Oh dear. Something of a breakdown in arrangement for one of the villages’ carol service and they seem to have lost their guest organist and choir. I agreed to stand in, but then discovered there is a young and talented singer who has agreed to sing a solo. Her mother has just sent me the music and there’s no possibility of me learning it this week. I would wing it if I could, but there are limits even to my bravado. I’ve emailed the mother and the Rector, separately, to tell them so, and I hope the difficulties with the organist can be ironed out.
I’ve been spending most of the evening cursing Word, which refuses to do what it normally does and is cheerily putting up new documents that are the usual width but only 3 inches deep, or long, or whatever you want me to call it. It assures me it’s A4, but it isn’t. Someone emailed me a document that was a peculiar size and now it’s taken it as the norm and I can’t find out how to change it.
I’ve decided I don’t like the speech I’ve written and now I’m too tired to rewrite it. I’m going to bed now (I’ll backdate this as it’s still Sunday until I’ve gone to bed, but actually it’s half past midnight. I’ll go to sleep and then wake an hour or two later and worry for the rest of the night, because that’s the unhelpful thing one does, isn’t it?
I’m playing the organ for a funeral on Tuesday. I rather hope I’ll be told what the hymns are tomorrow. Not that I expect to have time to practise them tomorrow. I trust that they will, at least, be ones I know. I rather hope they won’t be any of the ones I hate (All Things B & B, in particular) but at least, if they are, I can rattle them out with my eyes shut.