Sing it loud

The countryside chorus is one we all must be proud to join. But if our voices are to be heard, we must ensure we are singing from the same hymn sheet,

- By Alexandra Henton

THE HIGH note of this writer's musical career came at Christmas. My alma mater insisted on one nonacademic subject to round out the GCSE haul: mine became music (a tea cosy that still lurks next to the Aga remains a tartan-embroidered warning sign that textiles it was not). And so I wrote a Christmas carol that was performed during the school's annual Yuletide tableau. Derivative and saccharine with clichés as thick as that longed-for festive snow, Baby Jesus was nonetheless the zenith of my short-lived composing career. But the love of belting out a good carol is something that has never left. One might even posit that the choice of festive ditty is as important a marker of compatibility as agreeing on which breeds of dog are acceptable and what to do on Boxing Day. Show me the person who adores the aching loveliness of In the Bleak Midwinter, the jaunty tempo of We Three Kings and has a propensity to sing O Come in Latin and it'd be a match. 'Fa la la la la' in my direction and you'll get short shrift.

When my husband arrived for his first Leicestershire Christmas at the local village church his ability to belt out a carol caused some red faces in the rest of the familial crowd. But he was schooled in heartiness on the rugby pitch with what I imagine were compulsory sessions of