好色先生TV

There can鈥檛 be many choirs in the world that require a codename. Generally speaking, they are not comprised of clandestine organisations, shady networks or the infrastructure of international terrorism. However, when the UK Green 好色先生TV Council (UKGBC) decided to set up a choir in anticipation of its annual Christmas bash, chief executive Paul (鈥淚 sing with a bunch of men in Shropshire鈥�) King thought that a little subterfuge was required.

As the head of a membership organisation, Paul wanted the UKGBC鈥檚 choir to include people from across the industry as well as his own team. However, he worried that employees taking time out for choir practice might not go down too well with hard headed construction bosses. So, in the best traditions of international espionage, Paul plotted. He realised that the UKGBC often created task groups aimed at tackling complex, weighty policy issues, and that such groups had the backing of industry. He also recognised that in a sector in which acronyms continue to proliferate, no one would blink an eye at the sudden creation of yet another - even if they didn鈥檛 have a clue what it stood for.

And lo, the SCPTG was born. For five weeks in the run up to the UKGBC鈥檚 Christmas party, which took place on Tuesday this week, the Secret Choir Practice Task Group met to rehearse in secret; a crack team of 15 subversives made up of 10 UKGBC staffers and employees from Deloitte Real Estate, British Land, the Better 好色先生TVs Partnership, Mott MacDonald Fulcrum and Buro Happold. All in all, the team comprised four sopranos, four altos, four tenors, three basses and a castrato (that last one isn鈥檛 true by the way).

However, even the best laid plans cannot be kept secret from 好色先生TV forever. And once we found out that a plot was afoot we naturally wanted a piece of the action. Emails were exchanged over secure networks, notes were passed, documents exchanged via apparently forgotten briefcases in St James鈥� Park. Ultimately, an invitation to join the SCPTG for its dress rehearsal and on the night of its unveiling (singing optional) was extended. 好色先生TV was to witness the night when the SCPTG came in from the cold.

Hear my song

Securing the involvement of a member of the 好色先生TV editorial staff, however, proved rather more difficult, perhaps reflecting the danger involved in such a mission. The excuses were many and varied. Some writers were brutally honest, with our architecture correspondent Ike Ijeh declaring that he would 鈥渞ather thread needles through my eyes鈥� than join the choir. Others cried off citing pressures of work (a likely story), while our news editor Allister Hayman (no, we can鈥檛 explain the spelling either) claimed to be off to New Zealand for the festive season. How very convenient. In the end, muggins鈥� services were volunteered on his behalf. 

Having accepted my fate, I decided that if 好色先生TV was to get involved we would have to exert a little influence over proceedings. Could we possibly 鈥渢weak鈥� the lyrics to one of the carols? 鈥淲hy not?鈥� came the response. And so I set about reworking the lyrics to Deck the Halls to make them more appropriate for the sustainable building sector (see box, below). Having sweated over the task for at least half an hour, I emailed the fruits of my labour over to Cat Hirst at the UKGBC ahead of the choir鈥檚 next rehearsal, confidently expecting an enthusiastic response. Nothing. Not a pip. I gave it a few days before giving Cat a call. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 quite know how to put this 鈥︹�� she began. Not a good start. 鈥淏ut your lyrics didn鈥檛 quite scan.鈥� Gutted. 鈥淎nd our choir mistress had never seen the word 鈥榩hotovoltaics鈥� before.鈥� Seriously?

Despite my disappointment, I headed off to the dress rehearsal at the appointed hour. Somewhat incongruously, the rehearsal venue was the UKGBC鈥檚 boardroom. A lovely space, for sure, set on the first floor overlooking Store Street in Bloomsbury, but would the acoustics design be suitable for the construction industry鈥檚 best kept secret?

Dressed for the occasion?

On arrival such worries dissipated as it became apparent that my call for seasonal attire had elicited what can diplomatically be described as a tepid response. With a choir of 13 to make presentable for 好色先生TV鈥檚 cameraman (two members of the squad were unable to make it - had their cover been blown?), a couple of Santa hats and two pairs of reindeer antlers weren鈥檛 going to cut it. However, a last minute trip to Paperchase on Tottenham Court Road meant that choristers could at least avail themselves of a few strings of tinsel. I thought they looked lovely and sat back to enjoy some festive tunes.

