Bumping Uglies

Chapter Ten

To say that I was uncomfortable would be an understatement of similar magnitude to the suggestion that teenage boys enjoy explaining to their mothers the presence of the pale-crusted socks and the lingerie catalogue stashed beneath their bed.

I had arrived at the Civic Hall a little after eight, having nipped to the pub first for a couple of pre-match sharpeners, just to wash Tweak off my consciousness, you understand. Consequently, when the lady at the box office had handed over the ticket and programme in a buff envelope with my name written on the outside, she had also urged me to take my seat quickly as the performance was about to begin.

My seat turned out to be one of the best in the house; right in the middle and about nine rows back, giving me a great view of the whole stage. Sadly, it was also conspicuous in that it was the only empty one in the whole place by the time I arrived. As I made my way down the row, whispering excuse me and sorry to the assorted fogey occupants who reluctantly creaked upright to allow me to pass, I heard plenty of muttering and complaining about both my tardiness and my slovenly appearance.

While the standard attire was a business suit and not a dinner jacket, my hastily-bought shirt was a little racy for this crowd and fresh-from-the-packet itchy. It felt as if it were sixty per cent cotton, forty per cent sandpaper.

As I sat, I realised that I had just lowered the average age of the audience by the best part of twenty years and that many of the several hundred people there were now obviously regarding me with some interest. I made a great show of pretending to read the glossy programme that had been in with the ticket.

Apparently, the music was going to be Elgar's Cello Concerto in E Minor. That's nice, I thought.

Further deliberations were cut short by the lights in the hall dimming and low lighting being cast upon the stage which featured a glass and metal lectern and two rows of chairs, all of which had music stands and some of which had instruments propped adjacent to them. There was a single chair set out alone in front of the two rows and slightly off to one side of the lectern, almost as if some classical music roadie, who I imagined in britches, codpiece and powdered wig, had set it down there by accident and forgotten to align it with the others.

After a few seconds, a man so tiny and obviously ancient that he could have been God's kindergarten teacher emerged onto the stage and made his way towards the lectern. This guy was wearing in a tuxedo. Perhaps he hadn't got the dress code memo.

A smattering of polite applause broke out across the hall. Not wanting to look completely out of place, I joined in. The man reached the lectern and turned to give the audience a nodded bow. He looked so decrepit that I reckoned he could probably have attended the premier when this concerto was first played, or taught Elgar how to write sheet music, and his wispy hair gave the impression of being comprised in large part of cobwebs.

After a moment the musicians began to enter the stage in two lines from both left and right wings. They too were dressed in evening wear, the guys in tuxes and the women in flowing black evening gowns with sheer lines and no decorative embellishment. As they took their seats, the volume of applause from the audience rose a notch or two.

I strained in my seat to see Sophie but couldn't make her out anywhere. All of the musicians seemed to have taken their positions and were fussing with their instruments and music stands and she was not on the stage.

Perhaps she had taken ill at the last minute. Perhaps this was a ruse to get me out of my comfort zone.

I glanced down the row; the crusties were firmly ensconced and had only just finished chuntering about my arrival. There was no way I could sneak out of here without causing a major disturbance, and likely at least one significant apoplectic coronary incident. I was stuck there for the duration and, with dismay, I realised that I had no idea how long this recital was actually going to be.