Act 1
After a five year gap our protagonists meet in the offices of a discreet hedge fund just off Berkeley Sq. We catch at taxi to the basement bar Cafe des Amis just behind the Royal Opera House enjoying a couple of Kir Royales. A woman screams as a mouse runs under her feet. Our heroes exit stage let.
Act 2
In the foyer of The Royal Opera House. What looks to be Australian Strewth columnist DD McNicoll disappointingly turns out to be Prince Michael of Kent. A minor royal looks to be in tow.
Act 3
It’s row 3 in the stalls and I can almost touch the back of the conductor’s head. Don Giovanni is onstage and we are entranced by his amorality.
Act 4
Interval. I can’t believe the bluff Yorkshire man has ordered New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc instead of champagne. This is the first time I’ve been in this part of the opera house since the refurbishment and wow! what a space, with an exclusive bar hanging above us and a chap eating with who looks to be Stephen Hawking in the the mezzanine restaurant.
Act 5
20ft flames shoot into the air burning by retinas as Don Giovanni is dragged into hell. The final Aria finished and the curtain rises to shown Don Giovanni in hell holding the torso of a naked woman with flowing black hair.
The performance is innovative and superb and I’m at first night to boot.
Act 6
Supper at The Wolseley on Picadilly (that of the AA Gill breakfast and book), a place to be seen at as much to eat. My friend Joia has this knack of getting into restaurants that are impossible to get into and gets us upgraded to a table bang in the centre. We eat steak, quenelles, Weiner Holstein and grilled bream.
Graham Norton is on a table for two near us with somebody who looks important and has black round owlish glasses. Norton tablehops around the impressive room which is a cut above of the B-grade Sydney versions.
People come in all sorts of strange shapes and sizes and wearing all manner of strange fashions from council house slob upwards to theatrical chic ( I do wonder if one potential actress has forgotten to change)
It emerges quite possibly that the staff are also recruited by Norton. At one point a side dish dashed towards us. “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” our waiter exclaimed before dropping it on the table, campily flapping his fingers to cool them.
Act7
Saturday morning, page 3 of The Sun. “The fit lady sings”. Emma Reed, 26, is the page three girl who was dragged to hell with Don Giovanni. “The girl from opera takes off topera”. The opera is now democratic and thanks to a special offer 2,000 Sun readers attend. A bevy of page three girls, with our Emma, have their pics taken in the Royal Box with no sign of Prince Michael of Kent.