Why This Is Hell

Maybe I just wasn't in the mood for a concert in the cathedral. I don't know Edward Elgar's Introduction and Allegro for Strings or Richard Strauss' Four Last Songs but I know - I thought I knew - Ralph Vaughan Williams's A Sea Symphony and I fancied hearing it live. I'm a sucker for choral symphonies and requiems (requia?).

I shuffled into the cathedral and there seemed to be lots of ushers, none of whom seemed to be ushing but rather telling you to buy a programme elsewhere. Only one of the three aisles was numbered, and the chair numbers rather randomly absent. Eventually I found my seat, and a rather bad-tempered retired philosopher found the one to my right. The two seats to my left were found, about ten minutes in, by two people who had sat to my right, then decided to point things out to each other in the programme.

On the one hand I wasn't behind a pillar as some of the seats are, but there was a seven foot tall person two rows forward. With a large perm. And a top hat. Well, maybe not a top hat. Even without her I would not have known there was an orchestra there as I couldn't see it, but the presence of the music and a man waving his arms would have tipped me off.

The audience made the classic mistake of applauding the first movement rather than just coughing, and the piece turns out to have more false endings than Return of ther King. Disappointing.

That rounds off my week of culture - save for a couple of films I saw anyway.

I've been meaning to go to something at the Festival here for the last four years, but never quite got round to it, or it was too expensive, or, whatever.

I've booked for a concert (Vaughan Williams Sea Symphony plus) in the cathedral and a youf folk singer in the theatre. Sadly Humph is sold out - not surprising given the small venue.

And whilst I was there, I decided to get a ticket for Hobson's Choice next week. Well, there wasn't any option really.

Must think about seeing Arthur Smith, too.