The only way I can seem to write this blog is if I scribble things in notebooks when I am on public transport, then type it up when I have time. When I worked in offices I had time to muse at length about life while avoiding doing some menial task or other, but now I have to rely on having something to write when I am at home, and it rarely happens that way.
Highstepping over the hills, I was on a train this time. A late train, the one I had planned for and then ran for, was cancelled and I made my muttery way to catch another one. It seems that I am destined to always be LATE, but this time it's not my fault and I feel I should be compensated in some way.
The clouds hung over the glowering hills with their gunmetal linings.
I was on my way to a training course in Leeds, which Opera North are paying for as part of my choir leading apprenticeship. The next day I used some of the songs I learned when I lead the Family Choir in the school, the children enthusiastically joining in while their parents slowly dropped their collective guard and began to sing out. Nasty thoughts try to elbow in as I stand in front of them. My cruel brain imitates their voices and whispers imagined thoughts in my ears. She's posh. She's crap. I wish we had someone else leading our choir. Do you think she's even done this before?
I manage to ignore them, but only just. The previous week I was even more flustered by the presence of a photographer from the Yorkshire Evening Post, crouching down to snapsnapflashsnap while I waved my hands in the air and taught three part harmonies to one hundred and twenty people.
No photographer this week, no unflattering angles to consider.
Walking back to the train station afterwards my sense of exhilaration was only slightly tempered by the sudden, unwavering conviction that everyone around me was wearing a prosthetic nose. Luckily it only lasted five minutes.
Today is Sunday, and I should have been busy. I should have done things other than lie about, having breakfast cooked for me and watching things on the computer.
I have to practice my cello. I am going to a rehearsal tomorrow, for the Uprising fundraiser at the Contact Theatre on Saturday. Eggs collective want me to play marvellous music for them. I am just planning to play weird things and hope that nobody realizes I am just a bit rusty. I am going to use words like "experimental" and "contemporary" to throw them off the scent. Who knows, I might even slip in a "post-post-modern" if I really panic. (If anyone from Eggs is reading this: consider that whole bit about me being rusty to be a lie. A pointless lie, made up for the purposes of this even more pointless weblog.)
I also have to practice my guitar playing. I am hosting another night at the Thirsty Scholar this Wednesday (to which you may consider yourself cordially invited), and have decided, like the complete moron that I now understand myself to be, to premier a song, accompanied by my guitar. Considering that I a) have not yet written the song and b) have a four-chord guitartoire*, this is rather a silly decision. Of course, I could always just not do it, but unfortunately as things stand I don't really seem to be considering that option.
*I just made up the word "guitartoire".
I should really also plan this week's choir workshop. Or get dressed. Or perhaps tidy up a bit, put away all the clothes on the bed. Although following the cat's excellent lead and just getting on top of them for a restorative nap seems an altogether more appealing option.
I think I will wander downstairs and pressure Ben into ordering a Chinese. I think a spring roll is what I need, and then I can really get started.