Our loved ones are here at last. I for one couldn’t wait to rush my better half off to the sanctity of our hotel boudoir and once there spread open on the bed the programme for next season’s Glyndebourne Festival she’d kindly brought with her. You know what they say: if the headboards a rocking, don’t come a knocking, as we’ll be too busy choosing between Wagner’s Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg or Sir Andrew Davis conducting Dvořák’s Rusalka. Oh, the ecstasy of choice.
I think we might plump for Rusalka; the connection between the title character and the Prince is, I imagine, very similar to the relationship between Liz Hurley and Shane Warne. Except with Dvořák’s opening hymn of mournful longing replaced by a slightly tubby middle-aged man offering to share his KFC combo meal.
Blimey, that’s made me a bit misty eyed. I think I’m going to have to sign off and take one very lucky lady for a romantic stroll followed by a bargain bucket bonanza.
Here’s to the fried chicken sweats!