I pen these words on my return from listening to Junior Choir practice. What a joy! Alison Grommet, our junior choir mistress for these past few months has done a truly wonderful job bringing together an hitherto disparate group of under-twelves, many of whom only volunteered after promises of cake, and has created a most effective singing instrument.
Of course, there are still small problems to solve, evident earlier in the choir’s rendition of “In the Bleak Midwinter” You will be familiar, dear reader, with the line, “Snow had fallen sno-ow, snow, sno-o-o- -w on snow." Clearly, there are three distinct “o” sounds in the middle. Unfortunately, one child, little Craig Hassan, grandson of one of my ethnic advisers, Mr Alberto Hassan, insisted on putting in an extra “o” which as you might imagine, did tend to fracture the rhythm somewhat. When Miss Grommet pointed this out (for the umpteenth time), young Craig, an assertive child said, “So what? Its only a stupid song”, and ate more cake.
What would Jesus have done? Well, I went off to find Grandad Alberto and tactfully outlined the problem, thinking that he might have a quiet word. Mr Hassan’s reaction dismayed me somewhat. “Well I’m with Craig on this,” he said, “Besides, when does it snow where your Jesus bloke came from? Its daft”
Before I could reply and explain the symbolism of snow and isolation, raised voices from the Lower Kitchen prevented that, I’m afraid.
Sadly, the refurbishment of our Nativity scene is not much further along, and I heard the unmistakable rumble of Mr Crumbling shouting, “Brown. Brown! I’ve run out of brown and I’ve still got the cow’s ‘ead to do!” “USE BOOT POLISH!" shouted Mrs Wellbeloved. (Mr Crumbling is rather deaf).
I simply cannot type Mr Crumbling’s reply. Taking a deep breath, I resolved to enter and to try to settle differences. By this time, rock buns were flying and once again I was rescued by the apparently ever-present young man with the wire in his ear…