The hills are alive with the Sound of Music...

An evening of high culture here in Suffolk, as we've been to Snape for a singalong Sound of Music, accompanied by the charming and erudite Jonathan Fryer.

I know what you're thinking - it isn't obviously a place for a jobbing bureaucrat, but I do enjoy a good sing from time to time. Perhaps that explains why I tend to avoid Glee Club at Party Conferences...

However, having been persuaded, somewhat against my better judgement, that it would be fun, we set off for Snape, taking the opportunity to tell Jonathan a bit about the old demesne - he may have been to nearly two hundred countries, but not to Suffolk, it seems. We detoured to Aldeburgh which, despite the rain, put on a decent enough show. One must, I admit, ask how many wine merchants does a town that size need - three is possibly excessive - but it is wonderfully genteel.

But, time was passing and, if you're going to sing, you should do so well-fortified. The Plough and Sail at Snape Maltings is apparently under new management, and their food was marvellous. Duck liver parfait... mmmmm...

Sometimes, I'm told, Sound of Music singalongs are done with the film, and you join in. This evening, it was rather more of a performance. Accompanied by a three piece band, with Alex Woolf on piano (I know this because he subsequently contacted us via Twitter - @alexwoolf), who looked as though they were enjoying it without any loss of professionalism, we ran through the songs with proper musical direction, although not so much as to make it stilted and overly serious.

And with an audience who were clearly up for a fun night out, some dressed as nuns, others as brown paper packages tied up with string, as well as the odd Maria, singing was done. There was the occasional dress that looked like it was made out of curtains... or it could have been Laura Ashley - I often find it hard to tell the difference.

By the time we'd made it to the interval, we were tolerably good, but the second half was going to be the test. With a proper West End singer, and the Aldeburgh Choir, to do the hard bits, we'd have to be up to the mark. And we were or, at least from my untutored ear, we seemed to be.

Having approached the event with a degree of dread, I found myself enjoying the sheer silliness and enthusiasm of the thing. Surrounded by hordes of people out to enjoy themselves come what may, and steered gently by musicians who had a finely tuned sense of what worked, we gave it our best shot, and Rodgers and Hammerstein would have probably enjoyed the fact that we were doing so.

We started at the very beginning (a very fine place to start, it seems), we yodeled along with the lonely goatherd, and we climbed every mountain (without leaflets). And all too soon, it was time to escape over the mountains to Creeting St Peter, stopping only to generously and enthusiastically applaud the real performers. Luckily, the mountains of East Suffolk aren't too high...