I MET CIO CIO SAN AT SAN CO. CO

It must have been just over ten years ago when I fell in love with Madam Butterfly, if not Madam Butterfly exactly then the young woman singing the role of Cio Cio San, the young heroine of Puccini's famous oriental opera (1904).

After the singer in question had been a finalist in a world famous music competition, I wrote a message of appreciation which prompted a series of exchanges (email, text and phone) that led to our first meeting in the City of Leeds where she was also currently covering for the role of Lisa in Tchaikovsky's Pique Dame (Queen of Spades) for Opera North at the Grand Theatre, Leeds.

Long distance first dates always have the potential of being metaphorical car crashes in slow motion in which both parties agree to meet and engage in a mutual roulette spin of personal destiny. A five hour train journey is a long way to go for personal rejection, and yet I'm sure there have been longer, more treacherous journeys charted in the history of romantic love than that from Gloucestershire to Leeds.

If there was any indication Cio Cio San was having second thoughts about meeting  then it's possible I may have naively misinterpreted the YouTube clips she previously sent me from Mishima's The Rite Of Love And Death (1966) where Reiko assists her husband Lieutenant Shinji Takeyama in commiting hari kari (seppuku) filmed in all its gory detail.

Admittedly she said it was research for the role of Madama Butterfly but you can never be sure when it comes to an opera that inspired Glenn Close to boil a rabbit as revenge for betrayal by Michael Douglas like she did in Fatal Attraction (1987).

As the train hurtled ever closer to Leeds, I decided it was probably best to switch off Madama Butterfly on my Ipod as the story was taking its decidedly tragic turn in Act 3 and I didn't want to tempt fate. No-one, not even the caddish Pinkerton, wants a first date to result in an act of self-sacrifice, at least not before you've settled the bill.

But even without the music, I could still hear Butterfly's famous aria Un Bel Di (One Fine Day) playing inside my head. Clearly the opera was now becoming increasingly entrenched in my psyche and strangely symbiotic with my personal romantic adventure.

Eventually, arriving at my destination I headed toward the Grand Theatre, Leeds where Cio Cio San was rehearsing. I had some time to kill so looked for a place to relax nearby and have a coffee while I waited for the young diva to finish.

Noticing a bright, canary yellow decorated cafe a few doors down from the Grand Theatre, I saw the sign San Co.Co as a sign that good fortune was favouring me this fine day.

I ventured across the street and wandered inside the small, unassuming cafe which appeared marginally more respectable than a greasy spoon.

The place was empty except for the handsome Mediteranean looking cafe owner who appeared to be in the process of closing up for the day.

"What time do you shut?"

"Five."

I checked the time on the clock that hung on the back wall of the cafe.

I would at least have twenty minutes to wait until I'd have to move to another location to eke out the remaining waiting time as Cio Cio San and myself had agreed provisionally to meet between quarter past to half past five.

"Okay. I'm meeting someone but I'll grab a quick cappuccino if that's okay?"

The cafe owner nodded and set about making my drink.

"There's also seating upstairs if you like. I can bring the coffee up to you."

Unquestioning, I did as he suggested, ascending the small winding staircase with my hand luggage in one hand and a bouquet of flowers (red roses with white gypsophila) in the other.

Finding myself upstairs, I did not expect to arrive in what appeared to be The Blue Parrot in Casablanca. I half imagined to find Sydney Greenstreet fanning himself whilst surrounded by the sweaty green leaves of a Monstera Delicosia.

If the upstairs of San Co.Co was an opera then it definitely wouldn't be Puccini's Madama Butterly. More likely it would be Verdi's Aida. I could just see Radames enjoying the tasty looking Italian focaccia I'd glanced at upon arrival.

I put down my items and sat in one of the exceptionally comfy leather chairs where I found myself getting serious Michael Corleone vibes. The lighting in the place was very Gordon Willis and feeling momentarily like a mafia don was definitely helping to steady my pre-date nerves.

Striking my best Pacino like pose, I re-enacted in solitude the famous scene in The Godfather Part II between Michael Corelone and his sister Connie at his Nevada lake-house.

'Connie, I want to be reasonable with you. I don't know much about Merle; I don't know what he does for a living; what he lives on. Why don't you tell him marriage is really out of the question; and that you can't see him any more. He'll understand.  But if you disobey me, and marry this pimp...it would disappoint me."

At which point, my intense method acting of the familial scene was abruptly ended by the clattering arrival of my cappuccino. The cafe owner looked somewhat concerned as he looked around the room to see who I was talking to.

"Just running through my lines"

"Ah, okay."

He was just about to descend the staircase when he turned back to say something to me.

"I tell you what. I'll be tidying up things downstairs but if you're meeting someone you can stay up here. If they arrive after I close, they can just knock on the door and I'll let them in.'

"Hey, that would be great. Thanks so much. Very kind."

The cafe owner nodded dutifully. Perhaps my mafia don persona had earned his ultimate respect.

As I sipped my cappucino, I now found myself having butterflies (pun intended) in my stomach. Clearly my nervousness could no longer be deflected by my Al Pacino impression. The moment of truth was soon upon me and I was feeling the same eager anticipation that Pinkerton must have felt while waiting for Cio Cio San to make her somewhat protracted Act 1 entrance (including high D).

I hummed the humming chorus for a minute or two before remembering that the cafe owner might be distracted by my music making whilst being my gate keeper downstairs.

I closed my eyes with my ears on high alert, waiting for that knock to arrive anytime now. With all this emphasis on dramatic entrances I might as well have been in my very own Italian opera.

What would it be called, I wondered?

Al Cappucino? Mr Butterfly?

Nope. Too corny I thought. What else?

But before I could think up another title, I could hear a faint knocking downstairs.

The sound of the cafe door being unlocked was followed by brief friendly chatter between my date Cio Cio San and the cafe owner of San Co. Co .

My Mediterranean friend was buying me some more time to prepare myself.

My mind went blank now as all I could hear were footsteps, moving slowly and almost noiselessly like a geisha one after the other as Cio Cio San finally made her entrance into the 'Blue Parrot'.

To my surprise, she didn't sing upon seeing me or indeed say anything.

Instead, she just smiled sweetly at me and right then and there I learnt a valuable lesson: that not all romantic scenes, especially my own, need Puccini for their soundtrack.

For the music of the heart is often silent.