Singing, or not

My time at the moment is somewhat taken up with visiting Mum in hospital twice a day, but today I did also manage a visit to Daughter 1 and Grandson. His jumper/sweater was knitted by a Ravelry friend of Daughter 1. I feel myself that the pink in it is a trifle girly, matching (I've only just noticed) the pink trim of his jogging bottoms. But he doesn't seem to mind.

Last night I watched the programme about Gareth Malone and his army wives' choir. This young chap is a choirmaster about whom various programmes have been made, documenting his efforts to get choirs started - in deprived areas, in a boys' school and so on. I love singing, so it's interesting seeing the uplifting effect that singing can have on people who had mostly never thought of joining a choir. He's such a sweet, enthusiastic young man (the sort you would want your daughter to marry) and I find his programmes so uplifting. I was in tears last night, watching the joy on these women's faces as they made a lovely noise and distracted themselves from thoughts of their husbands in Afghanistan. I suppose that he, and the producers of the programme, were probably milking it somewhat by featuring emotional songs of love and loss, and of course this made me more lacrymose, thinking of my departed children.

I've had a cold followed by a separate cough for about three weeks now and currently sound, when I sing, like a frog eating a grasshopper. Which is very frustrating because I normally enjoy bursting into song around the house. (Mr Life is a tolerant husband.) At choir at the moment we're learning Haydn's Mass for St Cecilia and I'm having to just stand there listening.