It is rather a mild evening for the time of year: no rain,
minimal wind and only one radiator occasionally makes hydraulic noises.
Oh, joy ... those balloons have gone!
Dogsbody is little late. Stagecoach has recently altered the
bus timetable so he is still setting up when two ladies arrive.
“How can we help?” they ask after the customary hugs and
‘mwah-mwahs’.
Laura, who's read the instructions, erects the music stand, (an acquired skill
requiring a PhD in Chinese puzzles.) Lynda sets up chairs and distributes
candles.
Then the ladies engage in a girlie conversation worthy of ‘Grandmothers Anonymous’!
Dogsbody, being congenitally devoid of any grand-paternal
instinct, briefly goes down the road to the local convenience store.
As he returns to the hall he dimly perceives in the autumnal
twilight several people approaching, some bearing instruments.
We have a quorum!
Several performers are sensitive to the notion that we are approaching the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleven month ...
Laura collaborates in a song about the evils of strong ale...
Another performer gives an erudite defence of a clergyman's questionable association with a choir-boy ...
Otherwise we did or usual stuff with a number of glorious and harmonic collaborations.
Then, having had such fun, we all departed in near silence so we didn't disturb the neighbours.
