I have just come back from spending the evening in the company of the future King Charles III and Queen Camilla.
And you know what, I am now a firmer Republican than I have ever been before.
Actually nothing to do with them personally, I barely noticed them. And I don't actually have a problem with the fact that there were about forty uniformed and I suspect a few plain-clothed police officers on duty in the tiny Queen Elizabeth Hall. Nor the fact that metal detectors had been installed and one had to go through a process very similar to airport security. I went through it three times - outdoors smoking, you see. (Now, if Camilla hadn't given up, she could have joined me and a tiny elite bunch for a quick puff behind the bike sheds).
What actually really really bugged me was the attitude of a significant part of the audience. Even when I arrived, direct from work, I thought 'oh my god, people are Dressing Up for the tatty but rather loveable QEH'. I was only wearing a suit because I had had a meeting this morning. There were grown adults getting excited, buzzing like, oh I don't know, a bunch of teenagers at a McFly concert. I overheard snippets of conversation that led me to think that people had come for C&C rather than the music. Which kind of annoyed me, because I had booked so long ago that my ticket is advertising Patti Smith's Meltdown, a high Summer event!
We were first instructed to take our seats fifteen minutes before the concert began, when it's usually ten. Then we were sat - in my case - like lemons waiting for the Royal Party to arrive, well past half seven. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the people behind me as their excitement grew, palpably. They had bought a programme, because it was a special occasion. Special occasion, I kept hearing over and again.
There was near hysteria which I assumed signalled the arrival of the happy couple. I didn't actually really see them, because I was engrossed in reading my programme notes. Then to my horror, the man behind is instructing his companions to stand up, and, blow me, four fifths of the hall stands up. Not me, obviously, nor, as it happens, the couple to my right. And then people clapped. The vomiting sounds coming from Row MM were me.
When the Leader of the Orchestra arrived on the platform I applauded her enthusiastically, just in case anyone was watching me. When the conductor arrived I was half tempted to start a one-woman standing and screaming ovation. Just to make a point, you understand. I'm not in the habit of cheering the arrival of conductors, unless it's following the second of two boozy intervals, when loads of people do. But, I ask myself, why do these morons show this simpering toadying deference to a parasite and his mistress wife who have done absolutely nothing to earn the place where they are?
Then the whole charade repeated itself at the start of the second half; the man behind said "Oh do we have to stand up again?". I really felt like turning round and saying "Look mate, you don't have to do anything. If you wish to, do, that's your choice. I will mock in you my blog, but it's your choice." And four fifths of the hall stood. But not me, nor the couple to my right. I remarked to the woman next to me - "I think we're surrounded by sheep" "Oh, it's pathetic!" she said vehemently. "Still, it's all quite exciting for the staff..."
And the music - the Philharmonia under David Parry. A disappointing Elgar Introduction and Allegro for Strings. Started well, I almost exhaled with ecstasy at that wonderful chord just near the beginning. But it's a piece that, in my opinion, needs a disciplined structure, else it disintegrates into a soggy mess. Which it didn't, so it did.
Then there was some eminently forgettable piece by Richard Rodney Bennett, commissioned by the Peter Moores Foundation on behalf of Parasite Charles as a tribute to the late great Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother gawd bless her. A fitting tribute I felt - superficial, saccharine twaddle. And soporific. I am not sure whether or not I am grateful to my seatmate for keeping me awake by clicking her spectacles.
After the interval was a rather disappointing Vaughan Williams Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis. I don't know, maybe it's the hall, but my attention just wandered.
However, the evening was salvaged by a splendid Britten Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra. The more I hear Britten, the more I think "Genius". I so love that piece, and as I am yet a young person, I think it only right that I should love it. He wrote so splendidly for percussion. I counted six players plus timpani. Scored for: bass drum, cymbals, tambourine, triangle, side drum, chinese block, xylophone, castanets, gong and whip. A fabulous end and a wall of sound that made the rest of the dreary evening worthwhile. Not that it wasn't without the odd hiccup, but it's such a lively, almost raucous piece, hiccups can be overlooked. The brass and percussion were fantastic.
As the Great and Serene and Noble Highnesses took their gracious departure, some voice from behind expressed a mixture of disgust and disappointment that the National Anthem wasn't played. Jolly good thing, too. That bloodcurdling scream would have been from that woman sitting resolutely in her seat in Row MM.
And on the way home, I reflected that I had not actually seen Chas and Cam. And no, I didn't take any pictures. What a bad blogger I am zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Although I did reflect. It must be fairly ghastly to know that everywhere you go all these dreadful people gawp at you like you're some sort of circus freak. I do believe that Charlie is quite a music lover, and I don't suppose he can just slip anonymously into a concert hall to listen to the music for its own sake. Still, I don't suppose they hate it that much, otherwise an exit strategy would have been devised years ago. And it sure as hell beats working for a living.
