May 29, 2012

Mondays are extreme enough, hot is too much


Mondays are always long and this one has been longer than most and I have Weetabix Brain.*  In the first place it is too hot.  Peter, who feels the heat worse than he used to, was saying that he wasn’t getting out enough;  that watering the wilting garden in the late afternoon, when the blaze is beginning to dim, was about as much as he could deal with.  I said, it’s really nice at dawn.  It does cool off some overnight** so when the sun is first coming up in the morning, and before it starts beating us up again, the world is pretty and cool(ish) and quiet and empty.***  You should try going out then.  (Peter is an early riser.)  I’ve taken hellhounds out for a quick sprint the last two dawns.  I hope you go to bed again after, said Peter.  Hrrmph, I said.  I don’t go to bed again.  I go to bed.† 

             Monday is also the day I have the dogminder to provide their afternoon hurtle, chiefly to keep me on her active customers list so I can use her for stuff like the Met Live Saturdays—but it is pleasant not to have to race out with hellhounds the minute I get home from my voice lesson, and to have time for a sit-down and a cup of tea before I go off again to ring bells at Colin’s tower.  Today I gave hellhounds extra morning time, told Mavis to make it a half-length amble this febrile afternoon, and took them out once more, although I would not call it racing, when I got home after Nadia.  Niall wasn’t going tonight†† so if I went ringing I had to drive myself, and the ME and I did have a little conversation about this but rather mysteriously the heat doesn’t seem to aggravate it the way it aggravates the rest of me.  And Wolfgang knows the way to all three of Colin’s towers.  So we went.††† 

            My voice lesson wasn’t nearly as terrible as it should have been.  Singing in the heat is strange.  Some of it is just the singing version of ‘what do you mean work’ but some of it is unique to the physiology of throats and small vibrating pieces of flesh.  I crack more in the heat and Nadia said severely, that’s dehydration.  I said, it is?  This sensitive-flower thing would be easier to take seriously if I had a voice worth cosseting, but I guess it’s like buying the best shoes for running even if you’re never going to be better than 1,000,000,000th in the London/New York marathon, it’s still your body.  So I guess I’m going to have to start doing that My Life, My Water Bottle that the upmarket spa people have turned into a fashion statement.  Sigh.  I don’t like water.‡  Also, I have Post Menopausal Woman Bladder.‡‡  The loo at Nadia’s is immediately outside the music room door, but this isn’t going to help me with the Muddles’ loo-free rehearsal church.

            Nadia always asks how it’s going with Oisin—and while I’ve told her that I’ve engaged the stubbornness element and am therefore now singing on Fridays pretty regularly, she’s kind enough not to assume.  Today we were discussing how I was going to keep myself amused while she’s on maternity leave‡‡‡ and I was explaining that while even a dork-level singer ought to be able to cope with some poor patient pianist supporting them on their effortful way, what interested me was the music-with aspect, the fact that someone else was performing music with you, and that therefore my favourite songs tended to be the ones when the ‘accompanist’ is doing something else entirely—when I can sing them, that is.  Nadia said immediately, oh, you should sing Peter Warlock.  The words were already out of her mouth.  Then she looked a little anxious and said that most of his songs were technically fairly demanding.  But it’s too late.  I’d love to sing some Warlock.  So she’s going to have a look at her [complete song collection] of Warlock at home and see if anything strikes her as possible.  And not too gruesome for the responsible voice teacher.

            So maybe there’s an explanation in there somewhere why the ringing tonight was . . . ahem . . . less than consummate generally.  Maybe it was just the shock of Glaciation being t shirt temperature even for me.  

* * *

* From Wiki on Weetabix:  ‘Dry Weetabix is so absorbent that it is extremely difficult to eat without liquid. Fund-raisers such as the Boy Scouts hold events based on this, such as returning double the entry fee for those who can eat two dry Weetabix.’  Thoughts produced from a Weetabix brain tend to be dry, hard and crumbly also.

** Which I realise puts us way ahead of you sufferers in places like the Midwest and Texas. 

*** I love empty.  My favourite parts of a lot of post-apocalypse and dystopian novels, especially because I’m not a big post-apocalypse and dystopian novel person, are the beginnings, when our hero or heroine or small beleaguered band of survivors are wandering through huge deserted cityscapes.  Before the zombies or the mutant bug things or whatever start eating them.

 † Dawn does come very early this time of year.  Very.  

†† Or rather he was going elsewhere.  He is increasingly sucked up into handbell peal ringing.  Feh. 

††† And failed to run over the duck roosting in the middle of the road.  Who objected to being moved on.  :_)#{*%$£”!!!!! 

‡ Except in tea. 

‡‡ Before that I had Menopausal Woman Bladder and before that I had Peri Menopausal Woman Bladder.  Before that I could drink ten giant mugfuls of tea a day without considering the consequences.  But it’s not all bad.  I do seriously like not blowing up like a water balloon every month and killing people because I can’t help myself.  If I’m going to kill someone, I want to do it deliberately.  

‡‡‡ I am, of course, convinced that by the end of the first Nadialess fortnight I’ll have lost my top end and be squeaking like a rusty wheel.  I can test this hypothesis the next fortnight since she is not teaching during the four-day Jubilee riot next week.  I plan to stay indoors as much as possible and to allow no red, white or blue in my vicinity.  I will put decals on [red] Wolfgang, and Darkness and Chaos will have to wear leather for a few days while their bunting-coloured harnesses are disallowed.  So not a monarchist.   



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