Not to say that nothing has happened in the last few days! Work of course, where no-one ever gets grumpy or political and the atmosphere is so good, people are upset when 5:30 rolls around... Then of course there was Eurovision, which I missed but this year, appears to have been won by a singing beard. Twitter went bonkers for a few hours on Saturday night.
Before that though, was the Fun Day. At 8:30am, I stood under the eaves of the community building and watched the rain sweeping across the empty field. An hour later, there were gazebos and marquees tumbling across the grass, being chased by angry stall-holders. It was, to be fair, wet and windy. It went alright though: giant games, laser clay pigeon shooting, BMX track, sumo-suits...
"Oh they've got the sumo suits out already," said one helper, casually at about 11am. She waved her arm across the field at someone in the distance, waddling uncomfortably by one of the tents. I looked closely and then remembered that the sumo suits hadn't even arrived on site yet. I didn't say anything.
As one deluge ended and people trudged muddy grass into the building, I gathered the choir together for some warmups, ready for their two performance songs. It was only as they were standing around in a circle, yawning their mouths open (for a warmup!) that I realised I probably should have taken them through to a different room. They did OK though in a rough-and-ready sort of way. We unpicked it at yesterday's choir team meeting.
"Yes, I'd really like to polish one or two aspects of the songs," I heard myself saying. Simon and Lindsay paused.
"Like what?" asked Simon.
"Well the tune," I said, carefully, "Yes, the tune... and also the words."
They laughed but it's not all that funny. We had a good meeting actually. It's about this time of year we start thinking about Christmas, depressingly. The three of us sat in The Volunteer humming through Ding Dong Merrily on High while the barmaid raised a threaded eyebrow behind the polished brass taps.
In other news, the poisonous parasite got let out and squished by its owner. He told us all the story in a blasé way, as though it was the oldest news since Noah Buys Rain-mac Shocker. Nothing defeats gossip like the owner of the story just getting it out into the open.
Perhaps, I reflected, that's what facebook is for. It seems ironic to me that it could be used both to deflate and inflate gossip at the same time. It's been sending me desperate emails with snippets of status updates and shared links... as though I'm mad for leaving and don't know what fun I'm missing. I rather like it that way though facebook, you old attention-seeking, advert-spinning gum-ball.
I think that just about brings us up to speed. It's a funny thing, writing: sometimes it just tumbles out of your head, through your fingers and onto the page as though you were some disconnected observer. Other days you debate every other word with yourself and give your little finger RSI through holding down the delete key. Maybe now I've finished this other little project I'll be able to write a bit more with the flow and the tumble, instead of the much more common growling, deleting and hot frustration. Grr.
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