This summer's drought has caused all kinds of problems. But, one unexpected benefit is that you can now wear stilettos to Glyndebourne. The ground is so baked, that when you go for your stroll around the gardens, you do not have the embarrassment of trying to walk on your toes so that your heels don't sink into the lawn. Everyone else except for me seemed to have worked that out yesterday. The fashion statement was 'the higher and finer the blade the better'. I tried not to let it ruin my evening that I had come out in wedges.

The opera took my mind off it. I had never heard of Prokofiev's Betrothal in a Monastry and one reason is that it is a freshly dug up masterpiece. Sumptuous, ravishing, Spanish and lavish are the words that come to mind. Sexual pairing and fish are the two themes. One line compares eating a lobster to getting a woman out of a corset. And the production gets quite kinky. In one scene, a woman goes to bed with a man dressed as a sardine and then - after much sheet shaking - three mini sardine children pop out the end. In another, the stage floor opens to reveal thirty drunken monks in a tomb dancing with skulls and prostitutes - I am not making it up. At times it reminded me more of a carry-on film than an opera. The music was great too. I wouldn't buy the CD or anything, but it was mighty and powerful and loads of fun. I will have to go again just so I can get my footwear right. JW


Glyndebourne: better than a kiss on the lips by a wet fish