And so to Luxembourg, the little rich boy on the bourgeois bloc: where the sweet, porcine scent of cloves rises steaming from cups of gluhwein in the gingerbread-hued market square; where the tills of Yves Saint Laurent ping a weary lament to rich multilingual bankers with middle-class spread and lumpen Germanic faces that look like they're sculpted from stollen; where the Grand Duke, smoothing virile, sandy hair with scented pomade as he nibbles at a croissant avec jambon d'Ardennes, pads over to his corniced window in calfskin loafers and sighs 'Europe, o! Europe' as he gazes 'pon fog-frosted pines.
And so to Woody Allen and his New Orleans Jazz Band at the Luxembourg Philharmonie: six old men playing safe old lift-muzak standards in a safe, old sort of way. The brightest spark was Eddy Davis, musical director and banjo player, with a twinkly, grandfatherly face that suggested he'd seen some pig-stickin' fun in his time, and an achingly smooth, beautiful voice that was inexplicably used in only one short song. Everyone else coasted along smugly, feebly enough, except for poor old Woody, whose rasping, reedy little squeaker of a clarinet was abused with oblivious, jowly self-absorption.
At least on film he acts his one caricature role with reasonable skill, but his vanity-casting as Humble Jazzster is as painful as Jonathan Rhys-Meyers in Match Point - although presumably people happily pay to see his diminutive, uncharismatic little self on stage, rather than hear good music. The band deserved their staid, solemn, mink-muffed Luxermbourgish audience, who applauded politely and rather bemusedly as if they were watching a zebra do handstands.
The Philharmonie itself is breathtaking. Designed by Christian de Portzamparc as a fresh, sensuous, pillared white teardrop, it houses a Grand Auditorium that is warm, wooden and beautifully bourgeois, framing the audience as effectively as the stage. It's the kind of place that demands opera glasses, assignations and assassinations - although apparently nowadays any old scatterbomb streetblast will do.
No-one's got no class no more. And yes, Woody, that includes you.