Summer seemed so long and luscious – back in july I was the soloist in a super Brazilian concert in Oxford which was such fun and so much appreciated that it is being reprised – this weekend. And next morning I shall rise bright and early to recommence my duties as chorister at St Mary the Virgin University church in Oxford. That will be weird after a summer book-ended as it has been by Villa Lobos, and other types of rich romanticism. And central to this same summer was a pedagogical singing course at the Guildhall school of music in London with great singing guru Janice Chapman. Where I discovered all sorts of problems in my technique that I am slowly working through (including a marvellous session on Accent breathing with Linda Hutchison). In my fifties I seem to be playing out the same struggle I had in my twenties – between diligent chorister and aspiring soloist. Soloist was summer freedom; chorister is winter duty. Anyhow, neither identity will matter on sunday afternoon when I am helping host the annual street party – using my voice to call a ceilidh, no less. Pray for autumn sunshine.