Here I sit, listening to a live broadcast of the King's College Choir, enjoying it mostly, except for a rather dreary period of 19th century English music. Early music is what touches my soul. I gather that this choir is all, or mostly, male. Although, perhaps I am wrong, and that these days they do admit an occasional female.
It has always seemed to me both extraordinary and outrageous that rather than allow females to sing in church, those in charge chose to castrate males. Makes you think, eh? Does the mere possibility of a mixed choir cause testicles to atrophy and to fall off? I wonder.
Is misanthropy innate in males? I would rather not think so, but there is much evidence to support the theory.
The choir is now singing Britten's Hymn to St Cecilia. It is a piece I sang early in my chorister life, and I do love it.
In between all these pursuits I am reading a lot of Irish history, mostly written by the remarkable, productive and erudite Tim Pat Coogan. He gives me much food for thought, not all of it tasty or digestible. Sometimes it is difficult to believe in the possibility of the perfectibility of human nature.