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Choreographer Frederick Ashton provides the framework, of course, in a superbly balanced pastiche of an agricultural idyll, aided by tongue in cheek designer Osbert Lancaster, a famous Express cartoonist. Mixed into this full blooded romp through the jolly melodies of French composer, Ferdinand Herold, are pretend dancing chickens, ribbons, Maypoles and a real Shetland pony. But most vital of all in a pre-ironic send up, there is an underlying and deep affection for the social snapshot in focus.

McRae, standing in for injured Johan Kobborg, coped brilliantly with his first challenge, the infamous solo with long wooden pole and notorious yellow tights. His engaging connection with the audience and streamlined technique more than compensated for both potential distractions, and McRae is clearly making this tricky-to-judge role his own. Cojocaru understands what the steps are all about as profoundly as Ashton, their creator. Without posing or gurning, the period and mood are all in the way she moves, the drift of her arms, a dangerous technical devise that easily turns into a sloppy cheap effect, is immaculately deployed, and her face is an open book completely accepting as natural the sequence of potentially idiotic situations in which she finds herself. One of her best moments comes when she thought she was alone and privately counting how many of Colas’s babies she planned. She gets to three when he suddenly reveals he has heard every word. Her “I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole” reaction was a highlight of the evening.

The couple’s two love duets, one with ribbons in a meadow, the other celebrating their ultimate betrothal, were the evening’s climaxes, as Ashton designed them to be. Superbly displaying their considerable artistic and technical gifts, they also share with us their infectious relish in what they do. Right now La Fille mal gardee is one of London’s hottest tickets and no wonder. Break all the rules to get one.