Boxed sets

The need for boxed sets seems to be drifting from the television into the concert hall where cycles of concerts which might make up a boxed set - say the complete Beethoven string quartets - are getting performed very quickly, perhaps on consecutive or alternate days, rather than doing a concert a week or a concert a month. With the result that we only make it to first of the concerts of the cycle advertised left.

But off to a good start, getting on the train at Epsom to take two of the seats for which cycles have priority, to be gently moved on by a prettily apologetic young lady and then being given a group four seats by a group of four young ladies who were getting off at Ewell West, this despite their carrying rather a lot of shopping bagged luggage. But this impression of youthful good manners was rather dissipated by a young cyclist, all togged up, who plonked himself down in front of us and proceeded to stuff his face two handed, the right hand stuffing in a rather messy sandwich and the left stuffing in the Walkers. He compounded his sin by thinking to leave his rubbish behind when he got off at Clapham Junction, but at least he had to grace to look a bit sheepish and pick it up when invited so to do.

Good mood returned when we found a steady Victoria Line service at Vauxhall: clearly not all the tube train drivers share the grab what you can get mentality of their late leader (which one could get crosser about if they had not been set such a bad example by so many bankers, chief executives and other white collar types who ought to know better). Off at Green Park to stroll up to Wigmore Hall, taking in an apéritif - in the form of a light white, a Tuffolo Cortese Piemonte from 2012 - at the 'Running Horse' in Davies Street where we puzzled about the reason for four middle aged gents being done up so early in penguin suits. Were they valets from the nearby Clariges? Or croupiers from some nearby casino? Their accents, without being posh, suggested something grander but they were not the sort of people whom one would ask.

And so to the Wigmore Hall for a nearly full house, with most of the vacancies being excused by people being put off at the last minute by the tube strike. Excellent performance, only slightly marred by the first occurrence at this venue of telephone interruptions in the first half: I counted three, with one of them being near at hand and noisy. Then there was a troublesome sweet wrapper and a programme page turner in the second half. Even at the Wigmore. But the performance of the very Russian looking young players was really very good and it was enthusiastically received.

Not sure about the next quartets in the series which we are not going to, for which Shostakovich is said to have really come off the leash of Stalin's day. In arty matters I am all for leashes: I think arty types need a straight jacket supplied by custom or by their managers or patrons to keep them on the straight and narrow; I am not keen on the florid and incomprehensible self-expressionism which is apt to result from its absence. But maybe I shall fall for a boxed set from Amazon and find out.

Lucky with tubes and trains home, making it with the help of a terminal taxi by around 2230. A reasonably clear night when we got home, with plenty of stars and other astral objects visible, something we have had quite a lot of this spring for some reason. All in all, a good evening out.