Weymouth Choral Society

Last September I joined Weymouth Choral Society. It had been about eight years since I'd sung in a choir on a regular basis and I had missed doing so. Now, on Monday evenings in term time, Ian and I have an early supper and I then drive off to rehearsals (one of the few occasions I actually have to drive anywhere these days; most destinations are reachable on foot.)

Originally, I joined the second soprano section but in January I switched to the first alto section. Haydn's lovely Nelson Mass took up the second half of the concert (held earlier this month), and I soon realised when looking at the score before rehearsals started that there was no way I was going to reach several top B flats and that the alto part, (which is quite high, as alto parts go) was more suited to my mezzo-soprano voice range. Besides, I'd sung the alto part before - albeit about 20 years ago - and know it well.

The concert also featured in the first half Mozart's oboe concerto (played on the soprano saxophone) and another instrumental piece, a couple of soprano solos, some more choir pieces by Mozart and Schubert. Though long, it all finished on a very satisfying 'high'.

The choir occasionally organises social events, too, and next is a meal out in April to a local Weymouth restaurant with several of the choir membership (plus partners, including Ian). Rehearsals resume after Easter for the summer concert which features famous songs from 20th century Hollywood films and musicals. More details to follow.

Knitting a pair of socks

When I was a little girl and asked of my Dad "what are you doing?", when it was blindingly obvious what he was doing, he used to answer – in a growly voice – "knitting a pair of socks." As far as I know, he has never picked up a knitting needle except to pass it back to my mother if she dropped one. I, on the other hand, used to be an avid knitter, designing jumpers with motifs - the first few bars of the dying swan cello solo in Swan Lake for a cellist friend springs to mind, as well as this one - the first two bars of Beethoven's 5th (yes that's me aged 20 or so in the early 80s) - and other projects back in the days before cheap foreign imports made buying jumpers cheaper than making them.

In later years I acquired two cats and soon learnt that waggling knitting needles and playful cats are not compatible and I gave up, tucking away a half-completed jumper into the back of my sewing drawer.

It has been some time since I had a cat - about ten years - and when I was sorting out my drawers after our move to Weymouth last year the bag of knitting resurfaced. No cat: no excuse. I didn't start on the jumper straight away, though, but started to knit myself a hat with some new yarn bought for the purpose. Maybe it's my age and I just feel the cold more, or it's been a particularly cold and windy winter here, but in late autumn I soon realised that I was going to have to have a hat, so why not knit one? I knitted three. Or rather, I knitted the same hat three times. I couldn't find a suitable pattern so I made it up as I went along. Near the of the first attempt I realised it was going to be too big, so I undid it all and started again. Next I found I'd started shaping the top too soon so it was too small. So I undid it again. The third (lucky) time I started from the top, increasing the number of stitches in increments to create a dome that I shaped as I went along until it was the perfect fit. I knitted an extra long brim that folds up twice so it's very snug indeed over my ears.

And I also knitted a scarf to match. Twice.

To tweet or not to tweet?

Weymouth College was the venue one evening last week for a social media marketing event hosted by WSX Enterprise and Weymouth & Portland Chamber of Commerce. A vast quantity of sandwiches, quiches, tortilla crisps and dips were spread out for our consumption before the programme started, though sadly half of the food was still untouched at the end of the evening.

Three sessions, covering LinkedIn, Facebook and Twitter were on the agenda but not, surprisingly, to be presented one after the other to all of us together. Instead, in a move probably designed to keep us awake by moving us around every 30 minutes or so, we were split into three groups and assigned to different rooms before moving on to the next room and the next speaker.

Anyway, the upshot is that on Friday I spent quite some time updating my already existing LinkedIn and Facebook accounts and then, with some trepidation, signed up for Twitter. Here, the boundaries between personal and business life become blurred, especially for those who, like me, are self-employed. Apparently, people really are interested to know that you've been somewhere to buy something or visit someone, or that the weather is particularly miserable or lovely wherever you are. Twitter for business is not all about "this is my product/service, please buy it" but being 'out there.'

Well, I'm 'out there' now, and my address is @SteedmanGillian because, (shock, horror!) there's already someone out there tweeting as GillianSteedman.

"I didn't think it would be so cold!"

