Cockroaches Have Eaten It

The second Lunch Hour Concert of the year. Pliny's mum was late. She'd had to catch a tram and arrived with just ten minutes to spare. So she had in her handbag a half eaten quiche that was exuding grease into an orange handkerchief. She was not very happy to see that the grease had smeared all over her glasses case as well. She placed the half quiche underneath her seat, wrapped in a paper tissue. Don't let me forget it, she warned Pliny.

The programme was Three Songs, Letters From Composers, and Three Seguidillas, sung by Emma Horwood, accompanied on the guitar by Aleksandr Tsiboulski. Emma is tiny and pretty with a high pure soprano voice. Aleksandr is tall and Ukranian and looks a bit like Tin Tin, if Tin Tin had brown hair.

Pliny liked the Letters from Composers best. Who would have thought to set such letters to music? Chopin describes his camp bed and desk to a friend. Bach complains to the Leipzig Town Council. Puccini longs for the country. I am panting for the free movement of my belly in wide trousers and no waistcoat, sings Emma, gently patting her tummy.

The Seguidillas were extraordinary. The second one went like this:

Girl, what of your virginity, what's happened to it?
The cockroaches, mother, have eaten it.
You're lying, girl, because cockroaches don't have teeth.

Emma sang it in Spanish, in which no doubt it was equally insane.

Nobody laughed though. It was high art after all. When it ended, Pliny and her mum picked up the half eaten quiche and walked out of the auditorium, down the foyer stairs, and waited politely near the front door while a lady who had slipped and sat down on her bottom was picked up by her friends.