No I am not a cheap hooker

Here I am in horrendous red lipstick, ready for my first concert with the barbershop chorus.

We were singing for the Women guild. It was like being in a sit-com. Picture this scene:

I arrived at the venue, the Sunday school hall of the Parish church in an obscure village near Stirling. I walked in find the rest of the girls squashed behind office partition screens, giggling uncontrollably. The dressing area was made from these screens behind which we had to crouch to avoid being seen, and was located just 2 meters away from the audience.

The audience comprised of 40 old women balancing on tiny kiddies chairs, wearing crocheted hats and clutching their handbags on their knees. They all looked glum and suspicious.

The proceedings began with a hymn (Les Dawson at the piano) and then a gloomy bible reading. All the while we were crouching and giggling, and I battled with my lop sided shoulder pads.

After a luke warm welcome and a smattering of applause it was our turn to emerge from behind the screens, in our full sparkly regalia, brilliantly incongruous given the surroundings. Our conductor told us, totally straight faced, 'no choreography please girls, we don't want to over excite them'.

We sang fairly well, although it's hard to give your all when the audience are either frowning or looking confused. Thankfully I was home by 9.00. At least it was a low pressure environment in which to do my first concert. I doubt whether my wrong notes would have been detected by the semi-deceased audience anyway.