Day 10- Hugo

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Last night's communal sleeping quarters proved to be surprisingly effective, with the choir so worn out by the excitments of the zoo that pretty much everyone collapsed into bed shortly after arrival. We therefore greeted the shining pate of Andrew Manyard's head with commendable fortitude at the ungodly hour of our waking. Having struggled to the school's canteen, Alex Chance was dissapointed to find the legendary Krispy Kreme breakfast no longer in effect; F block found solace in the sausages, scrambled eggs, potatoes, mousses, muffins and mini doughnuts on offer, not to mention cereals such as Lucky Charms (which are apparently banned in England due to their high sugar content). A short post-meal break was just long enough for us to make the spirit-dampening discovery that facebook is banned on Woodberry Forest's computers, before we gathered for rehearsal in the school chapel.

Today is the only day on the tour that the choir have not had a concert, evensong or television appearance- the morning festivities, for want of a better word, were blissfully free from tension as a result, at least for the first minute or so. After that we were back to our usual bickering, with crumpled paper, bad vowels and rogue organists/organisms flying across the room. Forced to curtail the fun by an impending parents' meeting in the church, Ralph Allwood decided to seize the opportunity to get postcards written to associates of the choir back home. Overseen by Tom Norrington and Richard Gowers, these ranged from masterworks of modern prose (Edward Picton-Turbervill) to violently offensive scrawled notes (Josh Cooter). Still, as tour sage David Goode reminded us all, "it's the thought that counts. It's not as if you're writing to apologise for the death of a child".

At this juncture we were surprised and bemused in equal measure to find lunch being served at 11:30. Nevertheless, we loosened our belts and plunged once more into the depths of the canteen (for some reason this reminds me of John's short story). After more food, we returned to our lodgings in the Dick Gymnasium (yes, it really is named after Richard R. Dick III) in order to meet the individual hosts with whom we would be lodging for the next two days. Despite some unlikely pairings- Hamish Mclaren with a seven foot champion athlete springs to mind- most people immediatley struck up a friendly rapport with their opposite numbers as they were shown to their rooms. The afternoon was then ours to do with as we wished; predictably, there soon developed a large game of football, followed by British Bulldog during which we responsibly kept injuries to a minimum: Alex Eager's nose, Tom Norrinton's arm and George Wilder's shirt were the only casualties, and only the last suffered permanent damage.

Various members of the choir whiled away the remaining hours of the day in pursuits of their own devising, though the computers in the school library "strictly not for casual use" seemed particularly popular. Supper (basically consisting of more food- I could try to elaborate but the description of ever more school dinner seems fatuous at this stage) was pleasant and only interrupted by our sucessful attempt to start a canteen-wide happy birthday for Alex Eager. Daniel Parr had an even less welcome birthday surprise- in a moment of rare idiocy, he left his facebook page unattended (we had by this stage worked out how to bypass the school's firewall) and Philip Highy was left to rediscover his juvenile side with an elaborate frape (look up the term in an urban dictionary if unfamiliar). We had bought them both cakes to softens the blows, which we then promptly ate.

Tonight the main attraction in the school was the "mixer"- a dance to which girls from neighbouring schools were invited. At the time of writing, the inevitable cartload of outlandish stories have not yet become public knowledge, so they shall have to revealed tomorrow, but I can confirm that Laura Highy was seen dancing with Ludo Graham- we all wish them happiness together, and Ralph Allwod has already put out feelers about the choir's possible emplyment at the wedding.

I am struggling to find a suitable sucessor to sewage; I shall be forced to label the above undetermined waste. Tomorrow, hopefully, we will be treated to a less pungent offering.



Undetermined waste

Hugo Popplewell