Last week I told you how much I was dreading having to sit through my first ever opera. Liz was mad keen to see Sweeney Todd – the Demon Barber of Fleet Street and had somehow convinced me to accompany her, despite me being convinced I’d find the baritone booming a/ boring and b/ hard on the ears and c/ too damn intellectual for my feeble little brain.
As a card-carrying philistine I was frantically trying to come up with an excuse to duck out my debut encounter with culture, but had been warned that it was more than my miserable life was worth to let down my beloved.
“You’re going to sit for three hours and watch people having their throats slashed,” she insisted. “And you’re going to sit still, pay attention, not moan or roll your eyes and not make silly jokes about fancying a pie during the intermission.”
And I was resigned to 180 minutes of tonsil torture, silly costumes, agonising arias and countless fat ladies bursting out of their corsets and into concert. I’d whittled the matchsticks I was going to wedge under my eyelids, and stapled my lips together to stop me yawning. But I needn’t have worried.
Because I surprised myself and actually enjoyed it? Because I found that I am a secret unknown opera fanatic and realised I couldn’t get enough of the musical mayhem and murder?
No, neither of those.
I needn’t have worried because magically, miraculously, I managed to dodge the whole warbling experience at the eleventh hour – blood, ballads, mutilated bodies and all.
With only twenty minutes to go before curtain up, when we should have been walking to the theatre, an urgent crisis blew up at Liz’s work and she had to drop everything to deal with it. It took an hour of phones calls and frantic emails and by the time she’d sorted out the demanding problem it was too late to make our appointment with the singing, soul-chilling, serial killer beard trimmer.
And best of all it wasn’t MY fault that we missed it!
It just goes to prove that, yes, there is a God and he looks after witless fools and wastrel blog writers. I obviously pretended to be upset at the big theatrical ‘disappointment’ but inside I was grinning. I suppose you could say I missed my dreaded Sweeney Todd fate by a whisker!