The well-dressed gentleman in the next seat was trying to read the Standard over my shoulder.

He asked me what it said about the show.

(Actually, it was two influential bloggers who originally dubbed it Paint Never Dries. And now that's what everybody calls it.)

The well-dressed gentleman pulled a face.

He was a backer who had lost money on Lord Lloyd-Webber's Love Never Dies, the sequel to Phantom of the Opera, set ten years later on Coney Island.

(He said he'd also put money into Phantom. So I stopped feeling sorry for him.)

Paint Never Dries was very loud. Shouty, screechy loud.

And I still managed to nod off.

And there wasn't a single tune you could hum on the way home.

But I liked the skeleton pushing the hostess trolley and agree with the Whingers, that was the best bit.

The well-dressed gentleman pulled me another face. He said they'd made changes since the first night but it hadn't really improved.

'I've given up hope,' he said.

'It'll never get to Broadway.'

I didn't think much of Paint Never Dries ...

But it's not every night that you get to meet an angel.