So it’s the bloody Marseillaise again.
The only thing the media chooks want to bang on about is the 2007 Eisteddfod when we fairly lost the back end of the tune.
Fair enough maybe. It sure sticks in the memory. And the craw, and the guts.
But I reckon if the Froggies are practicing the same again they might overlook the tiddly bit in God Defend New Zealand about “make her praises heard afar”. Not to mention some “ā upane, ka upane”. There’s a bit of oomph for you, garçon. Fill yer boots.
I’ve got the lads practicing a few flourishes of our own, so now it’s just whether they remember when to bring out the fancy bits. And it could get fairly willing in the bass parts, with them trying to put off Dan at first violin with some of “Let an impure blood water our furrows!” Just going to have to rely on Nigel the conductor to keep it not too far from civilised. A Saturday night in Cardiff: what could possibly go wrong?
Sheila Shag’s been a champ, bringing in the Maketu and amber tea at ten-minute intervals. “Got to keep your strength up,” she says. Bloody oath, I says, bring me the pants with the elastic waist. Good on ya darl, and keep the undies coming, too. I reckon I might need a few changes between verses.
Here we go then.
Yours in merde