Yowzah
So I was going to chirp on and on in a really annoying way about the wonderfulness of Nadia . . . and I still must chirp at least a little about my voice lesson today.* But first I have to tell you . . .
I almost didn’t go to Old Eden practise tonight. I’m still pretty hung over from the events of yesterday** and it took me a while to get moving at all.*** I emailed Niall that I hadn’t done my phone round yesterday, stirring up business for our monthly Old Eden practise, so I didn’t know how many people would remember to come . . . and that I wasn’t sure I’d be there myself. But that I was going to go to my voice lesson† and that would probably either cheer me up or wipe me out completely.
It had a kind of combined effect. I came home again quite repulsively jolly and upbeat, but also aware that the grey fog of everythinglessness was pressing rather near. I was still making up my mind at 7:25 (practise starts at 7:30). Oh well, I thought. They’re going to be short, I’d better go.
Eeep. I was the third, with Vicky and Niall. We looked at each other for a while, and then we rang the bells up for something to do, and then we sat around some more—I had emailed Colin when I emailed Niall, and Colin had emailed back that he and Flora were coming, so that would be five . . . Where’s Roger? said Colin, when he arrived. He’s probably asleep in front of the TV, said Vicky. Who’s got his phone number? said Colin, flashing his mobile. If we have a sixth, we can ring a quarter.
We can do WHAT? I’m barely standing up, guys. It’s been a rough couple of days. Roger was duly awakened and agreed to come along. We rang a little Stedman without a cover while we were waiting. When Roger showed up, Colin said, We thought we’d ring a quarter. Of Grandsire doubles! And you can call it!
Roger doesn’t have a lot of hair left, but what there was of it stood on end. Ten minutes ago he’d been comfortably asleep in front of the TV. Give me a minute, he said, alternately clutching his forehead and counting on his fingers . . . I was crouched in another corner of the tower alternately gibbering quietly and chewing on a bell rope. (The bell ropes at Old Eden are all too long.) Okay, Roger said. Let’s do it.
I dove for the two—you may remember that all the bells at Old Eden are to a greater or lesser extent possessed by demons, and the two is on the lesser end. It also gives you a good view of the other three inside bells. But this wasn’t going to work. After yesterday I don’t have any adrenaline left for sudden shocks to the system and I’m not at my blazingest and crackingest, Roger had been expecting to spend a quiet night at home with a large beer, Flora is getting over a nasty bout of flu including the kind of sinus infection that makes you dizzy and tottery—and all of this on six unfriendly bells.
YES. WE DID IT. I HAVE JUST RUNG MY FIRST QUARTER PEAL OF GRANDSIRE DOUBLES INSIDE. Mind you, it’s completely ridiculous that someone who has been ringing as long as I have (six years I think—yeep††) hasn’t rung a quarter of Grandsire doubles inside long since, but . . . hey. I’ve done it now.
And then we all went off to the pub where Colin congratulated himself several times for springing a quarter on me and suckering poor Roger into calling it . . . and Vicky said in her best carrying-it-all-before-her manner, That’s the way to ring a quarter—then you can’t get all worried about it.
These people know me too well.
* * *
* It doesn’t actually fit anywhere—that’s the trouble with nonfiction: it feels no necessity to be graceful and pertinent and to have all its bits work together to a cumulative whole—so I might as well put it here. I didn’t sing yesterday—which will not astonish you—and this morning when I tried to warm up I had no voice. No. Voice. Whatsoever. It was like my first weeks with Blondel, when I was still expecting him to fall down laughing and tell me he couldn’t stand stealing my money any more, and to go home and take up knitting. I did figure that this was some kind of reaction to yesterday, but I still didn’t have a clue what to do about it, and I was assuming (as I will do) that the lesson would as a result be kind of a disaster. I got there already stiff and braced for the worst, you know? Can I say ‘counterproductive’? She was running really late, but Wild Robert was there, so I got completely distracted talking about bells^ and when Nadia finally came for me I forgot at least a little that I was expecting the worst, but I did tell her about yesterday and that I had no voice. And she told me, of course you don’t, after a shock like that, all your singing-support muscles are locked up solid.
So she unlocked them. It was almost that straightforward: she had me do some deep breathing and some wiggling and loosening and . . . I could sing again. A good teacher is amazing. It really is like magic. And I really am improving. Even I can hear it.^^ Wheeeeee. I told her that I’d taken my music round to Oisin last Friday and she twinkled at me and said, That was very brave. Whereupon I told her that someone on my blog forum had got after me for calling myself unmusical, but that the thing about asking Oisin to accompany me is that he’s a professional. It feels like the most colossal cheek. And she said, without missing a beat, yes, he is. He’s also a teacher.
Oh. Um. Yes, that’s a point. . . .
^ I miss ringing for Wild Robert. Waaaaaaah.
^^ Even I can’t quite manage to discount it entirely.
** Peter is much better. He went to bed last night pretty much in medias res to an extent I found rather alarming . . . but then I found yesterday generally pretty alarming. And I was worried that he was so sore—and he is sore, very sore, and stiff—that he wouldn’t sleep very well. But in fact when I finally hauled my own sorry ass out of bed this (very late) morning and rang him he was just back from walking up to town with his knapsack to go shopping. Good grief. He’s still tired and achy though and we still need to figure out what’s going on.
*** Hellhounds are a great motivator, of course. Yo. Hellgoddess. How about now?
† Voice lessons cost money. Also . . . I had to go to the yarn shop. No, really! I’m going to run out of Secret Project #1 yarn! Because I can’t count! And all I bought was two skeins of Secret Project #1 yarn! I may have done a little thoughtful fondling.
†† This assuming I’ve been ringing with a band or bands that can teach it to me, which I have. There are a lot of people who get stuck at call changes or plain hunt simply because nobody else in their tower knows any more than call changes and plain hunt. Or, of course, there are the ringers who take one look at what’s involved in ringing methods and say, thanks, I like call changes. Which is perfectly valid (if possibly somewhat frustrating to a band who needs extra method ringers). And well-struck call changes are lovely.
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