| 12:01p |
We've got to move these colour TVs.
Excuse me, but I'm just having a bit of an Eighties session, thanks to dad giving me a load of tapes that I pretty much grew up with (well, after 1985 and 1986 as that's when they were bought). I played the takes so much that it broke in the middle of Ghostbusters. Fortunately dad repaired that break a long time ago, and the join isn't all that noticeable.
Actually, I didn't plan on talking about Eighties music here. Rather, I wanted to discuss the effect that reading I Capture the Castle has had on me. Not the story so much, as the style.
I'm not sure if I said much about the book while I was reading it, other than to say I was enjoying it, but I thought I should explain just in case. You see, it's one of these stories that is written in the form of a journal. Not like Bridget's Diary or anything like that. It's written in exactly the way I'd like to write my online journal. In a way, it's like how I write when I'm on holiday, writing entries on paper before I return home to a computer. The chapters are half in the present and half in the past, and half looking forward to the future. She's careful to put things in order so as not to spoil too much, but hints at the current situation. If it were an online journal and I were reviewing it, it would get full marks!
I suppose it helps that, when writing a novel in journal form, you can assume that the writer can remember every little detail. Occasionally the writer says she's forgetting things, but the things mentioned are in the sort of detail I couldn't remember two seconds after an event, let alone by the time I get to something to write down on.
I want to start writing entries like that. My entries are either "thoughtful" or "musing" posts like this one. Or else they are short, brief descriptions of what I did today. Not even descriptions, lists more like. I'm not the best descriptive writer, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't attempt to actually put some "drama" into what I say. What I mean is rather than saying "today Rat annoyed me by tickling me" I could say "I was sitting on the sofa and Rat came and sat beside me and then started tickling me". Such a subtle difference, but it's a little bit more interesting if I describe how something happened rather than saying that it did happen.
I am also seriously thinking about getting a dictaphone. The number of random thoughts I had on the train, both on my way and on my return journey. Things that I can't remember now. The way I think things are so often more interesting than the way I write them. Of course, speaking into a dictaphone on a packed train needs some nerves - but if I can get one with a fairly decent mike. I could get one with a mike on the earphone lead - like a hands-free kit - and pretend I'm talking down the phone. I could also use it while walking to and from work (although now that I walk with Rat I don't have so many spontaneous thoughts about what to write).
I'm rambling. There are so many things I want to mention, but I don't think I will now. I don't think I'm making much sense right now. |
| 8:52p |
A day of rest?
As I do most every day of the week, I was awake by seven this morning. Sometime between half-past and eight, I was out of bed and switching on the computers. This is normal for me on a weekend, when I find I'm tossing and turning unable to sleep, and don't want to waken Rat. After about an hour or so of checking email and Friends pages, I went back to bed where Rat was lovely and warm, and snuggled up to him.
Usually I'll only stay in bed for a little while, and get up again when Rat gets up, but today I felt so tired, so in need of rest, that I stayed in bed. I stayed in bed after he brought in our single Easter egg (which we quickly devoured). I stayed in bed after he had thrown me a pen to do the wordsearch on the back of the Easter egg box, and after we had done completed the puzzle bar one word which was not even shown on the answers. It wasn't until Rat was pulling the quilt off me and trying to push me out of bed that I finally rose again.
More time in front of the computer, not particularly doing much and desperately trying to upload an image to my image host and not having much luck. And then a lovely "Sunday dinner" consisting of battered chicken, boiled potatoes, boiled onion, cherry tomatoes and some cold sweetcorn. Not exactly within the recommendations of the GI Diet, but tasty and more healthy than some of the things we could have eaten.
I don't know when my head began to hurt, but it had been trying to enclose me in pain ever since I woke up. I think it had arrived before food, and it was certainly there after. I went back to bed until it was time to get ready for church, and then finally took something for the now agonising pain in my head.
The something worked, and the migraine was gone before practice had even begun. I had half considered not going, but since we've been working on the music for today since Christmas, I didn't want to feel I'd wasted all that effort. The practice didn't go too well, and the service went marginally better. To the trained ear at least. I'm sure it sounded lovely - as long as you don't know what the altos and basses are actually meant to be singing.
I find it to be a common thing that the basses in a choir are generally the least musically minded (although having two basses in the family, I must admit to knowing at least two basses with skill in music). Tenors so often seem to be semi-professional singers, or at least in amateur choral societies. Altos don't have to worry about being able to read music as they tend to sing only a few notes in every piece, but most of the altos I have met again tend to be good musicians, one way or another (often music teachers in fact). Sopranos have the least need to be skilled in the art of reading and following music, since they so often sing the tune (and have the greater numbers). But the basses always let the choir down, being large in number (compared to tenors and altos), old of age, and poor at articulation when singing. Not to mention following beats. This is something I noticed in my old choir, but Richard, our choir master, was good at drilling in the notes (plus the fact that my dad already knew half the music from when he'd been a young tenor, and an even younger treble, helped I'm sure). In this choir it is even worse. The one bass who I would expect to be able to sing well (being in another choir, and our contact with the RSCM) just cannot get his words out.
So yes, between us, the basses and altos managed to fluff up at least one line per piece, or something thereabouts. It was nothing compared to the beautiful sounds from my old choir on Friday evening (despite the fact that I disliked half the anthems they did).
But it was still a wonderful, enjoyable service. The singing was as fun as ever, and it went down a treat with everyone. I'm just my worst critic, that's all.
My throat hurts now. I'm sitting here waiting for Jake 2.0 or whatever it is called to finish so that Rat and I can start on dinner. My shoulder hurts from carrying bags yesterday. I'm tired and, apparently, seem to be in a complaining mood, although I didn't really know it until I got to this paragraph.
Perhaps I'm just always in a complaining mood. Is there a day I don't have something to moan about? Normally something trivial and meaningless. I wonder, if I had something non-trivial and meaningful to moan about, would I even bother?
I'm waffling on about nothing again, musing about things that really should not have thought wasted on. I should listen to 80s music again, that always cheers me up. Or how about ABBA. |