| « On the wire | Not out of the woods yet » |
A sharp
We celebrated with a fairly spontaneous meeting down the pub. I'm not keen on it, but I bought a pint of Thatcher's cider, and we toasted her to the now familiar joke about her meeting Jimmy Savile in hell and her asking him why he was there. "For fucking minors," he says. "Yes, me too," she replies.
During the Miners' Strike, we set off from Lancaster at 5am to go to Burnley Colliery, where I enthusiastically joined in the wave of anger against the scabs, throwing half-bricks at their buses. I really wanted to injure them. I wanted to prevent them working the pits, and I wanted to hurt them, as a punishment. Nothing too bad, you know. Maybe concussion, or to see them panic with blood pumping from their strike-breaking heads.
The previous day, Trina and I had gone to see Spirit of '45, Ken Loach's lovingly sad documentary film about the way she dismantled the welfare state and our nationalised industries. The scheduling was an accident, a day after she died. Trina, a lifelong Labour supporter and canvasser, was quite affected by it, and said she was going to leave the Party.
A few months ago I picked up a card of a singing teacher. He did his postgraduate training at the RNCM in Manchester and has sung with Welsh National Opera. I explained what I'd like to do.
"i [sic] would be very happy to teach you, especially as you are interested in singing the classical repertoire. I will be able to demonstrate to you very clearly the fundamental concepts of singing and take you through as much lieder as you can manage! My phone number is [---], please give me a call tomorrow or friday if you would like to arrange a lesson."
It's £15 for half an hour, which I can only afford if I refrain from drinking for a couple of hours days at a time. It'll be a good discipline for me, trading the price of booze for a singing lesson. I wish he'd capitalise properly, but it's not a dealbreaker.
Feedback awaiting moderation
This post has 8 feedbacks awaiting moderation...
Form is loading...