Doorway in Cerne Abbas

At the end of February we had visitors: cousins from Norway. "Why did they want to visit in February?" we asked. "Nothing's open. It will probably be pouring with rain." But come they did and it wasn't raining. But it was bitterly cold with an icy wind and occasional flurries of snow, though none settled. Fortunately, despite not expecting the cold two of them had brought cold-weather clothing whilst the other, seemingly immune to the freezing temperatures, wore just a tee-shirt and jeans throughout his stay.

One day we drove to Cerne Abbas, our cousins exclaiming along the way at the rolling hills, large (relative to those in Norway) fields and the varieties of trees. It wasn’t something I’d really thought about, but visitors to Norway exclaim at the magnificent snow-capped mountains towering over fathomless fiords where the roads bend and wind their way along the valleys and round the moutains rather than over them. And where gaining any height means long zig-zags of very low gradients. Contrast that to south Dorset where Roman-style the roads plough straight ahead, regardless of the climb or descent, or follow meandering streams, ancient drovers’ routes or parish boundaries, dog-legging back and forth. Familiar to us, but a new experience for our visitors.

The old Cerne Abbey Guesthouse

We had coffee at an inn– where the publican has found country life too quiet and is returning to Berkshire near where we moved from – before strolling through this picturesque village. Medieval wood-framed houses with carved wooden front doors line the street leading up to the remains of the Abbey (870 to 1509), and a tiny stream flows along a stone-lined gutter from St Augustine’s Well. All that remains of the Abbey are the guesthouse (now a private house), Abbey Barn and Abbot’s Porch – all privately owned – but open to visitors on the day we were there.

On to the pretty market town of Sherborne with a very brief stop on the way to photograph the ancient Cerne Abbas giant carved into the chalk hillside from the viewing point. The town is a bustling place full of thriving independent shops and a beautiful abbey, originally a cathedral built when the diocese of Winchester was split into two in AD 705 and Andhelm (later St Andhelm) became the first of 27 bishops. He chose the place of the Scire-burne – the ‘clear stream’ – as the site for his seat, or cathedra. Soon after the Norman Conquest the bishop's seat was moved to what is now Salisbury. (Read more here.)

Finally, a drive via Beaminster, Bridport and the coast road back to Weymouth in failing light. Not the best conditions for viewing scenery, especially when the passenger windows of the car are heavily tinted. Hopefully, they'll be back one day in the warmer, lighter months when the sea is as blue as the Mediterranean and in the summer evenings trees cast lingering shadows as the setting sun softly lights the hills and fields with a warm, golden glow.

Out of hibernation

According to the Sunday Times' weather forecaster, as far as meteorologists are concerned, March 1st is the start of spring. That date certainly brought with it a respite from the icy blasts and rain, rain, rain we'd been experiencing over the last few weeks, replacing them instead with temperatures reaching double figures and low-lying mists blanketing the distant hills and obscuring my view of Weymouth town and beach.

The early mornings and evenings are noisier now with the sounds of blackbirds, robins and sparrows announcing their presence, calling for mates and guarding their territories. In the distance, flocks of gulls cry out as they follow the fishing boats in the harbour.

There are bulbs flowering all over the place and every twig has a bud on it, straining with suppressed energy and waiting for the right moment burst open.

Around the town, cafés, restaurants and B&Bs that have been wrapped up for the winter are emerging from under their covers and flexing their muscles in anticipating of the coming season.

So what will the legacy of the 2012 Olympics be this year and beyond? Weymouth beach has recently been voted the seventh best in the country with two other Dorset beaches in the top ten (see here) so the prospects are hopeful. The local businesses are supporting the Weymouth BID (Business Improvement District) initiative to turn Weymouth around into the vibrant centre that it should be.

Weymouth Pavilion, host to pantos, concerts, exhibitions and events in the past is closing temporarily as the local council can no longer afford to run it, but a bid by the local community to lease and run it has been approved, though not finalised yet, by the council. (See here).

In the middle of February, a gloriously sunny weekend coinciding with half term brought families, donkeys and surfers out onto Weymouth beach, in spite of - or because of - the biting easterly wind. Around the town, characters dressed in 17th century costume re-enacted several aspects of the civil war.

But we mustn't be tempted into thinking that spring has arrived just yet. The forecast for next week is for near-zero temperatures again. We won't be packing away the hats and scarves just yet.