Chekhov’s magnificent final play and one of the few undisputed masterpieces of the 20th century. The playwright declared it a comedy but some directors think otherwise. Adrian Noble’s new RSC production stars Penelope Wilton, Alec McCowen and David Troughton

A welcome outbreak of critical rapture. “I can remember few Cherry Orchards that have made me laugh so often or at times moved me so much” (The Times) “First-rate.. pure Chekhov” (The Guardian). “The finest RSC production of anything for several seasons” (The Financial Times) “A triumphant night” (The Daily Telegraph)..

An exhibition of 60 Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings from Swiss private collections, many of which have been exhibited in this or any other country. Artists include Cezanne, Degas, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Manet, Monet, Pissarro, Sisley and Toulouse Lautrec

Van Gogh garnered the most votes from the critics. The Times put Cezanne in the runner-up position and trailing at the rear came Renoir. The Telegraph opined that this “lovely little exhibition” makes you remember that the Impressionists and Post-Impressionists “really were extraordinarily important, gloriously enjoyable artists”.
The Sackler Galleries, Royal Academy of Arts, London W1 (0171-439 7438).A rare chance to see superb works often hidden from view Would you. But the girls – I was expecting them to be almost naked.”"Were you?”"Yes,” agrees Tom’s friend, Simon. “When I went to a student pyjama thing – very low-key, non-society, kind of middle-class – all the girls got naked eventually.”"Did they?” says Tom, looking aghast “Did they really?” He pauses for a very long time.

“Are you going to use it on the girls?”"I certainly am,” he replies, “and I’ve got a room booked upstairs. You want to know why I’m wearing a baseball cap?”"Why?”"Because I’m a real goer in bed That’s funny, isn’t it?”"Yes,” I say. “What a marvellous idea.”"Thank you,” I say.”It really is contrary,” she says.”Thank you,” I say.And so the evening progresses. Unfortunately, I am neither landed nor gentry enough to have been invited to the dinner itself, nor the apres- dessert disco, nor the fleet of bedrooms that the various young aristocracy have rented upstairs “in case we get lucky”, but I am none the less absolutely welcome to “drink a little champagne and eat as many gherkins as I like” until 9.00pm.”You want to know why I’m wearing a baseball cap with my pyjamas?” says Tom.”Yes,” I reply “Why?”"It’s because I’m a real goer,” he says Then he pauses “No, that’s wrong I’ll start again. There’s even a Von Bulow in the room – Cosima von Bulow to be precise- who, judging by the family movie, Reversal of Fortune – comes from a lineage of people well used to wearing pyjamas for long periods of time.”Good heavens above,” says an unidentified marchioness, looking me up and down – clapping her hands in delight at my battered old T-shirt and shorts (foolishly, in retrospect, I’ve gone for authenticity: this really is what I wear in bed) “How funny,” she says. There’s an Oppenheimer here (Emily), a Sassoon (Adrian), a De Cadenet (Alain). “People have been saying for years that we must have a society pyjama party, but it’s taken Kate’s vision to pull it off.”The table plan reads like a Who’s Who of the siblings of the great and good.

Secondly, you do know whether they’re Viscounts or servants, because the servants haven’t been invited. And thirdly, when everybody is wearing immaculate, flawless silk pyjamas and cashmere dressing- gowns emblazoned with the crests of Harrods and Hacketts, you’ve got a pretty good idea of where they stand in the Old / No Money stakes.”You know,” says Kate from Tatler, “Hacketts have completely sold out of pyjamas! People have probably spent more money on tonight’s outfits than they did at Ascot.”"It’s the most wonderful idea,” says Kate’s friend, Pam. Firstly, you know exactly who the Viscount is – it’s Viscount Linley, and he’s surrounded by people being extremely nice to him. Pyjamas are the great leveller.”While Tom’s sentiments are well-intentioned – I’m sure – I’m not wholly convinced of their factual veracity. “When everyone is in pyjamas, you don’t know whether they’re a Viscount or a servant You don’t know whether it’s Old Money or No Money You don’t know who they are. And they’re all wearing pyjamas! It’s a pyjama party! A society pyjama party! Pyjamas!
“It’s a great leveller,” says Tom, Tara’s friend. There’s the Marchioness of Milford Haven, and there’s Sir Anthony and Lady Bamford.

“You must admit,” says Tara (“a very, very good friend of Prince Charles”, I am later informed), “you must admit it’s all terribly daring!”

We look around the room: the Savoy Riverside Room, a courtly and refined reception area, leading to a lavish banquet room. That a man’s good name should be dependent on the morality of others comes to seem degrading to the self-exiled hero. The code closes in again, though, with a vengeance, when the painter kills his innocent, misjudged wife and her abductor, and the fathers of the deceased piously endorse murder committed “in honour’s name”. Not for the first time, I found myself thinking that what this masochistic culture needed was a good dose of Falstaff.In rep at the Other Place (Box office: 01789 295623).