Plainsong from the pews

We deserted our dishevelled house this afternoon for a plainsong Vespers in the Cathedral of The Isles on Cumbrae, sung by a community choir directed by Alan Tavener. A strange experience for us to be in the nave, listening and not singing, especially in a place where I've sung for so many years - I found myself wanting to join in all over the place.

Afterwards, in the cloisters, I was hailed by my maiden name - another very odd experience. Turned out it was the boy who sat behind me in Latin at school, who played the clarinet in the same school orchestra as I played violin, who'd married the sister of one of my music teachers. She was in the choir - hence their being there. And from the standing start, as it were, of total mystification, we sprinted off through the years - far too many years - since our shared adolescence. 

Everyone else had disappeared by the time we'd finished and left for the ferry. Do I feel younger or older as a result? 

Still wondering ...