Phil Brown

Saw the Paris Opera Ballet last night: stupendous, magnificent, extraordinary … and very long. Three hours was stretching the friendship but I guess it’s all good for French-Australian cultural relations. Never mind about the malodourous Frenchman sitting next to me, halitosis and all. And why did he have to hog the arm rest throughout the whole show? That ain’t etiquette, is it? If he had screamed “Bravo!” one more time I would have throttled him, although my hands may not have fitted around that sweaty neck. But hey, I did enjoy myself, really I did and the sets were magnificent, particulartly the elephant, although my favourite bit was when one of the poor unfortunate under-fed ballerinas dropped the stuffed bird she was holding, turning an exquisite routine into a ballet version of Monty Python’s dead parrot sketch. “He’s bleeding snuffed it!” Remember that? What a hoot. I thought of this and much more while I waited for the ballet to finish and as usual I wasn’t stingy when it came to the applause because I’m always so glad when a show is over. I stayed up until well after midnight basking in the afterglow.