I staggered home at some unimaginable time in the morning, not really having realised quite how late it had gotten, and I am lucky that
Saturday morning was completely wiped out in feeling miserable, alternately sorry for myself and cross with myself, determined to get well enough to go out but unable to walk more than three steps without feeling queasy... but we finally made it to
Sunday was the last Evensong of the year, and we went out on a high note (metaphorically at least), with a robust reprise of Stainer's I Saw The Lord (which we'd done last term) and a moving a capella rendition of the lovely "Christ be with me, Christ within me" bit in the middle of Patrick's Breastplate ("I bind unto myself today..."), which, incidentally, is the BEST HYMN EVER.
I also took the opportunity on Sunday to apologise to everybody for anything I might have said or done on Friday, and got an awkward blushing grin from the senior organ scholar (I only hugged him, honest, but he probably thinks I'm a scary predatory older woman -- sometimes I forget that I'm seven years older than the oldest of these people) and a chuckle and a general-purpose drinks invitation from the nice young don (who's very Peterhouse, so I really don't think there's any danger of us confusing each other there).
The moral of the story? When life gives you port, drink port.