The August "to do" list is rich with possibility

Certainly one of the more interesting ideas to come out of the French Revolution was a new calendar. Not as showy as, say, a big machine for executions on an industrial scale, but it did have merit as a communications tactic. What better statement that we've started something new than to re-name something so fundamental?

And logical, too. Be honest. How many of you have paused this month to ponder the contributions of Augustus Caesar? Thought so. But if you were in Thermidor, the month of heat ... you might take time to appreciate the logic. Unless, of course, you live in England.

If I had been put in charge of the month renaming business, I would have dubbed this time of year "renaissance", for I've always found it to be rich with potential and new beginnings. That's because in my heart, I've never moved beyond the academic calendar. Not unusual for a kid who loved school. And for an only child who, frankly, was always a bit lonely by the end of the summer. I adored September. The return to the classroom, the reunion with friends, the introduction of a whole new set of courses and challenges. (And my birthday.) I still find a blank notebook and a new pen filled with magical inspiration.

If September is the new year, that makes August the month to get ready. The month to make resolutions, and to get organised before the next phase of life starts.

I haven't lost this habit. Thus, while much of the rest of the world is on holiday I am in the middle of working through an ambitious personal agenda. There are doctors and vets appointments to be made, cabinets to be cleaned, closets to be sorted and taxes to be done. One of the most challenging tasks: finish and file the stack of reading material next to my bed. In fact, I have forbidden myself from buying any new books until the space is empty and clean.

This is, actually, an ambitious goal that's kept me busy since my return from holiday. The three fabulous novels I consumed there never made it to this pile. No, this is the realm of "must read" and "almost finished". I have a habit of picking up topical history books on my holidays, getting three quarters of the way through them on the way home, then losing interest. There's that family history of the Hapsburgs from Vienna that has a century or so left to explore, Vasari's Lives of the Artists (good intentions in Florence) and a few guidebooks from English country houses.

Between Holy Water and Salt Water: A History of Southern Italy, had me hooked until unification, then I put it aside. Dad gave me a history of the Pulitzer organisation and the prizes that he swears is great. I haven't cracked that one's cover. And then there's Roy Strong's history of British coronations. A birthday gift, so I've been doing my best to plough through, but ... unlike Strong's other work ... this is heavy going. Might have to skim up to George IV and Victoria (really, the most interesting ones) and call it quits after.

It's not all history books. There's The Miracle at Speedy Motors, the latest Ma Ramotswe novel. A lovely series, but increasingly similar and easy to put aside. There's a big book of Italian fairy tales, in Italian, that I once thought I would read nightly to build my language skills. A large stack of Vanity Fairs waits for me to move past the handful of articles I bought them for. The Food Illustrated issues need to have the "must try" recipes torn out before they're ditched.

And that leads on to the cookbooks. There's one from Gloria and Emilio Estefan's Cuban restaurant, Bongos, that I just picked up in Florida. Another features healthy recipes for cancer patients that came with some of Mom's medicine. And then there's the guide to historic feasts from the National Trust. All of them need to be reviewed. I'm either going to cook something out of them or not, but they really need to make the move from bedroom to kitchen, post it notes placed to flag culinary intent.

And then, finally, that precious bedside space will be empty. Just in time for the new school year and new books. Bliss.

Disney dining plan offers great value and holiday cost control

People who haven't been to Walt Disney World before are often surprised by visitors' rave reviews of the food. It's natural to shudder at the thought of "amusement park" fare. Hot dogs, hamburgers, nachos. High fat, stale, mass produced, roughly in the same ballpark as airplane food. Disney manages to put clear blue water between itself and this stereotype, offering almost 100 restaurants thoughout its parks and resort hotels. You'll find ethnic variety, tremendous atmosphere and friendly ... although too often ridiculously slow ... service.

This year, for the first time, we were on a package deal that included the Disney dining plan. Thus our ID cards for the week were loaded up with credits for each day for one table service meal, one quick (self) service meal, and one snack. This worked out to be a fabulous deal, equating to well over $60 a day in food and drink if you chose the more expensive options. Those table service meals are a particularly good deal. On other visits, with main courses above $25 and desserts at $6 or more, we would limit our nights out to two or three. On the dining plan you can enjoy a nice restaurant every night. Here's the roundup, in my order of preference, of where we cashed in those credits.

