The Great Jelly of London

Today

Absolutely exhausting few days, rehearsing for and singing in the Classical Spectacular concerts at the Albert Hall. I'm one of a loosely formed 100-strong choir named The English Concert Chorus and a few times a year we provide the choral element at these concerts.

I'm beginning to know a few folk and my way around and it's quite fun to sing away at the top of your voice in all these old pot-boilers. You know, Zadok the Priest, Aida choruses (choose between slaves or soldiers), bits of Carmina Burana. A great "Can Belto" occasion.

Of course, to make it spectacular, there has to be audience participation in such favourites as Jerusalem, Rule Britannia (the soloist usually saunters on draped in a Union flag) and Land of Hope and Glory.

There are canons for the 1812 overture, fireworks for no reason at all, a laser and light show. 100s of red, white and blue balloons cascade down at the end and everyone (including the choir) is issued with yet more Union flags to wave.

And the audience loves it.

In My Day

I spent the summers of my late teens at the Albert Hall (AKA the Great Jelly of London) at The Proms. I used to buy a book of tickets and then fund my travel by selling those I didn't want to use. I probably went to about 25 concerts during August-September. We queued outside door 2 and quite a lively social scene developed.

How we despised those who came along sedately and actually sat in seats. Door 2 opened a few minutes before door 15 (where the on-the-door tickets were sold) so that we regulars had a fair chance of being at the front. The doors would open and we'd all career down the stairs and along the corridors to bag a place "on the rail".

Of course we all did the last night. This was always crowded so you turned up the day before at about 1.00 pm with your sleeping bag and flask. Because you couldn't be expected to stay at your place in the queue all the time, there was a list system in force. You actually slept (or tried to) on the pavement and hoped that there'd be no rain, or if there was, that it wouldn't blow under the canopy.

And we all sang away lustily to LOH&G, Jerusalem, RB etc. We clapped madly to the Hornpipe and swayed rhythmically together in the slow bits (until officials who feared the power of 2000 youngsters all clapping and swaying in time would damage the fabric of the building stopped it...) and threw streamers over the orchestra.

It always signalled the end of a great summer of friendship and music and wasn't an object in itself.

No fireworks, though!