Mostly Singing

Singing

I think I’ve already bored you with some of the singing stuff so you can blog off now, with my blessing, if singing is not your bag. Comments on the last blog appear at the end and anyone wanting stitchy stuff can head over to www.d4daisychains.blogspot.com the blog that goes with my latest book.

We had a most fabulous day on Saturday at the Stourhead Festival of the Voice. Stourhead is a National Trust garden, not far from us  (in my book it is one of their best) and for the Festival they bring in twenty-two choirs, all very different, and each one gets a twenty minute slot in different parts of the garden. This is a pic of the Gasworks choir from Bristol – very professional and a great sound.

We went with Jane Wild and met up with our choir – Local Vocals. The whole day was full of joy and laughter. Sounds a bit twee that, but it is the only way I can describe it – lovely weather (eventually), great company, lots of laughs, good grub and we sang well. We do a real musical mix of songs from rock to Georgian drinking songs and our leader, Lesley, is so clever. No need to read music – she just gets us straight into singing. It’s like magic.

 Before Stourhead we sang at Wimborne Minster’s Jubilee celebrations. Although it poured with rain and we had to move into the Minster (lovely old Church) we were in good voice. Jane’s husband took the pics and you can see Jane and I clinging together for support and Clive, in among the bases.

I do think it is hilarious that Jane and I are lip-synched in these photos. We must be getting the words right, if not the music. Not a good pic – too many screen grabs -but you get the idea.

Finally here we are singing All Round my Hat. The last bit is the best with our sopranos on the descant.

Comments

I loved the warhorse, too Linnie – once again the commentators seemed at a complete loss as to what it was about.

Agree about the poor old Duke and the cold, Heather.

I’ve heard of a Marmaluke, wabbit but never seen one. It’s very easy to make friends with doggy people, I find, but we never know their real names. They were always Jojo’s mum or Sabre’s dad. One also had to suppress the desire to say, when meeting them in their civvies in town, ‘I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on!’