This sunny morning in Hove, I began to sing "Twenty-Four Hours from Tulsa". Well, sing is perhaps, er, pitching it a bit high. A friend pointed this out, and told me of the voice-training method created by Jo Estil.
A matter of opening the mouth wide, this is accompanied by laughing heartily but silenty for a while. The effect was remarkable. Even Burt Bacharach would perhaps have been impressed by the improvement in my tribute to him.
A good thing to do even at less momentous times than his death. As instinct has previously taught me. People said that my voice resonated when speaking in the Council Chamber, and, along the way, I had found that the rolling syllables of "Councillor Janio!" were a good way of limbering up for the addressing of more serious matters.
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