Day 6 - Richard

At 08:00 a motley crowd gathered in the hotel lobby to go for a morning jog in Central Park. For some people, in particular Sam Jordan, this represented a normal part of the daily routine. For others this was a peaceful walk in an otherwise vibrant city. For Rupert Dower-Tylee this meant running straight into a bin and knocking it over. Similarly a street cleaner was the victim of Julian Hartley's sprinting head start. Joseph Boorman, who was perfectly aware that he couldn't run, discovered that he couldn't even walk and barely lost sight of the starting line. Having had our annual exercise session we trudged to the hotel to relax ourselves with mountains of pancakes.

After checking out, we ploughed our way, baggage in hand, down the streets of New York. Washing unsuspecting pedestrians aside, we reached Saint Thomas’s Church, 5^th Avenue, thanks to Mr Maynard’s usual seamless leadership skills, which were improved by a Statue of Liberty hat. Within minutes a downstairs room was buried in our clobber but it didn’t seem to deserve our attention as an hour of free time began. Some people visited an electrical shop filled with dodgy salesmen, one of whom tried to persuade Rubin Patel to take a photo of his eye while another tried to sell some speakers to Adam Berman’s back.

Upon arrival at Saint Thomas’s Choir School we feasted heartily on spaghetti bolognaise and iced tea, generously provided while the native choristers were on tour in Florida. Mr. Allwood pointed out that it was a 14-floor building whose only purpose was to accommodate and house the boys of the church choir. This was nothing to Daniel Parr who had had a similar experience at Westminster Abbey.

As we entered the church for our afternoon practice we were dazzled by the array of colour. At the west end there was a “batman style” organ (complete with wings, perhaps a contemporary twist on its intended baroque nature), while around the choir stalls we were surrounded by the pipes of another organ, massive and apparently doomed. Most of the church was dark blue, except the east end, which was a lot brighter. Fatigue hindered the efficiency of the practice but we were relieved when told that the service was to be broadcast on the Internet:

http://www.saintthomaschurch.org/calendar/2011/04/05/worship/1731/

Alex Chance should be congratulated for his choir-accompanying debut during the practice. He very skillfully held down the single chord which spanned the whole of Tavener’s anthem “What God is we do not know”, kindly stepping in for Mr Goode who admitted that he hadn’t done enough slow practice.

When more free time was granted, the James Picton-Turbervill/Justin Bieber ordeal was still not over. He was promptly whisked to Times Square where there was a shop offering customers 15 seconds of photographic fame on a huge public screen. The press arrived too late, thanks to a tight schedule. (Luckily the argument between Quintin Beer and Josh Cooter concerning the correct pronunciation of “schedule” has been resolved. Josh, who had been using the word “school” as an example to prove his point, and was quickly combatted by the nine different pronunciations of “ough”, cleverly managed to convince Quintin that he didn’t realise exactly what they were arguing about, and all was peaceful again.)

Despite the obsession with the Royal Wedding, the American responses at evensong included “O Lord, save our state”, rather than “save the Queen”. Numerous attempts to trick the priest into singing our version failed. Mr Allwood must also have been tired, as the second psalm was begun by his “sit down” motion but Edward Picton-Turbervill’s improvised organ voluntary was enjoyed by all.

The next stop was the Old Etonian Association reception, which starred the Incognitos and yet another performance of “Under the Sea”. Evidently the excitement of the coach journey to Princeton was so overwhelming that we all felt a need to sing the latter extremely fast. The high drinking age led to desperate measures in Alex Chance’s second excitement of the day: a huge bottle of alcohol mouthwash in the restroom.

“Unique New York, unique New York, unique New York”; try saying that over and over. We didn’t have to because the point had been made. Leaving the towering concrete jungle came with great sadness for many choir members, but the historic and peaceful town of Princeton promised to be as pleasurable an experience.

Here endeth the swill. Tomorrow we shall indulge on some fresh slops.

Richard Gowers