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Calendar Girls Noël Coward Only When I Laugh Arcola Ooh dear, the critics have been terribly sniffy about Calendar Girls. This dazzlingly funny, shamelessly sentimental and utterly captivating tale of middle-aged women posing naked to raise cash for charity should have won five-star plaudits all round. But the reviews have thrown a veil over its brilliance. Why? Well, we critics dislike these schmaltzy populist confections because they deprive us of the chance to flex our intellect in public and serve up a perspicacious and polysyllabic exegesis. Ironically, though, my colleagues have not only shortchanged the show they’ve also missed the opportunity to do their brainy show-off bit — like this. The themes of Calendar Girls are rooted in ancient, universal myth.

It’s not often that a business correspondent looks to a musician for advice on investing in the stock market, but Radio Four’s Peter Day turned up on Handel Week and gave us an unusual take on the great baroque composer. It’s not often that a business correspondent looks to a musician for advice on investing in the stock market, but Radio Four’s Peter Day turned up on Handel Week and gave us an unusual take on the great baroque composer. Liquid Assets (Sunday night’s feature on Radio Three, produced by Paul Frankl) revealed that Handel was not just an extraordinarily prolific composer, he was also a very canny financial operator, even surviving one of the worst stock market crashes of all time, the South Sea Bubble.

It is, at present, almost impossible to open a garden magazine, or the gardening pages of a national newspaper, without coming across an article on how we are all now kitchen gardeners and allotmenteers; the theme is that the uncertain economic conditions have turned us back to our gardens, to grow comestibles and thereby ensure that we eat well, now that lack of the readies has reconnected us with our cookers. So far, so unexceptional, even trite. I have written such pieces myself. However, the difficulty for me comes when the writer gets over-excited and starts claiming that we can save enough money to make a difference to our circumstances by ‘growing our own’. Really?

Parlour Song Almeida Tusk Tusk Royal Court Back in 1995 Jez Butterworth got tagged with the ‘Most Promising Playwright’ beeper and he still hasn’t shaken it off. Butterworth is an excellent second-rate writer, he has a wonderful knack for quirky comic dialogue but he wants to be a Great Artist too. A pity. All a playwright should aim to be is an entertainer. Butterworth’s new play, Parlour Song, is set in an estate full of suburban semis and it opens with two male pals joshing aggressively in a sitting-room. Andrew Lincoln’s sleek young Dale runs a car-wash business and complains of ‘pruney fingers’. Toby Jones’s squat, balding Ned works in demolition and wields Zeus-like powers of life and death over huge industrial buildings.

Constable Portraits: The Painter & His Circle National Portrait Gallery until 14 June Sponsored by British Land The portrait was the dominant form in British painting up to the end of the 18th century, principally because this was what patrons wanted. Landscape painting was really the invention of Richard Wilson (1713–82), who inaugurated this particular branch of nature-worship. Constable, with his great gift for naturalness and observation, developed it further than any artist, except Turner. And it is as a landscape painter that we think of Constable, though he also painted about 100 portraits. These have tended to be overshadowed by his nature studies, and the current show at the NPG is the first to concentrate on his portraits. It is something of a revelation.