Dreamy

I turned down the chance to watch the final dress rehearsal of Britten's Midsummer Night's Dream because I was due to see it anyway and didn't think I could stand it twice. About seven years ago, maybe eight, we walked out of a different production at Snape after the first act because we thought it was so awful. The relief, to leave and not return! But this version is so original, and visually compelling as well as, obviously, vocally and musically of the highest quality, that I was converted, with the zeal of the convert. What rotten luck then that a sick punter left halfway through the last act and I had to follow him and miss the rest. But it's OK. I'm being found a seat in a packed house on Wednesday night and get the chance to watch it all again. I'm quite excited because now I know I'm going to see something that I will enjoy, so there's no sense of dread, no "How the hell am I going to endure three hours of this?". Everything was brilliant: the costumes, the sets including video projections onto a large screen, the amazing acrobatics of Oberon's sprite Puck, the cathedral choristers in short grey trousers and jackets, blond wigs, sunglasses and top hats playing the fairies and, admit it, the music.

The window cleaner came today to do the insides and outsides, and when he'd finished and I was paying him he leaned on his ladder, gazed across the garden and said, "You've performed a miracle here. It's absolutely lovely." I didn't demur, say something like "Well, I'm getting there. Another few years and ...". Instead I thanked him and agreed that it is an achievement and I'm very happy with it. Because I am. And here's why.

And who is this little person, singing his heart out