The promise ...

... of an evening of music. I have to confess that when we arrive at the church hall where our choir, 8+1, rehearses, I feel the sinking feeling engendered by too much pink paint and the chill of a damp, underused building. We arrive first - the maestro has the key, after all - and the entire building is in darkness: the vestibule, the church beyond (entry strictly forbidden), the hall where we sing. However, as we feel our way in to the first light switch, heave at the two sets of swing doors that bar our way, the air warms up and the actual hall is warm. Tonight I went back out to take this photo before anyone else arrived, and to reflect on the years of making music happen in this town where we've been singing in one way or another for the best part of 40 years.