New Hobby

The reason I’m touch typing and watching Rugby at the same time.

9am and I’m sat in front of the TV watching the Rugby. I’ve cleared up and been shopping, and painted. Always got time to put oils to canvas, but that’s another story.

I find that if I leave my canvas out and my paints, I am more likely to take the time to do it more often. So there I was this morning at 4am, painting. The dining room is my studio, that means that to get to the kitchen for my first cuppa I have to pass the easel. I stopped and filled in and highlighted. Kitchen cleared, I toddled off to the shops. I felt like a Superstar. They must have opened up just for me, or so it seemed. There were a few men who awkwardly looked over the shelves and a couple of odd youngsters rushing to get to work on time. As for middle aged women, I had the floor.

I’ve joined a choir.

“Odd,” I hear you say, “not once ever have you intimated that singing was amongst your myriad of talents”. Well actually it isn’t. I can carry a tune or two, as long as it’s on Spotify or an iPod, but singing isn’t one of my talents. I liken my voice to the impersonation of a Crow clawing a blackboard as he slides down clinging on for dear life.


The reason for my early morning jaunt was the Rugby World Cup semi-final between England and New Zealand. Bloody good game.

Earlier I was in the supermarket picking up a pumpkin, not for Halloween, for a cake. Not passing up the opportunity to bake a pumpkin cake whilst I can, and I’m singing. No music, no song sheet, no earphones, no muffler to save the ears of the poor unsuspecting shop workers, just pure unadulterated singing.

Having been asked what I sang when I first arrived for my taster lesson at the choir weeks ago, I gave a blank look. Luckily Laura the Song Mistress (not her title but it will do) is far quicker than me and before I could pass a smart arse comment she had me sat in the middle with the Alto’s. I got through the lesson and just joined in where I thought I should. The woman next to me graciously gave me the advice: “If you don’t know it, mime.” By the end of the lesson I had turned pure white, wore a French Beret and white gloves and kept searching for an invisible wall.

Not being the type of person that does anything in a logical order it took several weeks and two Tuesday meetings and a trip to the Ballet before I could start my membership and get back to the choir. Only just as I was about to order my week around my new hobby an Email from Laura landed on my laptop. “We are on Holiday!”

Ok, so I’ll practice on my own. Website open, song downloaded I took it upon myself last night to get a practice session in. Now I’m not sure if it was the snotty nose or the fact that my voice really can’t reach the notes that other Altos can reach, but I’m sure as hell not going to sing like that. I went back in and downloaded the Bass. That was more comfortable. I fell asleep last night with ….. (not sure if I’m allowed to tell you what we are rehearsing so we’ll say it’s Something Inside, shall we) Anywho, I was satisfied that I found my tempo, rhythm, erhh place in the choir. Sussed it. Until the Supermarket that is. Gayly singing in my head wasn’t enough for me and the acoustics were amazing as I reached the ‘So Strong, so strong’, that I found out only by chance that I was giving a free concert to the Supermarket staff, and one very confused man. Although he may have been confused by the shopping list he had in his hand and the sheer number of different types of Ketchup. Did I quieten down, shy away with embarrassment? What do you think?

I gave a full rendition of the chorus. I think I sang the same thing three time. Jericho was a pile of rubble and there were chariots of fire in there as well somewhere, don’t ask me. I felt like a Superstar and I owned the Canned Goods aisle. I was rocking. But I was rocking in a much higher key than Bass.

It’s Ok I think if I get it totally wrong there will be someone that will dig me in the ribs and send me packing to the right section of the choir.

I’m going to add singing to my morning, which means that washing and clearing will now be accompanied by many Crows screeching, the neighbours are going to love me.

I’ve given up on trying to get everything done in the morning, in the right order, having a routine, being productive, being a Domestic Goddess and exercising and drinking fresh Spring Water taken from the Himalayan Mountain stream only touched by the hands of the Tribe of Monks that never eat Turnips. I had a bit of a thump a couple of weeks ago. Getting up at 5am to have the perfect routine was killing me.

Yes I love my bullet journal, my lists are now uniform and workable, I love to Blurb (That’s write lots of rubbish in a notebook) in the morning, walk the dog and get in a seven minute yoga routine. I love to hear music and to meditate if I have time. The conclusion however that I came to was that if I have the “Perfect Routine” in the morning I miss the morning. Seriously I’d rather be climbing walls in song than making sure I have a clean airing cupboard with colour coded boxes for the different sized towels.

So, here’s to my new hobby. I’ll still paint, I just need Laura to camp out in my dining room now so that she can keep me on key. Oh and there are actions as well, although I don’t think I’ll be doing the splits any time soon!



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