The Show Must Go On

"I love that. I want it at my funeral," is something I've heard a lot recently.

After a Carol concert, that was in a church in aid of a hospice and felt more like a remembrance service, the poems and song choices of people's own funerals were the main topic of conversation. The problem is that even if you plan it you won't be there to see it. Still, it seems to be human nature to think about these things as you get older. It's like planning your imaginary wedding and practising different surname signatures in the back of your RE book when you are in the fifth form (year 11).

I sometimes wonder if I should have the Queen song, 'the show must go on' at my funeral.

The psychology of this phenomenon is interesting. Why to people continue with things in front of an audience that they would stop doing if they were on their own? Is it a survival instinct? Never show a crowd your weakness or they might turn and eat you. Some people are more prone to trouping on regardless.

Musician forums are full of anecdotes about violinists who kept playing after a string snapped and nearly took their eye out or choral singers who kept going even though their hair had just caught light on a candle, or a drummer who thought he'd killed a nun in the front row when his stick flew out of his hand and knocked her off her chair (if you ever wonder why drummers are in Perspex boxes then this is the reason). My funniest moment was probably in a band for a show. The band were on stage, pushed right to the back, on the less sturdy part where the floorboards didn't quite meet. Just before the curtain opened I moved my chair into a slightly better position only to get a slow sinking feeling as one leg of the chair disappeared down the gap. The other band members grabbed various limbs that were sticking in the air and got me back in an upright position while the curtains were opening and we all played from the very first note.

The offending hole

I've never missed a concert due to ill health. My body always seems to know that it has to wait, or if it refuses to wait then I ignore it. One December (it's always December) I had a chest infection and had fallen asleep on the sofa, biting my bottom lip during the afternoon. That evening I did the concert with a temperature and an ulcerated bottom lip (torture for a flautist).

When you put on a show with children the risk of some being ill on the day is huge. Children have more bugs that their immune systems need to catch and so you can never guarantee that your whole cast or choir will be there on the day. Worst still, you can never guarantee they will make it through the whole performance. Once I took a choir to an old peoples home and a girl in the front row went a funny colour. A conductor's job is to keep the choir going and so I held out my hands, she vomited into them and left. My face continued to make the 'keep singing' gestures and the old folk thought it was all part of the show.

In this season of Christmas concerts, nativities and vomiting viruses we all need a little bit of Queen in our lives.

Empty spaces what are we living for.

Abandoned places I guess we know the score.

The show must go on.

Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats for today's performance of Strictly Camel Vomiting.