Ah, the lights, the smell of the grease paint.
Is there any business quite like show business? Any place quite like the theatre, where we sit in rows in velvet seats to watch fantasy by lantern light, and believe the unbelievable and gasp at the fantastical, just for the space of an hour or two?
Who, indeed, has not felt just a tiny bit deflated when the final curtain drops and we must step outside this gaudy bawdy velvet-swathed casket of dreams, and tread mundane pavements once again?
On the River Thames there are many little villages, picture-perfect millionaire-studded affairs, and the town of Henley is no exception. Prepare to gasp at the wattle and daub cottages, the gorgeous Georgian wisteria-clad residences, at the the very stagey unreality of a pampered British riverside location.
When everyone has gone home in the evening the town’s streets are eerily quiet, and one…
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