Unfortunately essential maintenance on the Rayburn has ranked over blog writing this morning, so it's going to be a short one. I couldn't really ignore Bertha much longer, as every time I opened the door to fill her belly with wood, the room instantly filled with smoke, forcing the doors and windows to be flung wide to release the fumes and the precious warmth with it.
The weekend was a social extravaganza. On Saturday Em and I sang solo roles in Haydn's St Nicholas Mass and were treated to a cosy tea in P's stylish home/art gallery before the performance and afterwards invited to another friend’s extraordinary house for supper. This was Em’s first bit of oratorio work since having G and I (and I hope she was as well) was proud and gratified that her exceptional voice had been recognised instantly by our dauntingly well educated, opera going hosts. A simple but delicious meal, served on turned ash plates, was made sophisticated and memorable by the company and a fine Rioja, the latter having done a great deal to restore my innate belief that I enjoy red wine.
Saturday was only the warm-up and on Sunday we encompassed a visit to G’s ailing great-grandmother in Essex, his great-great auntie’s 80th birthday party near Windsor and a friendly do in Horsmonden, thrown by one of the Morris men and his wife. Great-grandmother did not look well, but the mere fact she has met her great-grandson (and several other of her great-grandchildren) is a marvel to me, as I never even knew my grandparents. There were no moving scenes or deep conversations but we stayed for an hour singing wartime songs with her, which made G smile broadly and talking when she had the energy. Before leaving we sang a two-part arrangement of Rutter’s ‘The Lord bless you and keep you’ and although tomorrow we suspect our visit will have been forgotten, we hope the sentiment will remain.
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