Sleep, why dost thou leave me . . . .

'Tis music soothes the savage breast, as they say.

Fio couldn't sleep lst night. Her mind kept going round and round on her troubles. Finally she got out of bed and went downstairs to watch TV, hoping the boob tube would lull her into slumberland.

The problem was finding something interesting while avoiding Nancy Grace's coverage of the Connecticut massacre. Finally Fio stumbled on something called The Choir. She'd noticed it other times she was surfing channels, but never stayed around to see what the show was about.

Miracle of miracles, it was actually about a choir, a British choir, to be exact. Or rather, two choirs, one of adults, one of children, untrained community members joining together under the direction of a professional musician to learn choral pieces for a choir competition. The singers were from a place called called South Oxhey, which apparently has a rough-and-tumble reputation.

The show was charming, and the singing was lovely. Fio was entranced and, after the program was over and the choir had won its standing ovation, she toddled back up to bed and fell asleep at last. Happy dreams.