The new singing enterprise
Becoming parents has forced Em and I to consider more seriously where money will come from in the future. We still maintain that working all the time would be a travesty, so over the last few months there has been an effort to maximise the better paid aspects of our minimal work lives. Our existence will always be modest and if our plan works out the various schemes will bring in enough cash to keep us going, whilst leaving plenty of time to pursue those things we find fulfilling and enjoyable. In the past this lifestyle was designed to accommodate writing, singing, shooting, poetry, walking, fishing, etc and though all these things remain important, now the thought of having real time to spend with our children is the main inspiration.
Between us Em and I have invested 10 years learning how to use our voices (Em six and I four) and singing work is one of the areas we are trying to expand. Today our mini campaign took us to a ‘Mid-Winter Fair ' hosted by a local magazine to perform Christmas carols. A package of traditional carols is offered on our website and we were confident that performing at such an event would lead to a few engagements over the Christmas period – now, I at least am not so sure. Neither of us has ever sung in a worse environment. Everything which made the fair itself a roaring success spelt doom from a performer's point of view. The heaving mass, predominantly women in waisted tweed and slouchy leather boots, were solely intent on shopping and barely looked up from their baubles to acknowledge our presence. The noise generated by the feeding frenzy was also oppressive and combined with the non-existent acoustic provided by the marquees, made the temptation to over sing and tire the voice almost irresistible. The original plan was to circulate around performing 15 minute sets, but the space was so overcrowded that in the end we took up residence by the ' Priceless People Area ' - an exclusive lounge, set aside for members of the readers' club. The lady in charge of the pink lined tent was certainly ' priceless ' and despite neither of us having ever paid the £37.50 annual subscription, kept us going with cups of hot fresh coffee. In fact, had it not been for her hospitality and friendly chat, the whole event would have been rather miserable. A few people did pick up cards and flyers and several small children defied their consumer centric mothers by stopping to watch, so perhaps some good will come of the ordeal.
I could barely wait to throw off my gladrags (even though they comprised of a much loved tweed suit) and one hour after the last carol's final cadence I was scruffy old me again, on a tractor trundling down the road to pick up the poly tunnels promised by A. They looked well used, but will certainly come in handy even if they end up being used to cover our row of cherry trees with netting. Roy, the last worker still employed on the farm spared my blushes by reversing the tractor full of metal pipe work out of the shed for me and reported that there were ' plenty of birds about ' for Boxing Day before heading back to continue loading an arctic with apples.
I needed to unwind and once the poly tunnel frames were away in the shed C and I walked up to the ridge with our guns. Despite it being late we bagged three pigeons in quick succession and then settled down with an excuse of waiting for ducks or geese flighting to the reservoir and watched the pipistrels silently hawking along the woodland edge. As the darkness beneath the trees extended into the field a movement caught our eyes and looking up we saw a woodcock in perfect relief against the pale sky en route to its nocturnal feeding site. It is still early to see these migrants around here (though there are a few residents) and to encounter one before cold weather has gripped the North is something of a rarity.
Dinner
Sausages with fried potatoes and beans.
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