Boma (at the Animal Kingdom Lodge) - from South African bobotie (meat pie) to Moroccan couscous, this buffet truly does offer the "flavours of Africa" promised on the restaurant's sign. Chefs don't compromise to accommodate the all-American crowd; there are plenty of rich and exotic spices here (don't miss the sambal chili sauce with the prime rib) and lots of stuff you've never seen before, though also enough basics to keep the unadventurous happy. I was particularly fond of the curried salmon, a cornmeal and spinach casserole and a lentil and sausage soup. The dessert buffet had an impressive range, the best option being zebra-striped domes filled with vanilla and chocolate mousse. The restaurant is located within the Animal Kingdom lodge, reeking with atmosphere that's augmented by a staff drawn from Botswana, South Africa and other African nations. There's even a fine South African wine list. I loved this place the first time I visited. Since then, I've been to Africa twice, and I can attest to the authenticity as well as the quality of the food. I don't think I'd ever want to visit Walt Disney World without eating here.

Coral Reef (in the Living Seas attraction at Epcot) - Not quite as adventurous a seafood menu as you'd hope for in a restaurant whose primary feature is a giant artificial coral reef stretching behind the windows at its front, but still a fine selection. Members of our party tried all three of the main fish options ... mahi mahi, halibut and tuna ... and all were proclaimed to be well prepared with nicely complementing side dishes. The fish swimming by throughout the meal put on a captivating show and lend a blue-tinged, mellow atmosphere to the room.

Whispering Canyon Cafe (at Wilderness Lodge) - Great BBQ in a Ho-Down atmosphere. Most people seem to opt for the Whispering Canyon Skillet, which is an all-you-can-eat, family style service mix of pulled pork, pork ribs, beef brisket, chicken, beans, corn on the cob and baked beans. Oh, and there was a bit of salad there, but I wouldn't go recommending this place to anyone eating light. With better service this might have edged out Coral Reef. Where their fish was good but unexceptional, Whispering Canyon could make a go as a BBQ place without the Disney trappings. And they mixed a fine margarita. But it took us more than two and a half hours to eat, during which we found ourselves waiting on important stuff like BBQ sauce or utensils while our food got cold. Thus bumping the experience to No. 3.

Mickey's Backyard BBQ (at Wilderness Lodge campground) - This rates high for the experience rather than the food. The BBQ was similar to, but simpler and less flavourful than, Whispering Canyon. The effect, I suspect, of turning out industrial quantities for a buffet. Ribs, burgers and all the basic sides are available in the buffet lines, and dessert is helping yourself to freezers full of mouse ear shaped ice creams. Adults will appreciate the open bar with all you can drink beer and wine as part of the package. Which, frankly, seemed very important after several days of toddlers' screaming. The real draw here, though, is the show. Kids will love the characters, the trick roper and the goofy cowboy/cowgirl act running proceedings, while adults will appreciate that the country western band backing them up is actually extremely good. I defy you not to dance ... even if you can only get lucky with an 8-year-old.

Tutto Italia (at the Italian pavilion in Epcot) - The atmosphere is exactly like one of those fusty old dining establishments you find in Milan and Rome; drawn straight out of the early 20th century with a menu written in for the tourist rather than the native. I've never been impressed with this kind of place in Italy, and it's even worse here at Epcot. The food is decidedly average, the service creepingly slow, the noise levels disturbingly high. We booked the place as a nod to the Italian-heavy bloodlines of our group, but we really shouldn't have bothered. I suspect all of us could have done a lot better in our own kitchens.

Boatwrights Dining Hall (in the Port Orleans Resort, Riverside) - I love proper cajun food almost as much as I love Italian. This place, like Tutto Italia, is a disappointment because it doesn't live up to its ethnic promise. Flavours and spices have been stripped out and watered down. Had you billed the place as a generic American restaurant, I'd find its menu of fish, chicken and steak to be acceptable. But if you call it cajun, I want blackened fish that makes my mouth convulse in spicy joy. Mine was mild and the fish was overcooked. The Jambalaya was rice with a variety of meats mixed in, again missing the spice melange that should define this style. An average, serviceable meal, but not worth the trouble it takes to get to and from this resort.

