost of £1 each, so I jolly well stocked up ! I really wanted to stop and shop in this quaint, vastly overstuffed and old fashioned emporium, and look at the wonderfully ornate writing paper, cards, exercise books with ornate Chinese titles and other such fascinating wares, but my assistant wanted to guide me back to the MTR and thus back to the hotel. I felt unable to keep her waiting as she had been so kind, but I had to drag myself away from the power of stationary…..especially very foreign stationary which looked like it had been made in fairyland !!
I got back at about 6.10pm, completely bushed and so ready for a cup of builders tea I nearly broke the 60m world record down my hallway to room 2215. My room that is ! One strong cup of tea later I touched base with Iona, fiddle lady who is leaving tomorrow, and we went for a celebratory final dinner for her, and an equally celebratory dinner for me, marking my survival of an entire packed week. We went to an Indian restaurant nearby which I had frequented a few times in past Far East sojourns called the Himalayas, and we struggled up the steep urban version of the beasts to get to the top of the stairs and into the restaurant. After flopping down on the comfortable, if slightly gold bedecked chairs we triumphantly ordered delicious food.
Ok people, I had rice, pilau rice in quite a large portion and I didn’t care. Caution to the wind said I to myself, I have earned this rice, a fully cooked rice badge of honour, and all mine. I am sitting back at the Luk Kwok now with my Dexcom alarm beeping at me in a truly annoying and slightly childish manner, sarcastically telling me I am a wicked and horrid 14.4.
IT WAS GORGEOUS AND I DON’T CARE A JOT. Sad, deluded woman I hear you say.
There is also a photo of me and my name tag, we all long for the rosettes to come back, we all want to be best in show once again. I think these must be much cheaper to produce. Perhaps if we bark a bit they might relent ? I fear in my state of mental and physical exhaustion I am rambling today…..apologies to anyone bored enough to read this slightly hysterical missive !
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