Tuesday 30th August 2022

Growing up, Last Night of the Proms came round the same week at my parent's wedding anniversary, so sitting down to watch it with them seemed a celebration in itself.

But it also begs the question, if there is a last night then there must be other nights before it. And every year too.

And of course, the Proms is an annual event, even if for me it is part of that mysterious world of classical music.

Or was.

A few years back, the creator of Family Guy, Seth MacFarlane, did an evening of Hollywood show tunes after spending years recreating the scores after they were thrown away.

And in most years now, there is something on that is not classical.

Two years ago, one of our favourite bands, Public Service Broadcasting, were approached to create a piece to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the BBC which was to fall in 2022.

And Tuesday night was to be the only performance of the piece "The New Noise" at the Royal Albert Hall, and we had tickets.

It did mean, for Jools finishing work early, I did my usual seven and a half with no lunch, finishing at three, so we were able to leap into the car, once she had changed, to nip to Dover Priory to catch the train to that London.

We made it.

The train came in, we got on and waited for it to go back through Harbour Tunnel.

Despite it being still the summer holidays, the train was lightly loaded, with plenty of room, although Folkestone was busier than Dover.

Once we arrived in London, we dived down to the undercroft to grab a table at Yo Sushi, where, being hungry we ordered lots of food.

Popcorn shrimp, Korean chicken, a selection of salmon and tuna sushi.

We were still a bit hungry, so we ordered a curry: katsu chicken for Jools and teriyaki beef for me.

Standard or large? We were asked.

Jools said large, so then did I.

Large came with a lot of beef. And rice. And sliced chillies.

It was darn good, but too much.

We walked through the station and down into the Underground station under Euston Road, down to the Piccadilly line for the twenty minute run to Knightbridge.

The train was rammed, and had no air con.

Sweaty.

From the station, out in the cooler evening air, it was a twenty minute yomp up to the Royal Albert Hall, where our friends, Justin and Vicky were waiting, as we had a couple of spare tickets. And thanks to messages exchanged we knew exactly where they were.

We met with handshakes and hugs, and after some good chat went round to the door to enter, where drinks were bought before we sought out or seats.

The RAH is an amazing place, holding thousands and yet with great acoustics. We settled into our seats in the stalls and waited. We had half an hour.

The orchestra took their places, warmed up, then the four members of the band came on stage.

All was quiet until the conductor was given the signal that we were now live on Radio 3.

And then.

Then.

70 minutes of music, excerpts of sound and a visual accompaniment, as the band went through a history of the Beeb, Lord Reith and all.

The final piece was based around what it would be like if the BBC did not exist any more, and there are those in power who want to see it end.

Cultural vandals the lot of 'em.

The concert ended, the lights came on and we filed out.

We said our goodbyes to Justin and Vicky, and we walked down towards Knightsbridge. But Jools; heel was playing up, so we flagged a cab down, and he took us across town to Euston Road to St Pancras.

We went down Park Lane for sure, passing weary looking American tourists struggling along, passing then through huge mansions with guards before picking up Euston Road and heading past the station, the British Museum to St Pancras.

We had missed a direct train by mere seconds, so would have an hour to wait for the next one, but in 25 minutes there was a Margate train that stopped at Ashford, and we could catch a stopper to Dover, getting back ten whole minutes earlier than had we waited for the direct train.

So, we went to the 'Spoons in the station, I checked the footy, and found City had scored a 95h minute winner at Brum to go second.

The Leffe draft tasted even better.

We piled on the train and sank into a seat, and dozed as it filled up, pulling out at twelve minutes past ten.

God, we were so tired.

Ashford at ten to eleven is a grim place, even in summer, but eight minutes later our train came in, we climbed on with the drunks and dregs, and once underway, the darkness helped the windows reflect our bloodshot eyes back at us.

We arrived back in Dubris at half eleven, the car was a short walk away, and home a five minute drive.

There was a feline welcoming party, I fed them, before we both climbed the stairs and closed our eyes with a loud sigh

It was already Wednesday.