Winter brings us to the singers

[sovay]

There are honest-to-God carolers on my street. I thought they were a passing car or a radio, but they are five or six people with sheet music in hand standing on the steps at a slight diagonal across the street, appropriately next to a large conifer, singing "Ding Dong Merrily on High." I guess it is that season.

[edit] And now they are gone. I heard nothing after the last round of hosanna in excelsis and when I looked out, I couldn't see them anymore. They do not appear to have moved on to any other house; I can't hear them anywhere else on the street. If they went indoors, they sure didn't turn on the lights.

I guess it's ghost story for Christmas season, too.

Comments

[cmcmck]

Rochester was Dickens' home town and all the buildings he ever wrote about that weren't in London are in Rochester. Even out of festival time, it's very hard to get away from the man.

[davidgillon]

Absolutely. The house where he grew up is 200m away, I used to park next to Mrs Havisham's, his writing chalet is in the grounds of the Adult Ed Centre, and a friend's daughter just moved into the house where his mistress lived.