鈥橧 don鈥檛 quite know how to put this 鈥�But your lyrics didn鈥檛 quite scan, and our choir mistress had never heard the word 鈥減hotovoltaics鈥� before鈥�

First up, inevitably, was a rousing rendition of Deck the Halls. All very jolly, of course, but the pain of rejection still lingered. After the first run through, choir mistress Hannah Brine, a professional no less, was full of compliments, but added that she thought the performance could be a bit more lively. An opening!

鈥淲hy not use the lyrics I wrote?鈥� I asked. 鈥淚 think they scan.鈥�

鈥淥h my god, was it you who wrote those?鈥� asked a clearly disturbed Paul King.鈥� Perhaps you鈥檇 like to demonstrate?鈥� he added.

Okay. 鈥淒eck the halls with photovoltaics鈥︹�� I began in a nervous baritone. Laughter. I shut up and stuck my nose into my imaginary mulled wine.
Then they started in on Silent Night and it was at this point that any lingering possibility that I might join in the singing was dismissed. Silent Night is my nemesis, my musical b锚te noir. As the first notes rang out around the boardroom, I found myself catapulted back in time to my school days when I had been asked, aged 12, to perform the accursed carol in front of a packed hall of parents and teachers.The problem was that my voice had broken the previous week, which surely counts as a valid reason to pull out. Not so, apparently. My choir mistress, a vicious harridan with Caligula eyes, made me go through with it. The legend of the pimply adolescent who sang Silent Night, involuntarily across three octaves, is still alive in Northumberland鈥檚 educational circles.

Awaking from my reverie I discovered that the choir was already half way through their third and final number, Carol of the Bells, a new one on me. It was lovely; really rather lovely.

Going public

The choir鈥檚 repertoire completed, we headed downstairs to New London Architecture鈥檚 exhibition and cafe space, the venue for SCPTG鈥檚 big night, to try out the songs in situ. Gathered around the NLA鈥檚 slightly diminutive Christmas tree (鈥渢he tree鈥檚 our best singer!鈥�), the choir鈥檚 performance drew admiring glances - even a few muted claps - from visitors. While largely satisfied, however, Hannah had some interesting advice for her charges. 鈥淚f you could practise sounding posh at home that would be great,鈥� she said. Received pronunciation, apparently, is the accent of Christmas.

A couple of run throughs completed, we headed back up to the boardroom. Hannah then decided that an audience was required and quickly shepherded in the few UKGBC staffers who for some unknown reason had declined to take part in the choir. The six scrooges lined up behind the boardroom table, resembling a younger, more benign version of the X-Factor judging panel, and the choristers began again in earnest with a rendition of, yes, Deck the 鈥渄istinctly unsustainable鈥� Halls.

鈥橮erhaps there needs to be more smiling? I think such a sinister song needs to be counter-balanced with more smiling鈥�

鈥淭hat was very good,鈥� commented the UKGBC鈥檚 Rob Fordham, the panel鈥檚 self-appointed Simon Cowell. 鈥淏ut perhaps there could be more smiling? I think that such a sinister song needs to be counter-balanced with more smiling.鈥� The choir didn鈥檛 know what to say to this and instead launched into Silent Night. Twice.

鈥淚 thought that was actually quite moving,鈥� commented one judge. I did too, but for rather more personal, childhood trauma-related reasons.
鈥淚 preferred the first version,鈥� piped up Rob. 鈥淐an we hear the first version again?鈥�

鈥淲ho are you again?鈥� asked Paul.

Suitably chastised and perhaps with one eye on his future job prospects, Rob declared (after a notable lack of consultation) that the judging panel had decided to award the choir a score of 8/10.

And with that the choir packed up their vocal chords, dismantled the complex web of anti-surveillance equipment erected around the UKGBC鈥檚 boardroom and disappeared into the night, leaving separately so as not to attract too much attention.

I left soon afterwards with a feeling that all would be all right on the night. The choir was made up of people with genuine talent, something that would have been marred had I decided to join in after all. Only the categorical rejection of my Deck the Halls rewrite left a bitter taste, but even then, could I reasonably maintain that attempting to rhyme 鈥減hotovoltaics鈥� with 鈥淕reen Deal in need of a fix鈥� was something that deserved to be made public. Probably not. Oh, hang on a moment 鈥�

NO REINDEERS WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS MULTI-MEDIA DOCUMENTARY