For The Oxford Playhouse

14 June 2026

I’d forgotten the joy of the theatre –
The faffing about for a drink
The air and the flair and the greetings
The friendly, the no time to think
Just find your own favourite harbour
Collapse on the velvet and sink
Into memory fondness when Noel
Was Coward and sang in the pink

Mellifluous voice of The Master
Urbane and just ever so smart
With his critical voice of the masses
His immaculate bow. What an art!
His handshake, the smoothness, the silky
His laughter, the ease of his start
As his characters gather. No coughing
No phoning, no kissing! Warm heart

And so clever, so practised, so crafty
So swift to deliver the blow
That punch in the middle of drooping
The eyelids that flutter. I know
Every word that his characters utter
Will reach to the ends of the hall

Will echo and freeze in the twilight
But thunder and light as we fall
Into hands that can only delight us
Into laughter with tears in our eyes
The Marquise had us gripped. Any wonder
Noel Coward, magician. My prize.

With gratitude and love to the cast and crew:
swift, accurate, dazzlingly funny and immaculately rehearsed.