Chef Mickey's (in the Contemporary Resort) - The least impressive of all the food we were offered, Chef Mickey's is a buffet with a very generic selection of stuff. A few salads followed by a few lukewarm congealing pastas (yes, it's fun that the ravioli are shaped like Mickey Mouse, but when they're not fresh and stick together in glutinous lumps, who cares). The generic buffet trio of prime rib, dried out turkey and salmon. (The latter was the best.) The dessert buffet was the best part of the meal, but given Disney's proficiency with anything majoring on sugar, this isn't a surprise. But the reality is, you don't come to this one for the food. The point of Chef Mickey's is the characters circling the tables throughout your meal. Thus, without standing in all those lines while the kids get anxious, you get private photo opportunities with Mickey, Donald, Pluto, etc. And that, frankly, is probably worth one sub-standard meal. So, to be fair, if you have kids with you then both Chef Mickey's and the Backyard BBQ need to be in the top three.

This list was assembled to please the palates and preferences of a group of 10, four of them under 10 and some of them not culinary adventurers. If I had it to do over again, and had I been with adults, the bottom of the list would have been dropped for more restaurants at Epcot. There's the Morrocan place, one of my old favourites. Chefs de France, which we've always skipped in the past because it was too expensive. And the Japanese pavilion restaurant, always skipped because I never seem to be at WDW with anyone who likes Japanese as much as I do. Inside the resort hotels I'm dying to try Jika, the upscale African place just across from the Boma buffet.

Looks like I have my work cut out for me on my next visit. And for now? I'm back to fish, salad and apples, trying to counter ... before Saturday's weigh in ... the fact that all those meals came with desserts. And I enjoyed every one, whether or not it was shaped like mouse ears.

Change is subtle, but inevitable, across Disney attractions

When I first visited Walt Disney World, the paint was just drying on the attractions at Epcot and “Disney Princesses” were a few favourites from some old films, rather than a global franchise with girl group power. I’ve been back countless times, watching the place grow and grow, the crowds multiply, the retail juggernaut gain speed.

There is a pleasing consistency here, in a “God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world” sort of way. No matter how the years pass, Tinkerbell still flies down from the castle at 10pm, Mickey and Minnie are still decked out in the same outfits and the same pirates are still hurling cannonballs against the same Caribbean town walls. It is childhood frozen in aspic, which is not only comforting, but a fine way to disguise the passage of time and the increasing ages of me and my cousin (left).

And yet, it’s not really frozen. There are subtle changes all over the place. One of the advantages to being a frequent visitor over the years is the ability to pick them out.

The most intriguing to me, this visit, is the subtle transformation of “Spaceship Earth” at Epcot. This is the iconic silver ball that looms over the front of the park. From its inception it was sponsored by AT&T and featured a ride celebrating the history of communication. You stepped into a moving pod and were guided by soothing voice of Walter Cronkite as you rode upwards through a spiral of time, witnessing Disney’s lifelike robotic figures as cavemen, Arab scholars, Renaissance artists, 19th century newspaper barons. This all ended in an exhibition hall filled with the promises of 21st century communications. (I never spent long in this final room as a kid, and doubt I would have believed you if you told me my career would be all about this stuff.)

A couple of years ago, Siemens took over the sponsorship. I’m amazed by how they managed to make it their own with a few subtle changes. All of the scenes up to the introduction of the computer are the same. A bit of clever script writing has simply changed the history of communication to that of innovation; thus from AT&T corporate messaging to Siemens’ with some elegant rephrasing. We now hear Judi Dench rather than Walter; a change nobody under 25 will notice but one that saddened me in the year of the great man’s death. Siemens’ master stroke was a bit of computer interaction that takes your photo, asks you some questions, then offers you a glimpse into your own future at the end of the ride. The interactive room at the end is now filled will a variety of computer games that all subtly reinforce Siemens’ businesses, from medical imaging to pure IT. I was deeply impressed. (And, of course, madly jealous that none of my sponsorships are anywhere near this fun.)

In fact, Epcot shows the most changes throughout the parks. This may be because it started out as the most worthy and educational of the attractions, and thus was always the least popular. Thus General Motors’ ride through the history of transportation has become “Test Track”, a thrill ride where you bump and zoom around the park at high speed. (Given the bankruptcy, one wonders when that contract ends and we’ll see this re-branded for Honda or Audi.) The Living Seas ride, once wrapping you in a fantasy visit to a deep sea research facility, is now a Finding Nemo ride. Though you do still end up in the same fascinating aquarium. The energy ride now has a comic, wise-cracking narrative from Ellen Degeneris. The Canadian pavilion’s film, once surging with ardent patriotism, has had comic commentary from Martin Short cut through the original footage to bring it up to date.

