I DIDN'T see the television, so I don't know if John Major was there among the dignitaries in the Royal Albert Hall. But the Prime Minister could have done himself a power of good had he spent last Saturday night in Hyde Park.
For weeks now in what promises to be the longest election campaign in British history Mr Major has been out and about, meeting the people, and proclaiming the news that things are finally getting better under the Tories. And at the first ever "Last Night of the Proms in the Park" you could certainly feel something of a feel good factor.
Tickets for this annual display of English pride and patriotism disappear as soon as they go on sale. And this year the BBC decided the privilege of standing for hours on end, to wear a plastic hat, wave a plastic flag and blow a plastic trumpet should be extended to more than the lucky first 5,000.
Some 25,000 of us bought the deal at a modest £7.50 a head.
I bought my tickets weeks before, at the height of our all too short summer. As the nights drew in and I found myself resisting demands to turn the central heating back on, it suddenly seemed not such a good idea. But we needn't have worried. A brilliant sun set over Speaker's Corner, the stars twinkled above, and we swiftly discarded layers of protective clothing.
Hours before the event, the Park Lane traffic roared past at its usual ferocious pace, oblivious to the army of people attempting to cross between the lights while juggling rugs, kids, cool boxes and picnic hampers. Retail sales figures had clearly received a massive boost that day. A quick inspection of the scene established that the food and wine were excellent. Our own fairly generous spread paled beside those of more experienced concert in the park habitue's.
Some brought folding chairs and picnic tables, candles or storm lanterns. Two couples nearby (obviously Oxbridge types) celebrated a birthday in lavish style the men in dinner jackets, the women in matching black suits, enjoying generous quantities of champagne, smoked salmon and a birthday cake. For the non self catering the fast food merchants offered everything from fish and chips to Japanese sushi. A roaring trade was done in plastic union jacks (£2) and union jack hats (£3). And for the younger adolescents in the crowd there were luminous batons and flashing devil horns. Not that there was anything devilish about this crowd.
There were none of the horrors often associated with such open air events. Young couples snogged and got gently sozzled, while the rest of us people watched and waited for Land of Hope and Glory.
Ah yes, the concert. The first half, in truth, was something of a disappointment while there just wasn't enough of the second.
Maybe the sound system had something to do with it. Flautist James Galway and soprano Maria Ewing never really imposed themselves on the evening. It was pleasant to hum along with the strains of Danny Boy. But the preferred excerpts from West Side Story were terribly easy to ignore as we ploughed our way through the chocolate cake and chardonnay.
In truth, of course, that wasn't what we were there for. And a mood of expectancy settled in at the 9 o'clock interval as we.
We could hear perfectly by this stage, and kept astonishingly good pace with those old classics which the English find so embarrassing and enjoyable.
Alas, it seemed it was over in no time at all. Our party was only getting into the swing when I remembered Rule Brittania and Jerusalem would be punctuated by the end of prom speech and the essential tributes to Henry Wood. At this point you'd be rushing into the kitchen to open another bottle of wine," mused one of our number. And it was true. We sang of "England's green and pleasant land" with gusto, as large numbers headed for the tube before the national anthem. And the evening ended with the feeling of not having had enough.
Which isn't to say we didn't enjoy it. We did. But I'm not sure I'd make it an annual event, even if the BBC decides to. The weather and the company ensured a splendid evening. The sing song at the end was an added bonus. But if it had been cold? Or had it rained? I doubt the event would have had the compulsion, say, of Pavarotti in the park.
So if you're planning a trip to London same time next year, buy a ticket by all means. But you might think to spend the evening in the greater comfort of the Dorchester, and tootle across for the finale. If I don't do that, I'll probably stay close to the kitchen!