It’s my choir’s concert tonight. We’re doing stuff from musicals, including a fantastic arrangement – by Ollie Mills, our choir director – of Cats. His alto line for Memory is the most fun I’ve had singing anything, ever, not least because that’s the only bit in the whole show I can sing without mistake.
Don’t tell that to the audience. I’m pretty sure Ollie and everyone around me already knows, but we still have some tickets available.
We had a rehearsal last night and I coughed all the way through it. I have had a persistent cough for months, for which I’m now being treated because I finally dragged myself to the doctor after hearing a horror story from a friend about a friend of her friend’s who ignored a persistent cough, and things ended badly.
Mine is nothing so dramatic; it’s probably a post-nasal drip.
I misspoke when I told my singing chauffeur (the lovely woman who gives me a lift to choir) about it, accidentally calling it a post-natal drip, and we giggled for an hour about me developing a twenty-one-year baby-related condition that wasn’t excess weight.
The cough is always worse after exercise: for example, from the walk to church on Sundays. I hack through the first half of the service but I’ve noticed that it improves after communion, just from one sip of wine. That thought brought on a brain wave – I’ll take alcohol with me tonight!
Alex tells me alcohol is bad for the vocal chords, but we’re not talking great singing on my part; and I’m thinking, better no voice than Coughy McCoughy in the chorus, ruining the best bits. You might suggest that I could, of course, nobly stand down and not be in the concert tonight; but I’ll thump you if you do. I didn’t spend six months learning these songs (some of them, anyway; my first paragraph refers) only to sit sulking in the audience on my big night: yodelayee-yodelayee-yodelayeeNO!
I tested my theory when I got in from choir by supping a tot of rum and, yup, no cough after it. I’m taking a small bottle with me, to sip throughout the concert. I’ll just have to be careful not to get drunk: no one wants to see a sozzled alto tottering around the stage, defending McCavity against the slurs on his character.
Although…if you do, tickets are a fiver.
The Laughing Housewife 
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