This is pretty much indicative of what’s happened throughout the park. The serious educational messages have stepped several paces back behind the light and comic. It’s rather a shame, but watching the eight-year-olds I am currently travelling with, I suspect it was necessary. Worthy and sincere just doesn’t capture the modern kid any more.

Over at the Magic Kingdom, Pirates of the Caribbean has also had a subtle makeover, injecting Captains Jack Sparrow and Barbarossa into the original sets. This could be done quite easily and without disrupting the flow of the ride, of course, since the films were based on the rides to start out with. (Good thing, too. This ride holds a sacred place in my childhood; if they were ever to mess with it too badly, I might have to boycott the place.) The Jungle Ride has seen a bit of freshening up, and the old Polynesian Luau is an Aladdin-themed show. Amazingly, the Swiss Family Robinson tree house still stands, though I find it hard to believe any of the current children wandering here have ever seen that 1960s classic.

At the Magic Kingdom, it’s Tomorrowland that’s seen the most change. Not surprising, since the “tomorrow” of my childhood would not only look laughable and a bit antique by now, but was wrong in so many ways. Again, this makes me a bit sad. Tomorrowland also had a stronger educational bent to it when I was a kid. We were invited to learn about, and imagine, what the future might be like. Now we join Buzz Lightyear in a high tech shooting gallery and watch a silly adventure with Stitch causing trouble for an Inter-Galactic Guard Force.

I must keep reminding myself. Change is good. It is part of human evolution, and necessary to keep the parks fresh and interesting to new generations. Fine. Just don’t mess with the pirates.

Even Disney feels the recession; to benefit of guests

I gave a little groan when my family discussed an outing to Walt Disney World in August.

Don't get me wrong. Despite my love of world travel, history and sophistication, this is one of my favourite spots in the world. But August? Fighting our way through crowds of vacationing school children at the peak of peak season? Melting under the one-two punch of blazing Florida sun and suffocating humidity? Despite my adoration for my nephews (whose schedule dictated the timing), it just didn't sound like a good idea.

Several things have conspired to change my opinion. 1. It's cooler than normal here, with highs in the 80s rather than the 90s. 2. July has been so miserably wet and cold in England that I'll happily take the worst that Florida can throw at me, as long as I'm not wet, chilly and pale. 3. The recession has made a serious dent in those crowd numbers.

Granted, we've been here for less than 24 hours so my experience could be a wild aberration ... but I have never seen this place so empty. We wandered over to Epcot at about 5 last night, in the heart of the day, and no attraction had more than a half an hour wait. Past experience tells me those lines should have been an hour and a half, at least. Pathways through the park, normally packed with milling crowds, offered wide-open stretches of pavement. (Which is good news for both my mother and the crowds, since her driving of her mobility assistance scooter is really too fast and furious for safety.) If crowd levels stay like this all week, it's going to be a blissful vacation.

But one can only imagine the financial impact on Disney. It's clear they're making cutbacks. Information booths are closed and there are clearly less staff wandering about. The place is still functioning well, of course, they've just gone from abundant to normal. The most noticeable change: The dramatic curtailment of park hours. I remember all the parks being open until midnight in the summer. Now, each park has flexible hours, but the Magic Kingdom is generally closing and 11, and the other parks shutting down between 6 and 9. They are still making an exception for resort guests, who have one park each morning and another each evening on extended hours.

We're staying at the Caribbean Beach Resort, practically a city on its own. It features six "villages" of festively coloured buildings in colonial Caribbean architecture wrapped around a lake fringed with palm trees and artificial beaches. There's a "town centre" in Old Port Royal, where you find a food court, shops and guest relations. Each village has its own pool, or you can use the spectacular themed area at Port Royal, where the pool winds under the walls of a Caribbean fort and water slides spew out of a pirate ship. Clearly, I'll be seeing some action here with my nephews later in the week.

To the delight of my nephews (and, admittedly, pleasing to my own childhood passions) we are staying in the newly-refurbished pirate suites in Trinidad South. Each bed is a pirate ship. The bedspreads are patterned with doubloons and other pirate swag. All the furniture has been designed to look like chests and crates holding pirate booty; the refrigerator is inside a giant rum barrel. The carpets look like the deck of a ship. The bathroom has a bas relief of the Flying Dutchman on the wall, pirate ships under full sail on the shower curtain and sweeping drape to separate it from the rest of the room that's printed with the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise logo. Short of having Cap'n Jack Scarlett here waiting for me, or a cabin boy on hand to mix me some rum drinks crowned with little umbrellas, it's pretty damned perfect.

