● EVEN BY THE OLYMPIAN standards of the Covent Garden stalls, it was a top effort: the old dude beside me was snoring happily within five minutes of curtain-up on . Actually at 200 quid a pop it’s not such a bad deal: for a start, you miss the brain-formattingly dull, virtue-semaphoring production they’ve served up, Dvorak’s music is lovely and lulling, the seats are cosy, and you get two intervals to top up the tanks. Arguably the Royal Opera should think about a cunning pivot into the sleep-therapy sector.
