I suppose it was my fault really. Who’d accompany me if I said I was going to watch either Les Miserables or Hamlet on Valentine’s Day?
Such adorable couples are lining the riverbanks and frisking about in Covent Garden, the young ladies are barely clad and Himalaya-heeled, the old ladies are wearing red dresses and holding hands with their balding sweethearts, everyone has bunches of flowers and the street musicians are playing away to glory. Some parents are out with their children, to remind me of Valentine’s Day back home. Don’t tell me this is not love. You must be sick at heart to think so.
I chose Hamlet. Here is a lovely Valentine’s Day song from Act Four, which my friend Ophelia sang beautifully:
To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day
All in the morning bedtime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose and donn'd his clothes,
And dupp'd the chamber door,
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
By Gis and by Saint Charity,
Alack, and fie for shame!
Young men will do't if they come to't;
By cock, they are to blame.
Quoth she, before you tumbled me,
You promis'd me to wed.
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.
Take heed, all ye young women. I know some readers who still sing songs very much like it. Remember, you are free to soar, so long as you fly Virgin Atlantic. Good Night.