There I was, minding my own business, five minutes to curtain up, Fauteuil 4, row 4, Opéra Bastille, Paris, browsing the internet on my mobile phone. Google, Cendrillon. “Zut alors”, said the lady periscoping from Fauteuil 6. “What ees thees you are goggling at? You should be ashamed of yourself”.

“Desolée, Madame. I just entered Cendrillon. How was I to know a Cendrillon search would throw up this? Mille pardons”. “Monsieur, you are in Paris. La Bastille. Centre de notre revolution. How dare you goggle an American hamburger-eating extravaganza New York Met-monkey production of our beloved Massenet’s hidden gem?”

Cendrillon 2018, the first-ever Met production, had popped up onscreen. “Madame, it’s only my own review.” “Hmph!” By the interval, I had been forgiven.