Flexing his musical

les misIt was going well. Wine drunk, food eaten, Christmas wishes exchanged. And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like, ‘I love musicals.’

To a man who plays ‘Yes’ and ‘Cream’ at full volume and on loop, this may not have been what he wanted to hear. But I expect a little festive good humour. Instead I get the shoulder shrug – man language for don’t expect me to like whatever you’re about to say, do or think.

I get in first. ‘We could see Les Mis over Christmas.’

‘Seen it,’ he says.

‘The film?’

‘Yep’ (slurps wine and looks triumphant).

‘It’s not out yet.’

‘Seen the trailer,’ he says. ‘Rubbish.’ He checks out the 30something leggy brunette in nude heels. She’s pushed the look for her works Christmas party and is also (almost) nude on top. She ignores him.

‘It’s got Russell Crowe and Hugh Jackman in it. And that girl out of One Day.’

‘Russell Crowe just shouts. He can’t sing.’

I am losing patience at the negativity flooding my holiday plans. ‘Do you even know what it’s about?’ I ask, knowing he doesn’t.

‘People being miserable. As I would be watching A listers who can’t sing. Why do people want to sing words anyway. What’s wrong with acting?’

I am now in relationship twilight where crass poses as attractive.

I can’t help myself, ‘It’s about the French Revolution, love and loss (he’s rolling his eyes now) and, if you discount people singing words you’re obliterating the whole of opera. What about Puccini and Madame Butterfly, that’s just… beautiful.’

‘If it was in Dubstep, maybe.’

I can see this is one wish I’m not going to have granted this Christmas.

I dreamed a dream in time gone by…

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