This day had been long anticipated. Proclaimed by herald bards, luted by lutists and mooted by.... well, whoever moots things.
The Choir has returned. Nearly five years since they left.
Really, I blame Hnaef. In the Old Testament people got into trouble for burning strange fire. Well, in the Beaker Folk the equivalent is dodgy tea lights.
Anyway, turns out that since floating out of St Bogwulf's Chapel all that time ago, the Choir has been busking in the tunnels of the London Underground, scurrying into the depths at night and stealing sandwiches from late-night revellers. They've gone a bit feral, to be honest.
That does explain rumours Burton has heard among commuters of glimpses of white clothing disappearing into the Northern Line and ghostly figures terrifying the drivers of the last trains. Indeed, it's possible that they're the cause of today's Tube strike. Because who wouldn't want more money if they were always expecting a bloodthirsty alto to appear in the cab on a lonely stretch of the Bakerloo?
Of course we still have the Quire, and the two groups being that awkward thing, homophonic arch-enemies, will now have to fight a deadly battle.
Personally I'm hoping the Quire wins. All the Choir can now sing, after all that time in the tunnels, is "Mind the Gap". In four-part harmony. Plus descant.