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Spectator
25-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Spectator
Who wants to read an unemotional memoir?
On the hottest day of the year, St Pancras station would not have been my first choice for lunch, but it turned out to be, quite literally, the coolest of venues. I was meeting my brother (not Jeremy, as is often assumed, but Ben), over from Spain to attend the launch of a book I've written, How Not to Be a Political Wife. Even Ben was struggling with the heat, and when London is hotter than Madrid, you know something's up. Anyway, he was heading to Stansted, I to Corby, so it seemed like the logical place. We found a table at Booking Office 1869, cool and dark beneath huge, vaulted ceilings. The food was surprisingly good: light, whipped smoked cod roe, cured Loch Duart salmon, miso-glazed aubergine, hot salty chips. The quality of service and victuals felt decidedly un-21st-century and certainly not the kind of thing you expect to find in a station. My companion on the train to Corby was Andrew Pierce, Daily Mail colleague, political imp, GB News presenter and general mischief-maker. He and I were to be a double act at the Nevill Holt Festival, David Ross's (of Carphone Warehouse) annual opera and arts extravaganza, held in the grounds of his dreamy stately, set amid the rolling Leicester hills. Think Bayreuth, but without the uncomfortable benches and weird Germans. As we drove through the glorious countryside, I was already checking Rightmove. Andrew was more taken with what appeared to be the infamous Ed Stone from the 2015 general election, propped up against the chapel in the grounds. I've not seen him this excited since Abba announced their comeback. The talk at Nevill Holt was great fun and the audience appreciative (by which I mean they laughed at my rather lame jokes) and full of intelligent questions. It turns out that the general public is endlessly more civilised than Twitter/X would have one believe. On the way back, giddy with our success (Andrew had also been signing copies of his memoir, Finding Margaret, about his search for his birth mother), we upgraded to first class and celebrated with rather too many cans of complimentary white wine and free pretzels. I've never done a book talk before, nor have I hosted a book launch. The latter was held at Hatchard's in Piccadilly, surely a contender for the title of Most Beautiful Bookshop in the World. The aroma of printed paper as you enter is intoxicating: they should bottle and sell it. Despite several 'rival' parties taking place that night – principally Rupert and Lachlan Murdoch's – and the stifling heat, I was surprised and touched to find the room packed with an eclectic group of well-wishers, everyone from old friends and colleagues to Kemi Badenoch, Kirstie Allsopp, Nadine Dorries, Jeremy Vine, a smattering of Baronesses, assorted Lords – and someone called Piers Morgan who, you may be interested to know, has written a book called Woke Is Dead, out later in the year. He's very shy, you see, so I thought I would mention it on his behalf. My own modest tome seems to have annoyed quite a few people, not least Sasha Swire and Simon Heffer, who have both been entertainingly rude about my efforts. But that's fine: it's a free country and they are entitled to their opinions. The main criticism seems to be that I've been too emotional, which is probably fair. Then again, what is the point in writing a memoir if you're not going to be honest? The good thing is that it seems to have struck a chord with many others, not least the former health secretary Jeremy Hunt, who said, rather mournfully, that it was a salutary read for 'those of us in the game'. The most touching moment of the night came at the very end, after all the superstars had departed and the catering staff were loading the empty glasses into their van. I was waiting for an Uber with my kids when the gentleman from Spinnakers (the caterers, very good, would recommend) asked if I would pose for a photograph with his adorable eight-year-old daughter, who was a huge fan of a book I co-wrote years ago, back in 2008, called The Great Big Glorious Book For Girls. There was not a dry eye in the cab home. I'm looking forward to my next event, which as it happens is a Spectator one, alongside Rachel Johnson, Hugo Swire (husband of Sasha) and one Michael Gove, editor of this parish, ex-husband of yours truly. The theme is 'political families'. It promises to be a lively one.
The Guardian
08-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Così Fan Tutte review – country house remix offers fresh farce, fun and energy
Atop its elegant Leicestershire hill, the operatic foundations of the Nevill Holt festival feel more secure right now than those of the beleaguered state funded companies down in the cities. The stable courtyard at Nevill Holt was converted into a comfortable 400-seat opera house seven years ago, and now this year's festival also offers the first fruits of a tie-up with Leeds-based Opera North, who will take a new production south for the coming five years. This summer's Così Fan Tutte offers alternating casts under the assured and energised conducting of Chris Hopkins. But it is not in every respect a wholly new production. Cecilia Stinton's direction and George Leigh's designs provide a specially created version of Mozart's opera for the Nevill Holt residency. Yet there remain traces, notably in the costumes, of the Tim Albery production that did sterling work for Opera North from 2009. Perhaps it is best to think of this as a country house remix of Albery's Cosi. Another survival is that this version is in English. This brings terrific immediacy, even for those who can follow Lorenzo Da Ponte's punning Italian original. The programme gives no single writer the credit, but it is a witty and succinct translation that adds to the overall fun and pace. 'One man is as good as another; and they are all good for nothing,' sings Dorabella, as she and her sister Fiordiligi debate how to deal with their respective suitors. Stinton places the cynical philosopher Don Alfonso at the centre of things. This Alfonso is not simply trying to prove his misogynistic point about women's affections. He is trying to prove it inside an opera-within-an-opera version of Così that he is himself writing and directing. Confused? It sometimes gets that way. But it is a device that offers plenty of opportunities for stage farce, as well as adding fresh layers of transgressive ambiguity to an opera that is already full of them. Vocally, all six principals make a mark. Seán Boylan's stylish Guglielmo and Egor Zhuravskii's ardently sung Ferrando are a well-matched pair of officers turned increasingly troubled pawns in Alfonso's game. Among the women, Ella Taylor's Fiordiligi is particularly fine in her two formidable arias and for her ability to command expressive softness as well as strength. Heather Lowe's Dorabella is bright voiced and engagingly acted. Claire Lees knows all the ropes as Despina and has little difficulty stealing the show when she needs to do so. It helps most of all, though, that William Dazeley is such a well acted and sung Alfonso. Mozart may have denied Alfonso the chance to shine in an aria of his own, but he is very much the puppet-master. Or at least in this version he is until the final moments, when his traumatised charges finally revolt against his loveless philosophy and chase him from the stage. Nevill Holt festival continues until 22 June
