I’m packing to go away tomorrow to the Eisteddfod. I’m a bad packer. Well that’s not strictly true. I’m good at packing to go away for a month. But for two days I always manage to take twice as many things as I need and return with most of it unworn. Anyway, I have spent the day coordinating various items of black clothing to play in. This involved washing some items that haven’t been worn for some time and – joy of joys – the obligatory tissue was washed also, even though I checked the pockets. The lint roller will be making an appearance very soon.

For the uninitiated among you, the word Eisteddfod means going away every year at Easter to face choirs twice the size of your own in fierce competition, which they take very, very seriously. Some of them take longer to file all their singers onto the choir stands than they take to sing. Last year, when we became the little choir that could and beat the pants off them in the Open Chief Choral contest, there was walking out in huffs, grumbling and mumbling far into the night. It also continued through to the next morning. Losing gracefully was clearly not in some people’s choral vocabulary. It appears, that for some, it’s sheep stations. It’s all a learning experience people. Because we’re half the size of the choirs from Ipswich and Toowoomba we never expect to win. Highly commended is exciting for us.

Anyway, just when I was feeling very virtuous that I had everything in order, I woke up from my afternoon nap at about 4 and realised I had a perpetual trophy that needed engraving so I could take it with me tomorrow to return. I wasn’t hopeful that any trophy shops would still be open the day before Good Friday, but the gods of engraving big ugly trophies were smiling upon me. Fifteen minutes and five dollars later, I was good to go. I’ve had 12 months to complete this task, so good to wait until the last possible moment to add a frisson of excitement into the day.

N.B. I may have used the word frisson incorrectly. Too bad, I like the sound of it.