My volunteer job as choir librarian is perilously close to full-time this week, with preparations for the onset of the singing season. Just for shits and giggles, we are also auditioning pianists for the job of choir accompanist, so I have to prepare repertoire packages for them. Because of various human frailties, the new music for this season was not ordered until only a couple of weeks ago, so I'll be numbering and sorting copies right up to H-Hour. I am not best pleased, but things could be worse and I decline to get wound around my axle. Yet.

Today I will visit the library's basement quarters to get two file boxes full of "Messiah" scores and 80 copies of "Now Is the Month of Maying" by Thomas Morley. That'll be a bit of an upper-body workout plus plenty of stairs. Tomorrow, one of my Board colleagues will drive all the way from London to bring me three more batches of new music, 80 copies each. A fourth batch proved to have a printing error and will be delivered late -- sometime next week. First rehearsal is 11 September.

Stratford is enjoying a classic late-summer week of golden sunshine without steamy heat. The humidity is still way high -- the basement doors are too swollen to shut properly -- but night-time low temperatures are now dropping below 10 degrees Celsius, so the end is in sight. The downtown streets are still full of tourists and theatre-goers -- God forbid that a townie should wish to dine out on a Friday, Saturday or Sunday -- but we're all grateful for the money they spew around town. The theatre festival and the restaurants are why Stratford has nice things.

On Monday, I will be sixty-nine years old. It will be Labour Day, a statutory holiday, so most of the shops will be shut. Monday is also the day when the theatres are dark, so the restaurants also take their day off. Consequently, whatever celebrating gets done will take place on Saturday, when my theatre buddy Alden proposed we go out for dinner. Our reservations are depressingly early, as the rest of the diners will have tickets for something with an eight-o'clock curtain, but that's life in a tourist town in the season.