It is Advent; has been for a week or so, depending how you reckon it; whether by the Liturgical calendar or the Advent calendar; the difference between the two being something I find myself explaining to my children each year, without them ever showing any sign of remembering; which might reflect my inadequacy at expounding essential points of canon law; or the overwhelming logic of the chocolate variety. I didn't get around to getting myself an Advent calendar this year, although my daughter persuaded me to get one for the cat. Which sounds mildly sacrilegious; though you never know, Cat may be quite devout in her own way. And probably doesn't care too much on what day it begins.
The Christmas concert went well this evening, with a selection of carols by the choir and some others for audience participation, as well as some cheery orchestral items. It is a good idea to have the audience joining in: it keeps them on their toes, and helps them to appreciate the immense effort involved in singing Christmas carols in tune, while simultaneously getting the words right. We sang some Buxtehude, too; which is always nice for a change. No idea what the words meant, but I made my best effort at a baroque German accent. My daughter's school play was an even greater success yesterday: she was a lion in the classic Shakespeare play about lions. And walls.
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