Everyone arrived at Roxbury Latin at noon, having rested and recovered from last night's concert and the activities thereafter undertaken with homestays, which ranged from socialising with members of the RL glee club to having a cup of tea and taking an early night in the case of Egor Grigorev and James Harkness. Silver bags in hand, off we went on a coach to Worcester to sing at the All Saints church. After the rehearsal many of us were feeling quite ravenous, but we were informed by the choir master of the church that we shouldn't leave its confines since the surrounding neighbourhood was known to be fairly dodgy. "We had better trust the natives" said Ralph Allwood. However, Phillip and Laura Highy came to the rescue by rushing to the nearest subway and buying us several sandwiches as well as exhausting their supply of cookies (actual cookies, not American cookies...or are they the same thing? What are biscuits? What is the meaning of life?). Phillip and Laura: I salute you.
Whilst many of us were gorging ourselves on the healthiest junk food money can buy, it became apparent that there was a little discrepancy in our collective happiness: Norrington doesn't like mayonnaise. Tom Norrington, as I'm sure you all know, is the coolest character in the choir; but when confronted with a stable emulsion of egg yolk and vinegar the man goes absolutely crazy. You can imagine that this is a bit of a problem when going on a tour to a country where the buildings are practically made of the stuff. Having said that, his dislike of mayonnaise has led to new friendships being forged, such as the one between him and Pablo the first class air steward on our flight over here (let's just say that Tom now knows what Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist and Zoroastrian sandwiches taste like).
The concert ran very smoothly and was well received by the audience, despite sustaining heavy casualties. The Incognitos have been dropping like flies: before the concert Alex Chance was taken ill (something to do with his throat feeling tickly), meaning Hamish Mclaren valiantly had to step in - in spite of his abhorrence towards wearing Chance's loutish waistcoat - and halfway through the concert, before the Incogs were due to perform, Alex Eager took a turn for the worst (his throat felt more scratchy than tickly) and so they were another man down. However, Josh Cooter and his band of merry men rose to the challenge and pulled off a jaw-dropping set of performances seemingly without any effort. Excellent. Amongst the other amusing hiccoughs of the evening was Ralph falling asleep whilst conducting 'Hear My Words, Ye People' and forgetting to bring us in. For once the people that don't usually watch him came in at the right place! Good work, Ralph. From now on whenever someone commits a faux pas which results both in general amusement and at the same time an increase in productivity, this shall be known as 'doing a Ralph'. When he was awake he deviated so much in his announcements that when he began describing Walton's Jubilate with an outline of Walton's career at Christ Church, Oxford he managed to end by advising the audience about the approximate walking distance between Eton and Windsor Castle. At the end of the concert we gave our second ever rendition of 'Under the Sea' but Richard Gowers's delightful egg shaking was unapparent this time since I left the egg shaker back in Boston. Sorry about that. I would also like to mention that David Goode played some fiendish Bach on the organ today - he's a very goode organist. If the pun offends you, then please take caution when reading onwards.
After the concert we were graciously treated to a lovely dinner with the choir of All Saints during which Quintin, AKA 'Die Führer', presented them with a framed picture of us as a token of our gratitude (we're quite a vain bunch). The Picton-Turbervill family once again demonstrated their affinity for attracting throngs of inappropriately young girls; this time it was Edward's turn. He dazzled and amazed them with his dinner conversation, the theme of which was mainly to do with medical conditions pertaining to the human body. However, needless to say, James didn't have to try to get the girls' attention, being once again recognised as a lookalike of teen pop sensation Justin Bieber. I am aware that the purpose of this blog - and indeed blogging in general - is to share with you every detail of that which you are missing out on, however I fear that if I went into any more detail that I would be tarnishing the good name of Picton-Turbervill as well as breaking several laws of social conduct. Enough said.
All was quiet on the E/F block front today, although it should be noted that Rupert Scarratt (Keeper of flowers) is doing an excellent job at causing general irritation to Die Führer...keep up the good work. Speaking of the quintessential Keeper of the Choir, the coach ride back from Worcester was a highly entertaining one. Messrs Mclaren and Booth-Clibborn took Quintin hostage and tickled him senseless which resulted in everyone witnessing a rapid decline in Q's demeanour (he started out as a serious, imposing figure, quickly became more and more demented and by the end he looked like a sea anemone). This caused Adam Berman's characteristically hearty chortle to reach new heights. John Gowers also gave a rousing speech to everyone about how unbelievably clean we left the venue. Tom Norrington, still upset about the mayonnaise, started a rant about the correlation between consumption of mayonnaise and death (he does A-level Biology, don't you know). Somebody drew on Mr Maynard's nose with a felt tip pen (Rupert Dower-Tylee??). Hmmmm, all in all an extremely successful day!
That's all for now!
Rubin Patel
P.S. Quintin, please could you buy some pencil sharpeners for the choir pencils? They are becoming very blunt, as is - as Richard Gowers assures me - Mr Maynard's gargantuan intellect.
Richard Gowers writes:
Sorry to interrupt your lovely blog post, Rubin, but I saw that you'd started it and for some reason I thought you gave up so I wrote some myself. I feel that the only part of mine that isn't overshadowed by your fantastic words is a picture comparison between James Picton-Turbervill and Justin Bieber to give a visual aid for less informed readers;
(I hope the P-T family isn't embarrassed. If I were them I would be thrilled and very proud.)
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| Justin Bieber James Picton-Turbervill |
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James Picton-Turbervill Justin Bieber Rubin Patel writes: Not at all, Richard, the more said about the P-Ts the better, but let it be known that if you would like James' autograph or if you would like him to perform at your daughter's birthday party then you must book an appointment with his agent, me, if you want to get the ball rolling. He's a busy, busy man. |
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