A silver tray with vintage glasses of sherry greeted us by the door. It looked like something quietly borrowed from Antiques Roadshow.

Setting the afternoon’s genteel, English drawing-room tone, if Claire had on a hoop dress and I’d just doffed a top hat, it’d be a period drama.

We were at the Stirling Community Theatre for Sunday’s matinee of Almost, Maine.

Stirling is the most Hertfordshire-like of the Adelaide Hills’ villages. Outside was July-cold and drizzling. Clasping our sherry vials, we stole past the soft scarves and murmurs. I quite enjoy ‘Sherry’ by Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons but don’t have the fortification for fortifieds. Claire may have had both snifters. I prefer not to ask.

We claimed a spot by the orange flame of the fireplace. Its considerate warmth was another unanticipated bonus. It was thrilling. I could almost smell a Chesterfield and I enjoyed the quiet happiness.

Making our way into the theatre proper, Claire collected a black blanket from a wooden box. Although it was thin and provided symbolic rather than physical comfort, draping it over our laps was a terrific addition to this pastoral excursion. The anonymous, attentive care was uplifting.

At the door was a kindly couple checking tickets. I showed the woman my phone. By her side was a spritely, smiling usher in a black suit. He also had on a bowtie.

Our theatre visit was now more Downton Abbey than off-Broadway. Sherry. Fire. Blanket. It made an affirming triptych. My inner octogenarian — he’ll be among us before we know it— was preternaturally ecstatic.

At intermission we returned to the fireplace. I nibbled my half of the carrot cake we’d bought (reluctantly) at the Stirling Bakery.

On the adjacent wall was a poster promoting love — the play’s key theme — and in the modern spirit of interactivity we were invited to share our thoughts on this — via heart-shaped sticky notes to be affixed to the poster.

Claire resumed her seat for the second act while I confirmed and displayed my suggestion.

How was the play?

It was engaging and the young cast was enthusiastic if uneven. Eight interwoven stories, each set on the same winter’s night, as the Northern Lights shimmered over a small town near the Canadian border. As a concept Almost, Maine gave us much to consider. Love and loss, hope and pain, a missing shoe, and magic realism. It’s the most performed play in American schools this millennium, should this be any metric.

Claire deposited our blanket back into its box and went to the love poster. ‘Where’s your message? I can’t see your writing.’ I pointed to an unholy scrawl.  

Starring George Clooney in what I think is his best role, The Descendants, is a blackly comedic drama set in Hawaii. Clooney’s character is Matt King who, in the second act, delivers a monologue to his wife. Among other poignant and despairing things, he observes that the function of a marriage should be

to make easier the passage of each other’s life.

Claire took a photo of the sticky note. She then rubbed my arm.

With the lights on and wipers ticking, we descended to Adelaide’s spacious plain. We prodded gently at the play, and our past. It really is a lovely thing — to have shared so many almosts.