He strode onto the stage straight from the pages of a Jilly Cooper novel. Drainpipe trousers with a sweeping fin-tailed jacket topped with a luxurious mop of wavy black hair.
The orchestra were covering versions of pop songs from the likes of Micheal Jackson and Madonna. And whoever chose the playlist must really have been a fan of the King of Pop, as three out of fifteen songs were his.
The conductor’s pedestal was about 3’x3′, and looked even smaller from seats high up in the auditorium. He made use of every inch of it.
At times he lunged forward so far I feared he would slash the face of one of the front row violinists. At others, he ranged so far back an embarrassing backwards tumble and possibly a broken ankle seemed inevitable.
Yet neither happened.