That's what it's all about
I have done some stupid things in my life.
Around about mid-1999, in an attempt to resuscitate an almost dead career, I took a job in a small town in Victoria’s Goulburn Valley.
Fitting in to a new social setting can be difficult at the best of times.
I tried training with a local football club, despite that fact that I was in my late 20s and I had never played for a club or even a school team in my entire life. I injured myself in the second training session I attended and I was out for the season. I probably would not have gotten a game anyway.
I joined a local church and helped to run the youth group. This went pretty well, although most people in the church seemed to regard me as some sort of communist/evolutionist/dangerous heretic.
I found a flatmate who had also recently moved to the town from Melbourne. She set my couch on fire*, nearly burned down the house, went slightly nuts and moved back to Melbourne. And yes, in that exact order.
By far the most unintentionally hilarious episode in my attempts to fit in to this town was my evening with the local Community Singing Group.
My boss’ wife was heavily involved in the local community centre and she told me about this singing group. I thought this would be a good way of getting to know some people whilst impressing my employers with my enthusiasm for involving myself in local community activities.
It went wrong.
As soon as I walked into the community centre it became obvious that I was the only person under 60 at this event. I nearly sprinted for the door but before I could do this a friendly person had grabbed me, said welcome and guided me to a seat, whilst simultaneously extracting a small donation toward the cost of a cup of instant coffee.
The other thing I noticed at this point was that the boss’ wife was not there. Subsequent enquiries revealed that she was not and never had been involved in this group. In other words, there was no reason for me to be there.
This was not a group that existed for the purpose of performing in public, ever. It was a group that got together solely because they just enjoy singing. This is a great concept and I love that they do this. However, it does mean that the group is not made up of highly trained professional singers.
This suited me, as my singing is patchy at best. The one thing that the group should perhaps have considered is that if Australian Idol has taught us nothing else, it has taught us that singers of average or less talent should be very careful with their song selection.
Specifically, a group like this should not attempt songs where the note to syllable count is particularly high. This would include “You’re the Voice” and Whitney Houston’s “I will always love you”** Those who remember Mike Whitney version of this on “The Late Show” will have some idea of how this ended.
We then moved from “Contemporary”, to the extent that such a label covers both of those songs and also stuff like “Imagine”, to more traditional*** tunes, including Loch Lamond, My Grandfather’s Clock, Ain’t She Sweet, Daisy Daisy, and Welcome to the Jungle (actually, I can’t remember but I think I have started making them up now).
The one I will not forget in a hurry was the Hokey Pokey. They did not just insist that we sing this. Oh no, they did indeed insist that we must dance.
There have been times in my life when I have looked back at the choices that have lead me to that point and I have felt pleased with myself. This was not one of those occasions.
There is nothing quite like doing the Hokey Pokey in a freezing cold community centre with a group of pensioners in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere to make one question one’s life choices.
Just when I thought my night could not get any more absurd, we finished the evening off with a rousing chorus of “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts” It was at this point that I put my head in my hands and literally sobbed with laughter.
And yes, I did go back the next month.
I told this story to a friend a few weeks later and she suggested that I lived my life solely for the purpose of gathering good stories. Do you think there’s anything in that?
* Not a metaphor. I suspect I’ll post that story another time.
** Technically a Dolly Parton song. Whatever.
*** Old
Around about mid-1999, in an attempt to resuscitate an almost dead career, I took a job in a small town in Victoria’s Goulburn Valley.
Fitting in to a new social setting can be difficult at the best of times.
I tried training with a local football club, despite that fact that I was in my late 20s and I had never played for a club or even a school team in my entire life. I injured myself in the second training session I attended and I was out for the season. I probably would not have gotten a game anyway.
I joined a local church and helped to run the youth group. This went pretty well, although most people in the church seemed to regard me as some sort of communist/evolutionist/dangerous heretic.
I found a flatmate who had also recently moved to the town from Melbourne. She set my couch on fire*, nearly burned down the house, went slightly nuts and moved back to Melbourne. And yes, in that exact order.
By far the most unintentionally hilarious episode in my attempts to fit in to this town was my evening with the local Community Singing Group.
My boss’ wife was heavily involved in the local community centre and she told me about this singing group. I thought this would be a good way of getting to know some people whilst impressing my employers with my enthusiasm for involving myself in local community activities.
It went wrong.
As soon as I walked into the community centre it became obvious that I was the only person under 60 at this event. I nearly sprinted for the door but before I could do this a friendly person had grabbed me, said welcome and guided me to a seat, whilst simultaneously extracting a small donation toward the cost of a cup of instant coffee.
The other thing I noticed at this point was that the boss’ wife was not there. Subsequent enquiries revealed that she was not and never had been involved in this group. In other words, there was no reason for me to be there.
This was not a group that existed for the purpose of performing in public, ever. It was a group that got together solely because they just enjoy singing. This is a great concept and I love that they do this. However, it does mean that the group is not made up of highly trained professional singers.
This suited me, as my singing is patchy at best. The one thing that the group should perhaps have considered is that if Australian Idol has taught us nothing else, it has taught us that singers of average or less talent should be very careful with their song selection.
Specifically, a group like this should not attempt songs where the note to syllable count is particularly high. This would include “You’re the Voice” and Whitney Houston’s “I will always love you”** Those who remember Mike Whitney version of this on “The Late Show” will have some idea of how this ended.
We then moved from “Contemporary”, to the extent that such a label covers both of those songs and also stuff like “Imagine”, to more traditional*** tunes, including Loch Lamond, My Grandfather’s Clock, Ain’t She Sweet, Daisy Daisy, and Welcome to the Jungle (actually, I can’t remember but I think I have started making them up now).
The one I will not forget in a hurry was the Hokey Pokey. They did not just insist that we sing this. Oh no, they did indeed insist that we must dance.
There have been times in my life when I have looked back at the choices that have lead me to that point and I have felt pleased with myself. This was not one of those occasions.
There is nothing quite like doing the Hokey Pokey in a freezing cold community centre with a group of pensioners in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere to make one question one’s life choices.
Just when I thought my night could not get any more absurd, we finished the evening off with a rousing chorus of “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts” It was at this point that I put my head in my hands and literally sobbed with laughter.
And yes, I did go back the next month.
I told this story to a friend a few weeks later and she suggested that I lived my life solely for the purpose of gathering good stories. Do you think there’s anything in that?
* Not a metaphor. I suspect I’ll post that story another time.
** Technically a Dolly Parton song. Whatever.
*** Old
posted by I'm not Craig at 9:57 PM
4 Comments:
Hell no! It's all about the story!
i agree with adam. when you said this:
I lived my life solely for the purpose of gathering good stories
what you really mean is
i AM LIVING my life solely for the purpose of gathering good stories.
as am i.
but there's some other stuff going on as well.
As they say, never let the truth get in the way of a good story.
Nowadays it could be said like this, "Never let the truth get in the way of a good blog post."
Adam
Hell yes, you're right.
Melbs
Oops, my bad (grammar). Nice to know we have this tendency in common.
Bevis
Are you implying that I am making this up? Every word of it (except the bit about singing "Welcome to the Jungle") is entirely true.
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