I spent this evening at the National Museum of Australia with the AP, attending a concert called Eternal Strings 2006. These annual concerts (this is the third) feature at least one instrument made by Arthur Edward Smith, a notable Australian violin maker of the 20th century. The Museum has a number of his instruments in their collection, and have made the admirable curatorial decision to let them be played occasionally, with great reverence.
Tonight's instrument was a viola very similar to the one pictured. The one I saw played was made in 1952; this is from 1999. It was a wonderful concert -- I'm not a regular concert goer, in any musical genre, but I do like to feel cultured every now and again. Sitting in the Museum's 'great hall' (or foyer, in everyday terms) was certainly a fine experience, although I find the architecture tends to interfere with both your concentration and the acoustics. Going with the AP meant I had a prime front row seat (more to do with the fact that she is very elderly and frail than from prestige), so I was lucky enough to be able to watch without craning my neck or looking at the large video screen above the stage. I like to watch the shadows of the performers more than the actual performers, so I was very happy.
Very happy indeed, except that someone sitting nearby FARTED.
I mean to say! Wafts of someone's rotten insides kept assaulting me from the left (which is why I know it wasn't the AP, bless her), about a third of the way through the second half of the programme. Totally unfair -- you can't move out of the way, you can't even cough politely. All I could do was breathe through my mouth for a while. I'm sure AP could smell it too, but she's too well bred to say a thing, even if I'd mentioned it later. No dears, I had to save this one for you. Ergh.
4 comments:
As a rather relaxed farter, I must say that passing in that sort of environment is really not on.
&D, this is like a recipe for a Patrick White novel: distinguished old lady & classical music & farting.
Sorry, Patrick White has been on my mind a bit lately.
Love Padge & Pooter in baskets! I got the playing-with-the-ball thing straight away, but it took me days to work out that that kitty will also meow, purr, get out of the basket and eat the food.
Feh! as my Jewish mother in law would say. (Yiddish word for expressing disgust)
Loved playing with Mr Pooter, must see what Mr Padge can do. Glad Pavlov's Cat gave some hints about what they can do.
I've been in the Opera House quite a few times and experienced the greatust of flatus... christ, it's so rude.
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