Arise, shine, for thy light is come...
Back from the Brickhills Messiah.
It went really rather well, both personally and collectively.
My bits were good, mainly due to me having eaten some bananas beforehand (beta-blockers and energy surge), feeling confident in my own abilities and having prepared by chatting to the leader of the orchestra and the organist (a former Selwyn organ scholar) to get the tempi right. The voice didn't dry up; most of the bits that were supposed to be there were there, including the surge up to a top F in the first cadenza of But who may abide and the messe di voce in both O thou that tellest and O Death, where is thy sting?. I am also reliably informed that He was despised made people cry (including the conductor)... for the right reasons.
Other highlights - a rather sweet comforting of Jerusalem by Rupert, my host, an excellent mezzo/soprano duet in He shall feed his flock, some fine breaking them with a rod of iron by a tenor called Peter Eales (NOT Ellis, though he would have done a great job too) of whom I hope to hear more, and some good shaking of the heavens, the earth and the dry land by a nicely psychopathic bass.
They're dead rich in those parts; everyone involved, including Rupert and Christine, my hospitable hosts, have Unfeasibly Large Houses. After the concert one of the bass soloists invited us back to his place - it has its own fields. And its own horse. And its own serving staff. And Portaloos with wood panelling and pictures on the walls; there are certain things that are not dreamt of in this mole's philosophy.
So, into the comfy chair, load the plate with coronation chicken and apple pie, find a can of beer and start flirting. It was fun. Especially flirting with the Ayurvedic doctor in a nnyngy trouser suit who came from Bradford and whose favourite piece of music is Pergolesi's Stabat Mater... had I some voice left and less shame, I might have sung her bits of Quae maerebat et dolebat on the spot. But soon it was time to go. It was after midnight, after all.
When we drove back, I found I had not just a guest room but a guest suite, with my own bathroom and bookshelves. I pootled around LJ and Facebook (a lot of Scrabble moves, including getting 80 points for a Z), then drifted off to sleep happily with The Fifth Elephant... only to wake up in the middle of the night, since it was windy, I sleep with the windows open and I'd failed to secure the bathroom door properly.
I have a funny feeling they may ask me back next year.
Got up this morning at 9:30 - luxury. Found a text from gayalondiel, to which I responded rather enigmatically; but it was me wot texted the other day.
When I got home I examined the bottle provided. Mercier champagne... very nice. To be opened at my party on the 6th, I think (details to follow in a friends-locked post).
It went really rather well, both personally and collectively.
My bits were good, mainly due to me having eaten some bananas beforehand (beta-blockers and energy surge), feeling confident in my own abilities and having prepared by chatting to the leader of the orchestra and the organist (a former Selwyn organ scholar) to get the tempi right. The voice didn't dry up; most of the bits that were supposed to be there were there, including the surge up to a top F in the first cadenza of But who may abide and the messe di voce in both O thou that tellest and O Death, where is thy sting?. I am also reliably informed that He was despised made people cry (including the conductor)... for the right reasons.
Other highlights - a rather sweet comforting of Jerusalem by Rupert, my host, an excellent mezzo/soprano duet in He shall feed his flock, some fine breaking them with a rod of iron by a tenor called Peter Eales (NOT Ellis, though he would have done a great job too) of whom I hope to hear more, and some good shaking of the heavens, the earth and the dry land by a nicely psychopathic bass.
They're dead rich in those parts; everyone involved, including Rupert and Christine, my hospitable hosts, have Unfeasibly Large Houses. After the concert one of the bass soloists invited us back to his place - it has its own fields. And its own horse. And its own serving staff. And Portaloos with wood panelling and pictures on the walls; there are certain things that are not dreamt of in this mole's philosophy.
So, into the comfy chair, load the plate with coronation chicken and apple pie, find a can of beer and start flirting. It was fun. Especially flirting with the Ayurvedic doctor in a nnyngy trouser suit who came from Bradford and whose favourite piece of music is Pergolesi's Stabat Mater... had I some voice left and less shame, I might have sung her bits of Quae maerebat et dolebat on the spot. But soon it was time to go. It was after midnight, after all.
When we drove back, I found I had not just a guest room but a guest suite, with my own bathroom and bookshelves. I pootled around LJ and Facebook (a lot of Scrabble moves, including getting 80 points for a Z), then drifted off to sleep happily with The Fifth Elephant... only to wake up in the middle of the night, since it was windy, I sleep with the windows open and I'd failed to secure the bathroom door properly.
I have a funny feeling they may ask me back next year.
Got up this morning at 9:30 - luxury. Found a text from gayalondiel, to which I responded rather enigmatically; but it was me wot texted the other day.
When I got home I examined the bottle provided. Mercier champagne... very nice. To be opened at my party on the 6th, I think (details to follow in a friends-locked post).