Theatre

Tonight we went to see Carmina Burana at the Theatre Royal. The only other opera I've ever seen was in Brno last Easter. Wearing cords and a short sleeved shirt, I was embarrassed to find 95% of the audience done up in dinner jackets, fur lined collars, polished black shoes and bow ties. By contrast, tonight I was surrounded by men in Adidas trainers and blue jeans, accompanied by women who looked as if they'd dressed up to go to the pub. A lone drunk off to the right with a face as red as his t-shirt and an untied football scarf hung loosely round his shoulders clapped loudly at every pause in the performance. At the end, he swayed over the edge of the balcony, whooping and whistling in between random shouts directed at the performers. Irrefutable proof that Britain is a classless society - in all senses of the word. And all the better for it.