Spent a Thursday night at the Royal Albert Hall at a Classical stomp-fest.  Jingoistic, bombastic and a hard-core contingent of rowdy OAP’s whose balloon popping behaviour at the end was bordering on public affray.

I was able to watch this very British endeavour through the eyes of a delightful American friend who waved her Union Jack with gusto but seemed slightly bewildered at Rule Britannia being belted from every tier.

My other, very British friend, who, I discovered had a very fine voice, threw away her inhibitions and became enormously animated during Ravel’s Bolero.

‘I never knew it was such a sophisticated piece of music’, she murmured breathless and flushed.

It does seem to be the equivalent of a musical orgasm!

I was the glad for the champagne we had drunk before hand but pined for one of those elusive boxes with linen tablecloths and copious amounts of alcohol.

It occurred to me just how sexy classical music is.  And just why so many previous members of the aristocracy had private areas so they could have it away in time with the 1812 overture.

The musketeers were marvellous – at the very least for their average age amounting to 108.

The conductor was definitely three sheets to the wind – cracking jokes about England beating Wales at Rugby – seemingly oblivious to the mutinous stares of the Welsh Guards and making inappropriate remarks about the convent girls in Box 32.

And I feel the ‘naughty’ over 70’s deserve another mention particularly the extremely well dressed women in the black hat – you know who you are – who became so over-excited with the balloon bursting that she had to be physically manhandled out of the arena by her husband giggling helplessly.

Viagra is just so passé.