Picnics in this country are an art form, no less. The Brits will contentedly bring along their picnics - sometimes improvised at the supermarket - and sit on (gradually dampening) grass, each on a tiny spot of about 50cm2 for the duration of an opera that lasts about 3 and a half hours.
Tuesday evening The Royal Opera’s live performance of Verdi’s La Traviata was played on big screens across the UK - I was watching, equipped with food, wine and friends from the park in Canary Wharf. The temptation to raise glasses at the chorus Libiamo libiamo ne’ lieti calici, which reminded me of my dad’s singing, was too much to resist. Let us drink, let us toast with these happy flutes.
The story of La Traviata (the fallen woman) is one of partying, decadence, love and prostitution, jealousy, parental control, money, sickness and death. A 19th century bestseller, page turner and musical triumph (although at its first performance in Venice in 1853 the public hated it). Thank you to one of my friends who actually shed some tears at the finale - opera still tugs at our heartstrings in the 21st century.
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