Andy Williams may have been a powerful entertainer but he was a lousy life coach

CRYSTAL glass gleaming in candlelight. Real cloth napkins, no paper imitations, folded neatly on the side plates. Dinner for two at the Manor is an occasion – at least it is an occasion when Hermione is in charge. Fresh sardines (never tinned) for starters, eaten at leisure, washed down with a glass of something chilled and white to sharpen the appetite. And the prospect of melt-in-the-mouth lamb to follow, if my nostrils do not deceive me. Every detail has been attended to, from the honeyed salad dressing to the choice of background music. And what glorious, romantic music the organiser of this intimate feast has chosen.

‘With her first hello she gave the meaning to this empty world of mine.’

Hello? I have not heard that track in so long that it takes me a while to place the song and the singer.

‘She fills my heart with very special things, with angel songs, with wild imaginings.’

Wild imaginings? Why it has to be Andy Williams, of course it is. One of the last great crooners, blessed with a silken smooth voice and a rarefied top note.

Andy Williams. I used to watch him every week on television, I reminisce. Hermione responds, as she spits out an olive pip, that it is all very well for those who were brought up in multi-channel land to have such memories.

It emerges that she is but vaguely aware of Andy Williams’ existence. We are only being treated to him now because she keyed the word ‘smooch’ into the search engine of her music streaming service. She meant it as a joke but I am deadly earnest in insisting that Andy Williams was truly mega in his day.

He died only a few years ago and the obituaries noted that the singer had been performing regularly up to shortly before his passing. He had his own theatre somewhere in the south of the USA where he delivered ‘Moon River’, ‘Music To Watch Girls By’ and the rest of his hits to bus-loads of tourists.

Mostly women tourists. Mostly middle-aged women tourists. ‘I know I’ll need her till the stars all burn away.’

Ah, yes, such lyrics speak of undying and unblemished love, delivered to a sound-track dripping with violins and tinkling piano. It is the sort of love those bus-loads of middle-aged ladies on their night out in Missouri knew full well in their heart of hearts they could never have. It is the sort of love that young lads such I once was did not fully realise at the time back in the sixties they could never have.

‘I reach for her hand, it’s always there.’

Hermione has gone to fetch the casserole and mash the potatoes. Which leaves me time to ponder that maybe it was not a very good idea to expose young lads to those ‘wild imaginings’ at an impressionable age. Romance as purveyed by Andy Williams was always an illusion.

‘Wine coloured days warmed by the sun. Deep velvet nights when we are one.’

The deep velvet message of the songs left me as an adolescent waiting to be caught up in some gushy tsunami of love which never came. Of course it never came. If there is such a thing as romance, then it is a slow growing plant which is nurtured by much more than ‘angel songs’. Andy Williams was a powerful entertainer but a lousy life coach.

‘ The vows of love we make will live until we die.’

Let’s hope so, though a fellow has to realise that the vows are not kept in place by candlelit suppers and cheesy old recordings alone. A true partnership is reinforced more by unblocking a greasy S-bend together or by filling out an insurance form together than by listening to Andy Williams together.

As we finish our food, the last song in the Williams medley is building up to the biggest of big finishes with full orchestra.

‘My life is yours, and all because, you came into my world with love, so softly love.’

Hermione points out that, as she did all the cooking and serving, it is my turn to do the dishes.