THE queue snakes around the block by the time we arrive at the Grand Opera House. The Saturday afternoon promises to stretch even further.

It's all very well having children who do things, but the trouble is you have to go and watch them. Pride swells the heart and all, but we have been here before.

Having arrived too late, we are banished to the dizzy heights of the grand circle, where the seats have wooden stalls behind and there are bottles of oxygen just in case (only one of these is true, the other just feels as if it should be true).

Parents squeeze by and settle in. The man next to us takes out a book. We compliment him. Good idea, that. Until the lights go down and he can't see a word.

So here it is, another ever-lasting afternoon. It's two now. Someone mentioned a finish time of five. Our daughter said 5.30, but hopefully that will be one of her confusions. Wondering whatever happened to Saturday, once spent in country pubs or on long walks or maybe at an adult film, which isn't necessarily rude just grown-up, I settle in, speculating sullenly on whether I'll have grown a beard by the end.

And so begins another York Schools' Music Festival, in which the performers range from primary school dots to lanky teenagers.

It isn't possible to list them all, but I'd better mention Park Grove Primary's rendition of Whistle Down The Wind, followed by a lively song-and-dance Fame, or else a daughter of my acquaintance may give me one of her looks and say "Daaad!", elongating the word in that impatient way she has.

Anyway, from the mini orchestra of Lord Deramore's Primary to the African drumming of Scarcroft Primary, via the Caribbean steel band of Lowfield Secondary and the massed choir of Haxby Headlands Primary, the concert turns out to be inspiring, quite catching out the mildly cynical observer crouching high in the gods.

Second up is the choir from Manor Church of England Secondary, who have sung all over the country and abroad too. Most arrive on time, although two shuffle on late to a bit of good-natured teasing from their teacher, Clive Wass. The drummer, missing at first, turns up in a breathless rush. The choir should be dressed in black, but one boy stands out, all in white, having rushed from his Saturday job.

Many of the boys sport wild hair, as also worn the hairiest of our offspring, and the sight of these teenage lads and girls, all obviously desperate to strike out as originals yet coming together to sing beautifully, is uplifting.

And they really do sing wonderfully, performing four pieces, including a spot of Haydn and a spirited gospel number, written by their teacher.

After the choir comes the fiddle group from Manor, who play three lovely reels, including Mairi's Wedding.

Towards the end of the concert, when thoughts of home and a nice cup of tea/glass of wine/pint of beer (delete according to patience or preference) are rudely rising again, the children from Hemplands Primary, led by their teacher Mike Irons, perform songs from The Magic Flute. Yes, the one by Mozart. How inspirational to hear such young children sing opera. Have I been here too long to have had that thought, written that sentence?

No, it really was inspirational.

As too was the African drumming from Scarcroft Primary that brought the afternoon to a rousing end, filling the theatre with hypnotic layers of sound, like so many competing amplified heartbeats.

It's easy to feel negative about everything and anything. So how good it is to see the positive side sometimes; and to remember all over again what a great job the Arts Service does with young people in York.

So often the image we have of youth is wrapped up in crime, anti-social behaviour, intimidation and the gloomy like. Here, especially with the older children, the mad-haired teens, was a happy reminder that most young people have so much to give.

Having said which, and applauded with the best of them, may I go home for my cup of tea now?

Updated: 11:02 Thursday, April 01, 2004