Fête accompli

In case anyone has noticed, I have been having a blog rest. This is partially due to being blogged out after the concerts, but also the weather has been very hot and I have been an apprentice mason for 6 or 7 hours a day and have been knackered as a result. Yes in weather where many people might decide to put on their bikinis and loll about on sunbeds all day I and my fellow masons have been toiling and broiling.
But first of all there was the town’s music festival which ran for most of Sunday and into the night. There was a chance to see various types of music, from traditional Occitan music, African, heep-hop, jazz, brass bands to rock.
I think one of the rock bands (the average white age 59 band?) must have been from Wales as they were singing about someone knock, knock, knocking on Evan’s door!

The choir were due to sing for an hour at 8.30pm outside the cinema. We had had a rehearsal during some of the new songs had been gone through twice at most! The only English song on the list “he lor blez you an key u” was dropped. No doubt because it was one of the few songs on the list that we had practiced once or twice over the year.

In protest at the paucity (good word) of the preparation and not knowing the music or the words to any of the 11 songs that made the cut, I decided that it was pointless to stand and pretend to sing. (Surely no one would do that even if the event was free?), which incidentally brings me to my Michael Jackson moment. I remember being at a disco in the Eight Acres Hotel in Elgin with my sister. It might even have been at the wedding reception of sprog 3. I had been dancing along to the music, doing my moves (This was the early eighties) with my sister (sprog 2). When the music finished, she said that she would not be dancing with me ever again, as it was like dancing with the Jackson Five. I hung up my disco dancing boots for ever after that.
Anyway, back to the choir. I took my camera and video camera along to record their performance and stood on a chair at the back, propping myself against the wall for stability.
I can only say that my expectations were met. Not even them chanting my name when they did an encore was enough to make me budge from my spot.
I put my photos and some of the songs onto a website so that they would be able to relive the magic of the moment. There are also all the photos from all the Rossini concerts there too. They seem happy with the results.
After the concert, I melted into the night (okay it was still light, but melting into the light just does not work so well).
The quality of the bands on view was very variable. Often the bands were a few hundred feet away from eachother, which made for disturbing listening. Does music nausea and disorientation exist, or have I just invented a new illness? If so, I wish it to be called Rigsbyitis.
I seem to recall that I had had a tiring Saturday, but I have not recollection what happened.
It is coming back to me now that I have typed that. But I am not going to untype it as this is free-form prose. It will have to be in my next post.

I was going to include photos and perhaps video but my default email is hotmail and it has refused to let me