Day 12 - PT ma

Being of an antisocial disposition, I rose particularly early this morning to avoid company in the horrendous communal showers at Woodberry Forest School. I thought that we'd left all that behind at prep school... Breakfast was held at the ungodly hour of 7.15, but the excitement of mixing cranberry juice with grapefruit juice more than made up for the strain of such an early start.

Despite a last minute flurry of activity as we searched for a certain suit (I shan't name names, lest I incite the wrath of the relevant parent, ruining the joyful reunion at Heathrow) and a certain boy (Daniel Parr seemed bemused by his own tardiness), we left punctually. It's a pity it's taken us two weeks to master that particular trick. Having narrowly missed the record time for 'numbering off', we set off for the old DC in hats the colour of Red Leicester (which made me feel oddly nostalgic) emblazoned with the Woodberry Forest logo.

There was splendid entertainment on the bus journey in the form of an awards ceremony, organized by the Keeper of choir and his organist lackey. Doubtless you're dying to know what prize your darling one was awarded, but you'll have to contain your intrigue for the moment - I'm told that all will be posted once the tour is over. Awards ranged from the 'prize for athletic reluctance' to 'most likely to spark revolution' and the spiel involved such diverse topics as Josh Cooter's trousers and Henry Stacey's fingernails.

However, the prevailing good mood on the bus soon turned sour as the temperature started to rise. B block, who can relied upon to provide an imaginative solution to any problem, were soon shirtlessly mouthing obscenities at the sun or, less proactively, attempting to assuage their suffering with the numbing embrace of sleep. Sadly, Mr Allwood's profoundly moving 'end of tour speech' was therefore greeted by a remarkably unreceptive audience. Not to worry if you missed it - I doubt it was the very last speech he's planning to make...

Rumor has it that Rubin Patel actually melted when he got too close to the engine whilst baggage-handling. The rest of us arrived safely back in Washington engaged in the quintessentially British pastime of weather-grumbling. We were greeted by Giles Howson OE, our undercover agent in the heart of America, who had arranged our visit to St Patrick's school.

Having pried Max James off the organ with a crowbar and issued a restraining order, we relaxed into our usual rehearsal regime in the deliciously cool whitewashed chapel. Suddenly, things were brought to an abrupt halt as a thought occurred to Ralph Allwood. "Is the plural of multitude 'multitude' or 'multitudes'?", he mused. Quick as a fox, Andrew Maynard replied "you said 'multitudes', so I'm sure that's correct". Any thoughts, readers? Do you know the answer? Do you care? Let us probe the innermost recesses of your mind by commenting below!

Just as we were engaged in some really saucy choralography, schoolchildren began to file into the church. Just for fun (we're a collection of spur-of-the-moment individuals), we put on a minute concert for them, only to find out after about twenty minutes of hard-core choral workout that they were there for a rehearsal with us. Eventually, it was explained to the choir that we would be performing with the St Patrick's choir that evening. Our 'calm and collected' facade dropped away when we realised that we were expected to sing in Zulu. That was most definitely not on Lawrence Booth-Clibborn's Martha Stewart list of languages.

The piece was a fascinating amalgam of 'Of the Father's Heart Begotten' and an African song, accompanied masterfully by Ludo Graham on the bongos. The partnership between the choirs worked superbly and we built to a truly thrilling climax, which would have been even more moving if anyone had understood the words.

We all dispersed to various corners of the city at this point for rest and relaxation with our host families, slightly like the disciples at Gethsemane. However, unlike them, we were raring to get to our next rendez-vous. The air was pregnant with tension as the choir reformed at dusk. Would Ralph's 'last concert as conductor of Eton College Choir whilst on a choir tour to the USA' be a success or a failure? If it went badly, could it spoil his 'last night as conductor of the Eton College Chapel Choir whilst on a choir tour to the USA'? Might it even ruin his 'last return plane journey from a choir tour in the USA as conductor of the Eton College Chapel Choir' or his 'last return to Ballards following an Eton College Chapel Choir tour to the USA'?

Thankfully, the concert was one of our finest - as veterans of the Martha Stewart show, we were not unnerved by the numerous TV cameras scattered about the place. In fact, the second basses sang with such gusto in the Lotti that a boy ran out of the church with his hands over his ears. The audience were splendid and Mr Allwood was on fine form. His introductions were, as always, well-received, which is hardly surprising since word has it that they were devised over twenty years ago and have been used ever since. 'Under the Sea' stayed rock steady and Incogs were on cracking form (a communal well-done to Hamish McLaren for his excellent work as deputy Incog these past weeks). Our choralography was dazzlingly brilliant; if we spent half as much time practising as we do pondering stagecraft, we'd probably sell enough CDs to fund the long-awaited choir tour to Bermuda.

We enjoyed a rambunctious reception afterwards, featuring blueberry muffins with ham, ginger cake
with turkey and an extraordinarily detailed description by Ralph of a picture of some cherry blossom. Despite the miraculous ratio of girls to boys, I don't think anyone offered anyone else a cup of tea. Where are your manners, choir members? It's possible that PT mi was offered one, as he spent the entire evening surrounded by hoards of banshees infected with Bieber-fever. No one was jealous. Not at all.

And so ends another day in Paradise. But our blissful existence is soon to be shattered; is that a serpent I see wrapped around the tree? Tomorrow, Gowers ma KS MS PhD MBE KOS and Gowers mi OS MS ARCO CBE VKOS will be dosing you liberally with all the slurry that's been fermenting for the last two weeks. Enjoy!