Staying on our generally nautical theme, dinner last night was at the Coral Reef restaurant in Epcot. This is a spectacular space, dominated by the coral reef and its meandering denizens that lie beyond the glass front wall. Giant grouper, sharks, rays, a sea turtle and a host of smaller reef fish put on a great show throughout your meal. And the food is on par with any good restaurant; no compromise here for being in an amusement park. I had an Ahi tuna steak that was nicely seared on the outside and beautifully rare in the middle, while other family members raved about the halibut and the mahi mahi. Best of all, the meals are included in our package price for the holiday, so it's all both a good deal, and pre-paid.

All in all, a fine start to the week.

Race for Life unites women in cheerful defiance against cancer

Earlier this year I wrote that cancer brings out the best in people. (4.2.09) Last weekend, I experienced yet more proof that's true.

On Sunday morning I was one of 2,500 women going around Windsor Racecourse on the annual Race for Life for Cancer Research UK. That was one of three races in Windsor, and one of hundreds across the country. The money raised for this great cause must be prodigious. (Thanks to all my friends for boosting my personal total to £1,175.) It wasn't the fund raising success that impressed me, however, but the general spirit of the day.First, the cheerfulness. I have rarely been in a happier crowd, or one more excited to be embarking on a task at hand. And yet the second, contrasting mood was a somber respect. Each racer bore a label on her back commemorating whoever she was racing for. I was fortunate enough to have a living, cancer-fighting mother behind me. But far too many of those labels were in memoriam, reminding us of the horror of the disease we were all fighting. Which then kindled the third emotion: Defiance. It was a group of fighters, confident we could stop cancer in its tracks.

My companions were friends from Weight Watchers, and between us we drummed up several thousand for the cause. We also had a great time, from the goofy warm up acts to our delight over the Nivea-sponsored goodie bags at the finish line. Bethan's contribution of pink bubble-blowing guns for the gang added to the festivities. For me, the best part of the day was hearing the emcee list all the good cancer statistics. Women with breast cancer are living longer, with 64% making it to 20 years these days as opposed to 44% in the early '90s. We're finding all kinds of cancers sooner, survival rates are going up. Clearly, all this cheerful, well-funded defiance is doing some good.

This is, perhaps, what all athletic endeavors for charity feel like. I wouldn't know, because this was my first. Before my own bout with cancer, my favourite exercise wavered between lifting a wine glass to my lips and turning the pages of a book. (I had great finger strength and dexterity.) I was happy to sponsor others, but couldn't imagine doing this sort of thing myself. Now that I've started to take my health seriously, however, a brisk 5k walk is no big deal. In fact, it's a fine celebration of my own victory over the disease. I'm even contemplating working up to a jog next year.

Stoppard's Arcadia sets brain fizzing with delight

I cannot remember many stage plays, no matter how engaging, that I would have immediately rewound and sat through again if given the opportunity. On Tuesday night, however, I walked out of the Duke of Yorks theatre with just one thought in my mind: "I want to see it again. Now!"

The play is Arcadia, Tom Stoppard's 1993 romp through landscape architecture, mathematics, love, comedy and drama. Yes, it's all in there. Delivered with sparkling wit and rapid-fire repartee that pushes your brain through a proper workout, while delighting it at the same time.

There's no denying that you have to be a bit of an intellectual to appreciate Stoppard. Certainly a great many of the jokes in Arcadia fall flat without some grasp of garden history, the life of Byron, algebra and chaos theory. The more you know to start, the more amazed you'll be by the way Stoppard has wound all his clever threads together. I'm rock solid on the first two topics, flunked the third in ninth grade and have only a dim comprehension of the last.

The beauty of Stoppard, with this level of awareness, is that you can pat yourself on the back for knowing about the bits you know, and feel educated by the bits you don't. I loved the wordplay so much I believe I might have comprehended algebra ... or at least understood why the hell I was forced to study it ... if Stoppard had been my teacher. There are a lot of parallels between this work and Shakespeare in Love. That was a fun story, but the more you know about the bard, the more you appreciated the nuances. If you liked the film as much as I did, you'll probably be an Arcadia fan.

