Last night, Mr Soup and I went to see (hear?) the symphony orchestra. It was the usual rush, feed and bath the children, organise snack for the babysitter, race out the door to get there before the ushers are ringing the bells and we have to disrupt the entire row U of the stalls, squeezing past knees and tripping over old ladies' handbags.
We subscribe to the MSO and thus have to select our six about a year before we actually go. So the conversation in the car usually runs along the lines of
What are we seeing (hearing?) tonight?
Lord knows. Something classical. The men will be in penguin suits and the women will be in black, and the German conductor has left and it's that new balding guy now.
Stop it NOW with the penguin references. You're addicted.
Oh nooo. That ain't my addiction.
The last few times we've been have been ... pleasant ... but really, after the interval we would be quietly hoping the second symphony would only have three movements, not five. Because you know, being in your own lounge room with a nice cup of tea takes some beating some nights.
But last night? Last night was great! (And that's a pun because one symphony was by Schubert and it was actually called Great.) And although it was five movements long, we were really into it, you know? Also at interval I had had a glass of red wine and so I listened to Great while holding Mr Soup's hand and every now and then whispering silly things into his ear. And I got the giggles when the old lady next to me started snoring.
Then they played the melancholy movement, which is always dangerous when you've had a glass of wine (I am such a cheap drunk). I got all maudlin and wished that instead of the snoring old lady beside me, that my friend was there and I was holding her hand too, and her husband was on the other side of her, holding her other hand, sort of like a long human chain of love and affection. And a tear ran down my cheek but Mr Soup didn't notice which was just as well because I didn't want to have to try to explain. What with the whispering and the wine breath, and all. And then the upbeat movement started and the wine kicked in again and I had such fun!
But what I really wanted to tell you about was the other piece, which was a Bach cantata and the Chorale was there and four (!) soloists. And the two women soloists, a soprano and a mezzo soprano, looked like jewels up there on the stage in their best Mariana Hardwicks. The dark haired one wore a strapless red gown that positively glowed, and the blonde one wore a strapless teal coloured one which matched exactly with my teal op-shop opera coat that I was wearing.
And that was when I realised why the intervals are only ever 15 minutes long. Because if they were long enough for a person to have two glasses of red wine, that person might be tempted to get up on stage with the soloist to see if their teals really matched. Or if it was just a trick of the light.
And really, that wouldn't do.
Because it's now the next night and I've had TWO glasses.
Here's a picture of the dog. He likes to hide, when sleeping.