Feedback, with its power to nourish or to test, is a wonderful thing. Sometimes, it just takes you by joyful surprise.

Yesterday, at my regular rehearsal with the London Symphony Chorus, I was blessed with a double whammy of the nourishing variety. Midway through our first rehearsal of Berlioz’ Te Deum, Lorne leant over from the tenors to tell me how fabulous my singing was. Did I lap that feedback up? You bet I did! (And was I aware that, for some reason, I was singing from the very depths of my heart and soul? Yes, that, too).

I was also delighted when Elizabeth, talking to me about wrinkles and face-creams, guessed my age at anywhere between 35 and 41. Let me tell you I love my wrinkles! I wouldn’t lose a single one of them! And still, as I approach my 46th birthday, I’m quite content to know that I look (to some eyes, at least) a little younger than I am.

This is not the first time of late that I have enjoyed a comment about my age. Only a week ago a colleague of my niece asked me if we are sisters. I told him no and thanked him for his comment. This took him aback I think – it was not intended as a compliment, he said. He was quite sincere. I only regret I didn’t think to say that yes, it was precisely because I knew his question was sincere that I enjoyed it so much.