Okay, so Jo applies for the University of London's opera course. Her voice lessons have been going really well, and it's time to take it to the next level. So they send her a letter saying "hey, come for the audition". Which is cool and all, but then we realise that the audition is THE NEXT DAY. She has less than 24 hours to decide what songs to sing, prepare them, and practice. Holy fucking shit, right? And I'm no fucking help - I can *spell* "opera", and that's about the limit of my knowledge of it, apart from saying stuff like "yeah, I like that song where she's going 'ah-oh-ah-ah ah ah ah-oh ah ah ohhh ahhh', it's cool". I like the stuff she plays and sings, but that's the extent of my input, a basic "like" or "dislike", she'd be better off getting a monkey that claps when it hears something interesting, at least she'd be able to glean something from its oh-so-frighteningly-human face. So she goes to bed panicking, sleeps in late, gets up, has some brekkie, watches a bit of telly, then gets her shit together, prepares the songs, practices, and goes to the audition.
And fucking nails it.
Without even looking at the music (because she didn't have time to make copies, and had to give her music to the pianist). From fucking memory, dude.
They really liked her voice, and offered her a place on the course straight away. I'm so proud, I really am. Jo, you fucking rock. Or whatever the operatic equivalent is. You fucking OPERA, man. You opera the house down.