Sleep-walking

Some very strange things pass as entertainment today, and watching England play Scotland at rugby football is not among them. My wife claims that I fell asleep during the second half. I pointed out last week that John Inverdale said that he would rather see England lose 37-35 and all of us be entertained, than, dare I say, draw, 15 all, and fall asleep. Modern sport is entertainment, nothing more and nothing less. Yes, of course I want my country to win, but I enjoy watching Federer play tennis, Tendulkar score a century, and eagerly anticipate the return of Tiger Woods. Gone are the days when I was a child and one rejoyced in England beating Wales three nil by one penalty. The rugby officials daring to charge £80 to watch this rubbish is nothing more than daylight robbery.

In contrast, Mary and I went to see Private Lives at the Vaudeville Theatre on Saturday evening, tickets £50 each, and we were royally entertained by Miss Cattrall and Mr MacFadyen, who deserved their full house to watch this rollicking, 1930s farce. Tonight I am going to Love Never Dies at the Adelphi . The critics have been fairly cruel to Andrew Lloyd Webber's latest production, but nowhere near as tough as the sports journalists were this morning when discussing England's efforts at Murrayfield.