None of you will have guessed this, but back in my misspent youth, I had, well, moments, of nerdiness. I wouldn't want anyone to think that I was an out-and-out nerd, but I can't deny that it was a category in which I dabbled. I was, for instance, captain of the year 9 chess team. And a library monitress. And a paid-up, card-carrying member of the CSIRO Double Helix Science Club. I debated (oh yeah, Madam Chair). I spent an inordinate amount of time with the dictionary. I routinely failed to catch balls. I was a Girl Guide. And a chorister.
Later on, as you all know, I turned hip as. I dyed my hair blond, pierced both nostrils, and pursued the surfing/modelling/hard-rockin' line I excel in to this day. Barely a day goes by when I don't overhear some 18-year-old lady telling her friends that in ten years' time she wants to be just like me. You bet she does, what with me being such a cool cat and all.
But it's tough, being the arbiter of avant garde, and in a moment of nostalgia last week for that misspent youth of mine, I decided to audition for a choir. I figured that what I lose in street cred I'll make up for in regular exposure to Handel. That's if I get in, of course. It's been a million years since I was in a choir, and I fear that in my relentless pursuit of cool, I've rather neglected my choral diction.
It's two weeks until the audition, so I have a bit of time to practice. I'm going to do a William Byrd number, "Adoramus te", and then they'll fling something at me I'm supposed not to have seen before. I'm one of the worst sight-singers I've ever met, so my plan is to learn the entire canon of western choral music in the next fortnight.