My eldest was performing in Morpeth this evening. In the interest of family dynamics (prevention of open warfare !) It seemed a fairly reasonable idea that an evening with the English Philharmonic, may indeed, soothe the savage breast / beast (insert as appropriate)
Although I arrived with masses of time to spare; we entered the Hall, only to find it was jam-packed ... culture for the masses ...
Spying three empty seats right in the front row: with elbows akimbo, I shoved through the gathered thong, their plastic wine glasses wildly punctuating the orchestra's tuning, with the two youngest (He-Who-Believes-He-Should-Be-Obeyed having been abandoned in the lambing shed with a corned beef sandwich, chuntering, not so quietly, and certainly not under his breath, "Suppose ... Alright for some ...") and allowed myself a smug, self congratulatory, smirk. Too late did I realise that two feet away from the percussion section (Cymbals !) was not the ideal spot ! ...
"So, Mummy," asked the youngest, "Is this going to be Rock or Pop ? Aren't there an awful lot of elderlies here ? (PC in schools doesn't allow us to use the word 'Old' anymore) ... 'Will they be okay do you think ?"
It was a wonderful first half. We left soon after. Much as I generally enjoy Faure's Requiem, I really did feel that we'd had enough gnashing of teeth for one evening ...
