The Horse-Drawn Havoc: A Concert That Went Off the Rails

When the annals of tremendous tribute concerts are opened, there exists one such production that stands out from the rest. This, dear reader, is the legendary tale of an event more unexpected than a platypus playing the bagpipes, and more peculiar than a briefcase full of spaghetti – a rock concert riddled with horsepower and paranormal hilarity, a concert that quite literally went off the rails.

Amongst the rock n' roll greats present at this spectacular gathering, stood illustrious names such as The Rolling Stones, strutting their swagger like peacocks and belting tunes as woody and earthy as a seasoned carpenter's toolbelt.

As the concert was ebbing towards its grand finale, a small team of noble steeds sauntered through the crowds, drawing a carriage. Strangely enough, this carriage was decorated not with garlands or twinkling lights, but with hefty coffins and a duo of policemen's helmets - or as we Brits lovingly call them - "Bobby’s helmets."

Onlookers watched in bewildered amusement as horse speed transitioned from sedate walk to an energetic trot. The bobby's helmets jostled cheerily atop the carriage, a sight which prompted me to wryly comment to a nearby beer-enthusiast, "They are going to lose something if they maintain this pace." Would you hazard a guess, dear reader, as to what happened next? Yes, they did indeed lose something. However, no one seemed bothered – in fact, it merely contributed to the head-scratching antics of the evening.

The horses, now revved up with the spirit of true rock n' roll, launched into a rip-roaring gallop magically pulling the carriage behind. As a frat boy outdoes his peers in a casual feat of strength, these horses did so in their display of might.

My viewpoint of this was no mundane view from the sidelines. No, I was underneath the spectacle. Not buried in dirt underneath, mind you, but beneath a roadway replaced by glass. Various windswept debris framed this ludicrous sight, and the glass platform was damp – perhaps because the skies, flabbergasted by the spectacle, had in turn decided to shed a few tears of bemusement.

Eventually, the horses defied all mortal concepts of vision by galloping off into the vanishing point of my sight, their image twisting and distorting in a visual spectacle that would put Salvador Dali's finest works to shame.

Then entered the second act of this magical bedtime story – a picturesque park, a comically dysfunctional decorative fountain, and a medieval-clad chap conducting some manner of street theatre. This theatre artist, reminiscent of an out-of-work Robin Hood, proceeded to shove a handmade mug my way. Quizzically, I took a swig.

If you ask for the taste, it was, let's say, unique, akin to a green tea-ginger-monstrosity hybrid that had been chewed upon by a particularly stubborn mule. An almost cold, rough texture slid down the throat, with the joy that a porcupine accosts a balloon – not entirely unlike tea, yet quite unsuitable for human consumption.

So ended the night of not-so-averagely extraordinary proportions, one that will echo through the years, a tribute to rock, horses, and a drink that would make a tea enthusiast's eyebrows take an expressive trip northward. Readers, remember, this may sound like an account as absurd as a shark rollerblading on a highway, but in the universe of rock n' roll, I daresay, anything can happen, and it usually does.