Sheep may safely graze?

[Baroque Mongoose]

I wonder if anyone else would like to share their weird concert-going experiences? I expect everyone's got one.

My most surreal concert moment happened in the summer of 2007. Before I start, I need to explain that I really can't do traditional formal dress. I am the sort of person who could rumple a suit of armour. Honestly. I'm also a rather odd shape (not in a bad way, but nonetheless off-the-peg formalwear doesn't tend to fit me). I therefore get round the problem of looking smart at concerts by going Eastern and wearing a sari, or, if I'm going to need to do a lot of walking, a salwar kameez.

Now I am an enormous fan of the tenor Charles Daniels, and he was singing in a performance of Alexander's Feast at the Stour Music Festival. For those of you who aren't familiar with the Stour Music Festival, what happened was that Alfred Deller once walked into Boughton Aluph Church, which is somewhere in the middle of rural Kent, and discovered it had a fantastic acoustic. So he decided to run an annual music festival there, and it's still going, now presided over by his son Mark.

The thing is, it really is in the middle of nowhere. I don't drive due to a physical problem with my wrists, and taking a taxi from Ashford and back (where I was staying) was likely to be somewhat expensive, since it was about five miles either way, as far as I could judge. So I had a look at the map and decided I'd walk it. This wasn't going to be possible in a sari, and therefore I bought a salwar kameez for the occasion. It really was a magnificent thing - pine green, with half the front covered in gold beads, sequins, little bells, you name it. I wouldn't have been entirely surprised if it had played a tune when I started walking.

Charles was out in Montreal for a few weeks immediately before this concert - he almost always sings in the Montreal Baroque Festival - and a couple of days beforehand he suddenly remembered that I might have difficulty finding the place on foot, so he very kindly sent me directions. Of a sort. What he actually said was "the church is not in the village". It was thoughtful of him to remember and say something, but it didn't really leave me any the wiser as to where this church actually was. So, when the day came, I set out from my hotel in Ashford, all decked out in this amazing garment, and by the time I got as far as the village I hadn't found the church. I asked a couple of people, but they weren't local and didn't know. There seemed to be only one major road, so I continued along it in the hope that it might be at least within sight of it.

Twenty minutes to half an hour later, I still hadn't spotted it and was getting worried. Finally I saw an isolated house ahead and knocked on the door to ask for directions. A kindly woman told me to turn down the lane that ran past the house, and I would see a gate, which I was to go through. I would then see the church, and all I had to do to get there was to walk across a field. This was no problem at all, since I had a sensible pair of shoes on. I thanked her warmly and set off down the lane.

What she had omitted to say was that the field was full of sheep. This wasn't a problem either, as such. I'm used to sheep. I was born and brought up in the Lake District. Unfortunately, the sheep were not used to me. They took one look at me, striding across their field looking like some kind of animated Christmas tree; then, as one animal, they panicked and fled into the furthest corner of the field. I've never seen anything like it.

The concert, naturally, was wonderful. But I fear it's those sheep that will forever live in my memory.

[Philidor]

Great story! Love the idea of you walking through rural Kent in a salwar kameez.

Strange things often happen to me at concerts, e.g.

I was sat in a Dorset village church a few years ago waiting for the music to begin. As usual I was the youngest person there by about 40 years, sitting among a sea of respectable middle-class grey heads. Nothing wrong with that - nice bunch of people.

A sprightly old boy came and sat in the pew next to me. He looked vaguely familiar. We got chatting and I realised who he was.

'You're Doctor *********!' I said.
'Yes I am,' he replied. 'Who are you?'

He turned out to have been my GP from age 0 to 14 and actually delivered me in the local cottage hospital.

I thanked him for the safe delivery. It's a special thing to have done for someone. How many people reading this have thanked the person who pulled them safely from their mother's entrails, bloody and screaming, into the world?

The old boy looked at me and said: 'D'you know, I practiced as a doctor for forty years and delivered hundreds of babies. You're the first one who's ever thanked me!'

NB I've told that story on this forum before. But the old ones are the best ones!

[Baroque Mongoose]

What a wonderful story. I haven't a clue who delivered me, I'm afraid... I was probably thinking about other things at the time, and Mum never mentioned it. She wasn't particularly happy with that maternity hospital. They kept waking her up to give her sleeping pills.

[Alex Daniels]

Originally Posted by Baroque Mongoose

Twenty minutes to half an hour later, I still hadn't spotted it and was getting worried. Finally I saw an isolated house ahead and knocked on the door to ask for directions.

And then:
[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Ff0cOPSpVA"]Rocky Horror Picture Show[/ame]

Just kidding

No funny anecdotes from me yet. I'll come back if I remember something