Teenage angst
I was back in my old alma mater yesterday, King’s College Cambridge, singing in the Chapel. I think I may have finally conquered the fear that overwhelms me whenever I start to sing in the place, but I’m not sure. It’s a fear rooted in my first ever experience of singing under it’s famous fan-vaulted ceiling.
It was September 1975 and I was seventeen. I had applied for a Choral Scholarship to King’s which, if I was successful, would get me a place in the choir the following academic year. I was desperate to get into King’s. Nowhere else would do, but the system was that you listed in order of preference which other colleges you would also like to consider. Such was the rivalry between King’s and St John’s that if you put either of them second you could forget it altogether. They weren’t prepared to be anybody’s back-up. …
Le Flaneur Genevois
I have been in Geneva a week now and I think I have the measure of the place. Let’s skip quickly over the excruciating prices and the rash of impossibly chic designer shops that make me want to raise the barricades and start a revolution. Oh, I’m not that radical but the vile smugness of them drives me mad. And where do their employees get off on looking so snooty and disdainful? Don’t you dare try and sneer at me! You work in a bloody shop for God’s sake!…
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