British, and more particularly English, musical history is replete with traditional observances. One thinks of the candlelit va et vient of the Sally Gardens, of Malcolm Sargent's adoring promenaders, of Glynebourne's picknicking middle classes, of Elgar and the three choirs festival, of Britten and the Snape Maltings. But no musical hero has so marked our British inheritance than did Herr Händel.

His Messiah is a towering work of genius and the fact that it first saw the light of day in Dublin only endears it more to the British audiences who have made it their own over the ensuing 268 years.

I thoroughly enjoyed the performance that I attended this afternoon and was only momentarily thrown when at one point a man in the front row of the stalls rose to his feet before the notes of the section just finished had died away. Could you not have waited a moment, I thought, before dashing out for a pee? But he stood ramrod still and to my astonishment the entire audience followed his example. I rose with them not wishing to be remarked upon as a heretic. The singers then burst forth into the Hallelujah chorus and as it ended and we sat back into our seats my neighbour pondered whether George the third had needed to stretch his legs and that was why he had stood up at this point.

That alerted me to the fact that we were here observing a tradition. Now I am informed by Google that it was in fact George the second who stood up, and I have no reason to doubt that it was. Especially since I know that the mad one was George III.

What Google is less positive about is why he stood up at this point. Far be it from me to adduce a reason. Let me only entreat that should you attend a performance of Handel's Messiah you rise reverentially and with a straight face at the self same point to honour and maintain an important British musical tradition.