A real turn-off ... the cause of all the trouble. Photograph: Martin Argles/The Guardian
I would say it happened after the first few bars of Stravinsky's Firebird. And I would have more reason to know than most. Others have suggested today in print that it all took place earlier in the grand, reopening gala concert at the Royal Festival Hall on the South Bank last night.
At any rate, just as the great young Turk (not literally) of the conducting world, Vladimir Jurowski, moved his baton in the up stroke to stir up the swell at the beginning of this lovely piece - in front of the great, the good and the mildly successful of London - something awful occurred only a foot away from me in my box, positioned high, stage left of the players of the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Quite unmistakably, the jaunty peepity-peep of a mobile phone started to build in a slow crescendo. The muffled "Oh, my God!" from the small American gentleman - a latecomer - who had taken the seat next to me, combined with his sudden crazed snatching at the zips and buckles on his rucksack made it all too clear what was happening.
The faces in the stalls below and the boxes to either side began to turn towards us. And then the booing started. Hadn't Lord Hollick been specific enough? "Turn off your mobile phones!" he had said at the end of his polished welcome to the newly refurbished hall.
Who was this imbecile? "For God's sake, take the bag outside!" hissed the woman sitting near. The trilling notes of the phone grew louder, more impatient. I maintained an impassive expression and did not move a muscle. Any twitch, I felt might be interpreted by the rest of the audience as guilt. I didn't want anyone to think this was my phone, although it could easily have been. I didn't even want them to wonder if I knew the miscreant.
As I chanced a glance down into the auditorium I saw looks of hatred on the upturned faces below. Finally, thankfully, the phone stopped ringing. But it was too late. Jurowski had stopped the performance with a disdainful wave of his hand in our direction. It took me some time to even hear the music over the pounding of the blood in my temples when the concert finally started up again.
