FOR LADY READ MAN

About six weeks ago daughter number three phoned to ask what operas were being performed at the Arena in Verona during my visit. As she would have realised, I had pulled the programme off the web the day I had booked my flight. We were both amazed to read that there was to be a gala performance on the Friday night of my visit by Placido Domingo. Lucie went away declaring that she would get some tickets as it would mean 'posh frocks' would be the order of the day. I had tried to interject, to no avail, that the tickets had been on sale for quite some time and therefore, it was probably sold out. Imagine my surprise when she phoned back about a week later to say that she had obtained tickets, not the 'Gradinata Numerata' that we usually grace, but tickets, nonetheless.

Even if one is sitting on the stone steps, which we were, daughter number three's preferred dress code applied, posh frock, dangly earrings, lippy and the ultimate, diamante flip-flops. In the poshest seats, 'Poltronissime', the dress-code still applies, with the addition of a Gucci handbag, but for the men.In Lucie's case the flip-flops (green) matched her pashmina, so I can confidently report that standards were maintained. The time passed quickly as we watched the 'outfits' take their seats.Many we had already seen on our way to the amphitheatre, sitting noshing their panini and pizzas at tables at the restaurants around the main piazza.

Packing my bag to go, I put my binoculars in the rucksack. I thought that I would like to get a good look at the great man when he turned up on stage, which he did in all three extracts performed that night. First as Otello, throttling the life out of Desdemona, then as Cyrano de Bergerac, we think, dying at the feet of Roxanne, but, as no synopses were in evidence, we were left to make up our own minds as to the end. Finally he arrived as Don Jose, stabbing to death a recalcitrant Carmen, who had, thoughtfully, worn a red dress for the occasion. Each extract was 'atto quarto' so we were guaranteed that some character would fall, or get pushed, off their perch by the time the conductor walked off for his interval 'g and t'. It was interesting in the Bizet that whilst the chorus sang in Italian, the great man stuck to French.

My binoculars proved a godsend when, five minutes before the start, the gong arrived. I was surprised when a man walked on bearing the legendary instrument.Before the binoculars came out, I thought that a penguin had arrived carrying a large saucepan lid nicked from his mum. It turned out to be a little bloke in white tie and tails, banging the gong once, twice, then three times during three visits before each piece. He then bowed solemnly to the audience before proceeding , in a stately manner, to the side.His restraint was fabulous, not the slightest attempt to 'build up' his part and not even a flicker of recognition to his friends and relations in the audience.

High melodrama, cracking tunes, tiaras and designer shoes all with the atmosphere of a football match. WOW!