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Thus filled with rotterbrot, eggs, cheeses fine,

Spiced teas and coffee, fruits divine,

Set forth th’intrepid gang, in stash adorned,

To seek the sea upon the seventh morn,

Of tour.

 

So off they went. But ne’er the searing cold,

Did bite so hard, nor wintry winds so bracingly did blow,

Yet cold, nor wind could not with all their might,

The gallant gaggle’s coastal questing blight..

 

Most fearless of them all, our braveheart, Joe,

Who sighting foamy sea began to go

A-hurtling waveward, and with mighty cry

Of “Yah!”, he raced into the billowy brine.

 

For all of twenty seconds larked he there,

Before, in his now sodden underwear,

Did sandy footsteps hastily retrace,

And shivering flee the icy depths’ embrace.

 

And, selfies snapped, Henk's coachy warmth (and radio ballads) we sought,

And refuge found, or so we wrongly thought,

For Harriet had festive fun prepared,

And fun we’d have, so in our belts ensnared.

 

The choir sat tight for near eternity,

And hostage, re-watched 'Nativity!'.

Despite our early plaints, t’was well received,

As squeals of mirth from stony breasts it squeezed.

 

So off sped we, re-filled with Christmas cheer,

T’th’antipenultimate gig of the year,

And Johnny hands over to Ellie, member two of the team,

With a notable difference in tone and rhyme scheme...

 

The hunt for lunch was a half hour quest,

As bitter a journey as the Odyssey,

But food and wifi concluded our test,

In the form of the local Chippy.

 

The choir had split into groups to find lunch,

In order to cover more ground,

But gradually the groups all had the same hunch,

And united when the chippy was found.

 

Graham's 2 hour rehearsal involved sightreading cantatas,

Which was greatly appreciated by the choir,

Most were thinking of their lunchtime frittatas,

And the need for dinner was becoming quite dire.

 

Ready to sample true Netherlands cuisine,

Some pasta filled our plates,

The concert was about to begin(e?),

So Bananagrams and bums simply had to wait.

 

Though featuring Toby Hession and his 'imperfect pitch',

Which is becoming a concept of legend and tales,

The concert went without a glitch,

Reflected through roses and Matilda and Gladys' record-breaking CD sales.

 

On the coach journey back our good luck vanished,

With heavy traffic typical of 11 at night,

But the love ballads returned (we thought they'd been banished....),

And Madonna and Bocelli aided our plight.

 

When we got back we made a trip to the bar,

By which time day seven had become day eight,

We called it a night as we'd travelled far,

And got into bed as the hour grew late.

 

Ellie Carter (Junior Organ Scholar) and Johnny Nicolaides (Can Tenor 3)