Duck

A week of moonlighting. Two Verdi Requiems, and a comedy concert of choral arrangements of easy listening. Robbie Williams in five parts. Which, if it wasn’t embarrassing enough, was coincidentally attended by two Tonbridge colleagues. I suppose it is too much to hope that a career in the performing arts can be done on the quiet.

For the record, two Verdi requiems in a weekend is a very bad idea. Especially whilst fighting off a cold. It is quite difficult enough trying to make pages of top notes sound like a sincere prayer to the God of vengeance, without having to do it whilst worrying about whether or not it is an appropriate moment in the score to blow your nose. I got through them. Just. But not without a few distinctly croaky moments by concert no. 2. And, as Tessa was singing soprano and had invited Bockers and several other mutual friends, it was another occasion that was impossible to quietly tuck away into the discreet drawer of individual experience. Though Bockers was far more interested in the comedy potential of my Fagin-like appearance in evening tails with new walking stick.

I am quite taken with my new stick. It occurred to me last week that the church where I sing on Sunday mornings is around the corner from what looks like London’s finest walking stick and umbrella emporium. So I paid a visit, and came away with a very sartorially elegant black stick. For £20, it was certainly worth it to finally consign my NHS crutches to the back of my wardrobe. I thought about going for the ebony and silver topped cane, but perhaps that would be a little much. And I’m hoping that it will be a short-lived feature. Perhaps the fact that using a stick looks so much like an eccentric affectation will be a spur to the final stages of my rehabilitation. Though it’s always possible that I will fall prey to the smooth lines of a luxury walking aid. Perhaps a ‘tipple stick’, with an integral whisky flask. Or one with a sterling silver handle crafted in the shape of a duck. They’re out there. And it’s only when you’re constantly handling a stick that you start to appreciate its tactile joys. More than once I have found myself fantasising about my stick’s possibilities as a weapon in a 1st year class. Think what damage you could do with a silver duck.