I was lost in France (Bonnie Tyler 1976)

St Léon
Yesterday's weather: Milder, sunny.

Friends of ours, who live some distance away, are members of a choir. Last night they were performing Mozart's Requiem in a church some 100 kilometres away to the south. We took another couple of friends with us, setting off early as, despite having a map of the town, it was unfamiliar to us.

Our chorister friends had said that the concert was due to start at 9pm, a normal time for evening entertainment in France, but that of course, this being France, it would start late.

We reached the town in good time but couldn't find the church in question. It is a fairly large town and we saw most of it. Twice. Before finally finding the church. Now to find a parking space. All the nearby (very narrow) streets were full of cars parked bumper to bumper on both sides of the road and we breathed in as we squeezed the car through. We could hardly believe our luck as we passed by the church once more and found a space right beside it. At 9.02pm.

We entered the church expecting, as it was an amateur choir and orchestra, to find plenty of space but it was standing room only. The concert was just about to start. A young lady played the Mozart flute concerto as we leaned against the back wall of the church and as it ended, a very nice young man offered me his chair, placing it beside me with a small bow of his head.

The choir took their places and the standing room opened out a little, our friends found two seats with, what would be called 'restricted view' in the West End or Broadway, but didn't offer a reduced price ticket for sitting behind a pillar. We spotted another empty chair behind the church door and took up the best seats in the house. Right at the end of the aisle with an uninterrupted view down to the altar. Until the man with the video camera got in the way, but we could still see better than most people.

The concert was very good. The soloists were an extremely good team and boasted a counter tenor of such a wonderful voice that the hairs stood up on the back of our necks.

Then she entered. The nutter.

I don't know how I attract them.

About 15 minutes from the end of the concert she wandered into the church, grabbed the only empty chair and plonked it down next to me.

'Excuse me' she whispered loudly, 'what time did the concert start?'

'Nine o'clock' I told her. She digested this information.

'Does that mean that it will be finished very soon?' I told her that I wasn't sure - well, they had sprung the flute concerto on us so we had no idea if there may have been another work to follow.

A few minutes later she shout/whispered again.

'What is the name of this chorale, Madame?'. I told her. She shouted 'Merci'. Got up and wandered off to inspect the church walls, which, although very nice were extremely bare but obviously held some fascination for her.

The concert ended to a huge round of applause, clapping and stamping as if it were the Royal Albert Hall and the orchestra had been the LSO. We were treated, oddly, to an encore of the 'Dies Ire' which was conducted by the chorus master before we were let out into the night.

So I'm writing this morning whilst listening to a recording of ... you guessed it. And apparently we have three copies which I'm eager to compare over this weekend.