Arcadia explores a mystery in an English country house, bouncing back and forth between the present-day academics who are researching the past, and the Regency family living the real story. The two-time period historical mystery has become a bit hackneyed today (seems like every paperback I pick up these days has the same set up), but when Stoppard introduced this play it was still fairly fresh. Much of the humour comes from the audience being one step ahead of the academics; because we are watching the past unfold, we know how they're going wrong, and what fools they may soon make of themselves. Besides telling an amusing story in magnificently clever language, Stoppard gives us devastatingly incisive character sketches. The precocious child growing to adulthood, squabbling academics, the socially awkward English aristocrat, the fawning bourgeois begging for aristocratic favour; all the stereotypes are here, but injected with new depth and truth.Of course, no matter how good a play, it's only as good as its production. And this one fulfills all the potential of its author's brilliance. The veteran cast presents no superstars, but rather familiar faces with long CVs you've seen in plenty of television and movie productions. (Interesting to note how the Harry Potter series is developing British talent. Two of the young leads are familiar from those films.) I first saw Arcadia in Dallas. I loved it then, but it was only in a production filled with a top quality British cast that I picked up all the nuances of social class. I don't think Americans, without living here for a while, can grasp or adequately present the mannerisms on show here. Much less the accents. I was particularly fond of Ed Stoppard (yes, the author's son ... above left), who did the emotionally stunted English public school boy with a painful believability, and of Dan Stevens' tutor (above centre), who balanced the rapier-like wit and sexual adventuring of the Regency playboy with a poignant underlying sensitivity.

Despite the need for fiscal responsibility, am seriously considering getting tickets to see Arcadia again before the end of its run. I am sure that, no matter how much I was drinking in the dialogue, at least 30 per cent of it rushed through my fizzing brain before I could grasp and appreciate it. In the mean time, I'll just pour myself a glass of wine and pop Shakespeare in Love into the DVD player. Either way, my brain will be delighted with the exercise.

Cricket and opera make strange bedfellows, but a fine week

Brits are good at summer. From the opening of the Chelsea Flower Show to the early September return to school, the national social calendar is packed at a manic pace not approached again until Christmas party season. Music festivals, sporting blockbusters, historical festivals, special openings, summer balls, more flower shows ... there's no week without its opportunity to celebrate and indulge. I figure it's the Dunkirk Spirit in action. Summer weather is often so dire it feels like a blustery March day. In most other countries, this weather would shut down outdoor events. We ignore it and carry on with increased levity, just to prove we can.

This week proved so busy I actually had to take a day off work to fit it all in.

Notable events started on Wednesday night in Trafalgar Square, when a friend and I joined a thousand or so others for the live screening of Barber of Seville from the Royal Opera House. This was the last of a three-opera set of free broadcasts beamed to high-profile gathering places around the country. Sponsored by BP and, I suspect, done by the ROH partially to defray accusations of tax support for an institution with few affordable tickets, it is one of the best value-for-money events you'll see in London all summer. There are other freebies, of course, but few of this profile and quality.

The screen is impressively large, and boasts a sharp enough image to make you forget you are outside once the action starts. The sound system is robust enough to drown out all but the noisiest of the traffic edging the square. We suspected an early arrival was in order and, indeed, most decent seats were taken by 6:30, an hour before the curtain rose. Our 6:15 entry saw us in pretty much perfect position, perched at the bottom of the central steps leading down from the National Gallery.

The production was fantastic. American soprano Joyce DiDonato is the musical heroine of the summer, breaking her leg during a fall on opening night, carrying on 'til curtain that evening and finishing the rest of the season from a wheelchair that's been seamlessly choreographed into the staging. Peruvian tenor Juan Diego Florez is not only a fine actor with a rich voice, but that rarest of things: a darkly handsome, sexy and fanciable opera lead. The rest of the cast was equally strong, the favourite arias delivered with zest, the staging innovative and fun. You'd expect that of the Royal Opera House, of course, but their usual quality was enhanced by the skillful video production. It was at least comparable to being there (see 30.5.08 and 24.1.09 entries), and certainly better for picking up details than my usual seats near the roof.

The only drawback, of course, was the weather. The planned elegance of our picnic drowned beneath waves of pounding rain. We huddled under plastic ponchos, sitting on cushions soaking up ever more water, trying to stretch covers to protect not only ourselves and the food, but the jug of wine that was quickly getting watered down. Thankfully the skies wept their last just before the curtain rose, leaving us with an evening dry and warm enough to make sitting in our damp clothing for the next three hours endurable. Ignoring moisture is, after all, just another part of the British summer.

