Hatty: 'Dad, if there was a competition for The Worst Singer in the World, you'd come third'
She's too young to recognise natural talent.
Starts here. Or so Abby thinks. The ambitions of a nine-year old know no bounds. And, frankly, I can't imagine anywhere I'd rather be on a Saturday evening than in the company of The Christopher Singers, accompanied by the children of Holy Trinity Junior School. Hatty: 'Dad, if there was a competition for The Worst Singer in the World, you'd come third' She's too young to recognise natural talent. Two of them. Every two years. The job I can declare, with sullen face, to be the one I least look forward to every time it comes around. They're not bad trees to look at. They provide some shade in the summer. But they're lime trees, so drop sticky shit all over the place and attract nasty larvae that abseil from the leaves as soon as it gets vaguely warm. Three hours later. Finished. Apart from... ... a small amount of clearing up. Arse. Can't be bothered, it'll have wait until next weekend. Still, it's nice to welcome back the gnarly skulls that overlook the kitchen table on moonlit nights...
Hmmm. That's me on the rail down the front, sweaty, happy and bruised. Of all the gigs I've ever been to, this is the one that prickles my neck at the memory. |
All
March 2020
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