For now, I can report that I haven't laughed so delightedly in ages as I did at the moment at which our heroine's sexually reinvigorated fairy queen responds to a love-struck whinny from her adored Bottom (Oliver Chris), the weaver who has been transformed by the mischief-making Puck into an ass.
When Benedict (Gambon) suddenly died of a heart attack, it turned out to be, well, a heart attack – the clue so delightedly paraded in one of the opening scenes ("I don't know about anyone else, but I have a heart condition") that it was almost a shock to find out he wasn't kidding.
"So," he recalled delightedly, "it was 'Three's Company' from then on out, and my brain started to melt".
I have rarely seen so many people delightedly taking over the streets since we surged down Oxford Street in the Vietnam protests long ago.
We read them so assiduously and delightedly that we burned entire paragraphs into memory, and could each cause the other to collapse in laughter with an allusion.
I've rarely encountered a fan base that so regularly and delightedly informs you that Dark Souls will ruin other games for you; that once you've played it you'll immediately think less of anything else that isn't Dark Souls.
I've rarely encountered a fanbase that so regularly and delightedly informs you that Dark Souls will ruin other games for you; that once you've played it you'll immediately think less of anything else that isn't Dark Souls.
When he puts on a statesmanlike face, you just know his inner monologue is delightedly singing "My amazing face looks so statesmanlike right now!" This is what Ed Miliband never grasped: it's not about being convincing, it's about relishing the role.
Newspaper folk are prodigiously rewarding targets for satire, as novelists from Evelyn Waugh (Scoop) to Michael Frayn (Towards the End of the Morning) and Andrew Martin (Bilton) have discovered, and it helps, as countless columns attest, that so many of them seem delightedly in thrall to their caricatured selves.
Everyone has wanted to slope off from a grim dinner party, particularly one at which there is loud, approving discussion of mass surveillance devices dinky enough to be classed as toys, and at which the middle-class company is so anxious that the word "recession" is banned and so delightedly philistine that the cry of "don't talk arty" is taken seriously.