The next day, granted permission to take a spur-of-the-moment day of leave by a benevolent boss, I finally achieved my ambition to get to a cricket match. And not just any match: A friend had come up with tickets to the first day of the second Test of The Ashes.

For the benefit of my American readers ... The Ashes is a cricket tournament that takes place every other summer between the national teams of England and Australia, who play a series of five multi-day matches across the whole season. Location alternates between the two countries, with this summer's play being in the UK. This particularly potent rivalry pits the nation that invented the game and feels it should be best at it against a prickly former colony that considers sporting prowess to be an essential element of national identity. The name itself commemorates the first time England lost to Australia, in 1882, when a British newspaper cynically reported that English cricket was dead and the ashes would be taken Down Under. Ever since, the two sides have played for a tiny funerary urn and fierce national pride. Frankly, it makes any other rivalry I've seen in sport pale to dim insignificance.

This particular match took place at Lord's Cricket Ground, acknowledged as the global home of the game. Frankly, it's hard to imagine a more significant and spectacular way to be introduced to the game. I can't pretend any deep understanding, but after years of missing baseball and trying to grasp cricket as a substitute, I think I've reached a decent level of comprehension. Certainly enough to sit there happily and maintain interest over seven hours, thanks to an exciting match, great seats in a beautiful, historic sporting ground and good weather. But even more so thanks to my host, a walking compendium of cricketing knowledge who was happy to answer all my endless questions and, essentially, be my own personal commentator. (Sadly, he is also Australian, thus was having a particularly difficult day as England trounced the visitors.)

I won't even attempt to explain the game itself to the Americans. If you're really interested, check out http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~crikclub/modules/xoopsfaq/index.php?cat_id=2 where you'll find an unusually comprehensible introduction using baseball for comparison. Basically ... if you're the kind of person who can watch nine innings of scoreless baseball yet still enjoy it because of the nuances of fine defensive work and the battle between pitcher and batter, you'll probably be able to grasp the appeal of cricket with a bit of work. If you're the type of person who thinks baseball is boring to start, then cricket will be a unique and lengthy form of torture.

While I still prefer my native game, I emerged from my cricket initiation charmed, enthusiastic and curious for more. Although how my next outing will match the drama of my initiation, I can't imagine.

There was little time to ponder that challenge on the day, however, as the busy social diary left me less than two hours to emerge from the cricketing crowds, get across town, change into formal wear and slide into my seat for dinner at the Hurlingham Club. The event was the International Advertising Association summer ball, and the throngs of prosperous-looking professionals in tuxedos and bright gowns downing fine wine seemed to challenge any thought of recession. More Dunkirk Spirit?

The Hurlingham is a particularly lovely place, a gracious Georgian country house set in 42 acres along the Thames in Fulham. I have, thanks to friends who are members, been here several times before. It was on those visits that I realised this is the archetype for every American country club I've ever entered. All it needed was a surrounding golf course and some high school kids drinking illicit beer beneath the trees, and I could have been back at prom. That feeling was heightened by the '80s theme of the evening. I didn't know whether to be pleased or a bit disturbed that the evening's music seemed to be identical with the "most played" list on my iPod.

The exclusive club feel was somewhat diminished by our immediate surroundings. The Hurlingham has added a modern party wing to their sophisticated country house. It's spacious, bright, efficient ... and a bit like partying in a shopping mall. I wouldn't have noticed so much, I suspect, if I didn't have prior knowledge of the beauty and dignity of the rooms in the main wing. As a business proposition for the club, this wing no doubt makes great sense. As a party organiser, I'd think twice before booking it for posh exclusivity. The party rooms are not much different than a central London hotel, in a location that is much more problematic to get to and from.

Despite that critique, I had a lovely night filled with engaging conversations with my hosts from The Economist. I could happily have stayed until the wee hours, especially given a soundtrack that was enticing me towards the dance floor with memories of long nights at the Phi Kappa Sigma fraternity house. But regressing to youthful mayhem didn't seem like the right level of behaviour to display in front of my hosts. And, frankly, after 30 hours packed with social highlights, I really needed to go to bed. A quiet stint at my desk came as a welcome relief the next day. I can, after all, only keep up this Dunkirk Spirit stuff for so long.