On the day after the Cavern, Jonathan took me to a performance of Swan Lake in the Empire Theatre. Contrast program. I could have done without the dancing – remember, Paul, all I know is that it is the most precise physical translation of classical music, said Jonathan as if learnt by rote, and I accepted that the dancers´ ability to give their morose smiles while actually hurting bad was pretty impressive.
We went there with young stylish Mario, a Sardinian beau and the straightest back I had ever met. Leather gloves, up-market jacket, up-market shawl and in constant competition with Jonathan on who could fold their jacket over their arm more tidily. Mario spoke in a slow, teasing manner, as if every sentence required his interlocutor to guess the ending (wrongly) before receiving it. During the break he mentioned, choosing word for word, that he preferred Verdi, and Jonathan, the strong, blond, blue-eyed Bavarian, and his distinct German accent named Wagner as their choice – so it was no surprise hearing Jonathan blast out the Ride of the Valkyries in our flat when he was is in particularly positive mood.