Tuesday 23rd July 2013

Oh Great Day of Days!

Last night Rufus Pitman took me to Das Rheingold, given by Barenboim at the Proms. Words fail utterly. Our seats were as good as on the stage. Fafner (or is it Fasholt?) was only three feet away WEARING THE ACTUAL RING.

The Ring itself was only three feet away.

As you know, The Ring is the great Poor Little Rich Gay work because it’s about the yearning for a really lovely home and the trouble arising therefrom. Wotan craves Valhalla and massively over-mortgages to acquire. Awful consequences.

Then in the middle of it all The Royal Baby was born. We could see Barenboim muttering to the performers. The music rolled on of course.  But, instead of the ascent to Valhalla at the end, they did a Progress of the Royal Baby. A stage baby (that’s a real baby from a stage family: Thora Hird was such a baby) was brought on and held aloft in triumph by Fricka.

You’ve never seen the like: completely national yet international at the same time. Not a dry eye. All united in glory, rich and poor, Greatnesses such as Rufus Pitman and even, for the occasion, may I say it, myself, Adrian Edge, all low feelings forgotten, subsumed in great democratic embrace with ordinary members of the public.

Where would we be without the Royal Albert Hall.

The Royal Baby is to be called Prince Lady to avoid sexism. If it had a boy’s name, girls would feel excluded. So this is the solution.

Back to Harry Rollo’s great after-party tomorrow and how poor Lord Arrowby, the weary God, just like Wotan, rested for a moment on my shoulder before resuming running the country.