The Internet is not always a blessing; the bad news reached us before we left London. "Carreras in Crisis" was not a headline that made my pulse quicken with happy anticipation. We arrived expecting the worst, but not altogether sure what "the worst" might be. Cancellation? A bit of a cop-out, but if he really was unwell we would find it in our hearts to forgive. Cracked notes? Well, we've got quite used to them by now, almost to be expected (that last crack in 'Sorrento' is de rigeur among the best tenors). A badly prepared performance? Now that wasn't something we'd forgive We took our seats with great trepidation (second row, frightfully expensive, frighteningly close). An announcement was made in several languages (English was the last), we caught his name and small sections of the audience clapped dismally. Were they pleased that he'd cancelled? The English version didn't help much, we understood that he was giving the proceeds of the performance to some children's charity, my only thought was "god, things must be pretty desperate if they're giving out softeners like this" however at least we knew he hadn't cancelled (I gather now that there was also some reference to his being unwell.....I hope the audience was clapping the donation rather than his indisposition!).

And we were off! Fast forward to his entrance: well not so much an entrance as a miraculous appearance. One minute he wasn't there leading his platoon, next moment he was. He certainly didn't arrive with them, so his sudden appearance was surprising. And what an appearance! I received a hard nudge in the ribs from B, and there he was, looking exactly as he did all those years ago at the Met. Drop-dead gorgeous. However, he had yet to move, and this is where the problems began. The stage was raked beyond belief; try to imagine opera being delivered off the side of a ski-slope and you're somewhere near the idea. Carreras has problems keeping balance on a perfectly level surface (it's the big feet, you know), but on this stage, and with his painful-to-watch limp, things were doomed.

I should say at this point that all the dialogue was sung. I don't approve of this, firstly because it puts extra strain on the singers (well, one of them particularly), secondly because it's not very musical, and thirdly because I just adore to hear him speak French. Anyway, during those bits he sounded okay, as far as one can tell when it's essentially monotone. The First Test was the duet with Micaela, which was less than enthralling, but received masses of applause and 'bravi' I thought at this point we might just be safe.....but, a couple of words about Denyce Graves (who I saw sing Carmen with him in Zurich, and loved). She has put on masses of weight and clearly regards herself as a great diva. There was no spark between the two of them, and frankly they looked pretty daft together (she'd make two of him). Quite unexpectedly, and in a not-anticipated moment (by me anyway) he cracked. During the bit where she's telling him about a really great pub she knows. Totally out of the blue. The orchestra shook their heads sadly (he'd cracked in the same place the first night it seems) and a sort of awful, hushed whisper moved through the audience. I blushed bright red from scalp to big-toe (why?), and B put her head in her hands (a very cheering sight for a stricken tenor looking in to the audience). He didn't really recover. I expected him to just shake his head and limp off at any minute. Ms. Graves made her feelings very clear, she shoved him really hard onto his bad leg, down the slope of the stage. This clearly caused him severe pain, as he grimaced and went very white (he was pretty damn pale already, believe me. She couldn't have expressed herself more emphatically.

The second act is best forgotten, the 'Flower Song' was very painful to sit through (in fact my friend was simply unable to watch - again), but he struggled through without cracking (by this stage this was the best we could expect!) and got pretty good applause, and a fair number of bravo's.(including mine, prompted by sheer relief ). From here on his confidence started to grow, and he got a lot better. During the third act his anger seemed to carry him through and I really felt he started to "lose himself", which is when he always sings best. The bits with Carmen (you know, where he gets really irate) were breathtaking. The whole thing was hugely enlivened by Ms. Graves dismounting a horse in the most undignified manner imaginable.

The intervals are interminable because the sets are so complex, so it was a long wait for the last act. I feel that cinema directors have little idea of the constraints of time in an opera!

The first scene of the last act was, I'm sure, totally spectacular. There were hundreds of people, thousands of horses, there were possibly giraffes, elephants and an entire herd of wildebeest. I tried to enjoy the spectacle, but I couldn't. We eventually got to the final scene (as you tend to, in any opera) where he appeared in a wonderful long black cloak (he does love a cloak to swish about), and sang tolerably well (though by this stage Ms. Graves was ignoring him totally). Towards the end, where things start to get quite violent, he gave her an almighty shove (she was already heading down the slope, so this just added to her momentum). I really thought she was going to go off the edge of the stage, but sadly engaged her brakes just in time.

When he stabbed her, he did so with enormous relish and simply threw his arms back so that she fell straight to the ground (not like with Agnes Baltsa where he lowers her gently). Then he finished off with a couple of really strong, confident phrases (hurrah), and it was (thank God) all over.

They didn't communicate at all during the curtain calls, though he hugged, patted, kissed, smiled at & talked to all the rest of the cast. He also suddenly looked twenty years younger (I, on the other hand, probably aged 3 or 4 years during the opera, and will stay that way forever).

So, there it is. The full story, as I perceived it. It wasn't an horrendous night by any means, but I'm not sure I'd want to go through it again. Having said that, most of the rest of the audience were probably not breathing through every phrase as I was. I'm so involved that I tend to analyse every note, which is clearly not normal.