Sue Bust

It’s 4 p.m., cold and dank. In a ruined country chapel, a concerned citizen is conducting an orchestra with lethargy.

A concerned citizen conducting the orchestra with lethargy. Craig concerned about making this earth a better place, concerned about making others succeed, concerned and conducting choirs and orchestras. Oh, this orchestra requires a kick in the rear. Oh, the efforts he has forged to get the crumbling country chapel repaired.

Craig is tired of trying, tired of incompetence, tired of trying to teach these incompetents – it’s impossible in this disintegrating country chapel. It could be so distinguished if only someone would listen to him and do something. He feels so lethargic, so loath to put any more effort into this crumbling orchestra and this crumbling building. He conducts in the cold and dank, dying to drive home to his drink and dinner.

Craig the concerned citizen thinks thoughts of bygone days, when he conducted in cathedrals, orchestras containing competents, some of the finest in the country. Cathedrals and theatres, theatrical recitals and reverent reveries. How did he end up here in this crumbling chapel with this incompetent orchestra? The finery, the fame, the recognition he received. The finest in the nation; he himself one of the finest and here he is now. Her majesty herself saw him perform. Here he is now; how, he wonders, wandering reflection.

Concerned citizen Craig conducting in a crumbling country chapel to nincompoops. Look at them, lot of losers, misfits and mongrels. Are they thankful for the favour he bestows as benefactor? For whom is he doing a favour? Time to terminate this arrangement and manage his life differently, favouring himself. Droning, drowning, draining derelict of drinks and dinner.

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