Titter ye not! Imagine a long-running sitcom about the owner, staff and guests at The Golden Lily spa hotel, and Rossini’s 1825 opera Il viaggio a Reims is the Special for the coronation of King Charles X of France. During the overture, we see the housemaids at their dusting, then the guests drift in for breakfast. By the time that the proprietress Madame Cortese – a vivacious Lucy Hall – has, effectively, provided us with a bit of backstory for each guest, the unravelling has begun.

Fashionista Contessa de Folleville (yup, the clue is in the name) is in mega-crisis as her couture has been irretrievably damaged in transit. As a result, Luci Briginshaw gives the most marvellous display of musical hysterics, only to be revived by the arrival of one salvaged item, the tiniest little straw hat, to wear at a jaunty angle on the side of the head.

No sooner is the Contessa restored to equanimity than Don Alvaro and Count Libenskof fall out over the Marchesa Melibea. Jean-Kristof Bouton and Julian Henao Gonzalez face off like fighting cocks, and Esme Bronwen Smith’s Melibea is so cross with them she throws her book on the floor.

Next up is the divine singing of Susanna Hurrell’s Corinna, the poetess, accompanied by the harp-playing of Aileen Henry. Corinna is the object of Lord Sydney’s attention, and Edward Hawkins is charmingly awkward and shy, deluging her with baskets of flowers which crowd the stage.  Ah, but now the Contessa’s beau, the Chevalier Belfiore, decides to make a move on Corinna. Self-identifying as irresistible, Richard Dowling utilises every hackneyed chat-up line, to no avail.

While Timothy Dawkins’ Don Profundo takes an inventory of the luggage, bad news arrives. Alas! there are no horses to convey them to Reims! Disaster and lamentations! But they can go to Paris for the post-coronation celebrations and a stagecoach is improvised from trunks, band-boxes, picture frames and a couple of china hounds. Then the Barone di Trombonok (Grant Doyle), the self-appointed majordomo of the travellers, has organised a party, and everyone does a party-piece, including ones to the tunes of Deutschland Uber Alles, and God Save the King. Corinna ‘improvises’ a solo paean to the King and there is general rejoicing.

Director Valentina Ceschi has not taken this opera too seriously and its exuberance shines through. Cordelia Chisholm’s box frames designer Adam Wiltshire’s effective set, and Rik Mountjoy’s lighting adds atmosphere. His hotel staff are in white shirts with burgundy skirts or breeches, while principals have the joy of amazing headgear for the party. Cast movements are coordinated to humorous effect by Ana Beatriz Meireles.

In the pit, coordinating the impressive ensemble singing and the playing of Rossini’s musical jokes – some so brief that they could easily be missed – conductor Jonathan Peter Kenny conducts the Old Street Band. The Band is playing on instruments of the early 19th century, which gives another dimension to the performance.

If the performance lags a bit in the final party scene, that is not the fault of the cast and orchestra, who maintain the energy levels throughout, but of the opera, commissioned for the event and, thereby, required to have the obsequious ending.