Endurance test ... ever felt like this at
a concert? Photograph: Chris Gardner/AP
I'm happy to say I don't often get this feeling: of churning, nauseous, knuckle-chewing tedium, of longing for sweet death to carry you away right now, because anything would be better than the lingering end threatened by another two hours of this drivel on the platform before you. And you can't leave because you're stuck in the middle of the row, you can't bring yourself to disturb everyone else who is mysteriously adoring every minute, and you're trapped by a British politeness/self-hating masochism that means you are going to sit through it until the last note, just in case it gets better, and anyway you've paid good money for your tickets and you're damn well going to sit there until the bitter end.
This was me a few days ago at a recital by a very well-respected classical performer. Yes, it was probably me and my unrefined tastes but the mushy structureless interpretation was enough to send me crazy. But did I get up and go? No. More fool me, but a sort of paralysis overcame me, and I'm really not sure in any case that it's a decent thing to do, to just get up and leave.
Am I wrong? And, please, regale me with your worst-ever arty nightmares. I want to know. It might make me feel better, because I'm still getting over the pain of this damn concert.
