You know the post-holiday nightmare: Sometime after the 13th sangria, you exchange addresses and tell John and Janet Bloggs that, if they ever happen to be in the area ...

In Noel Coward's sparkling play, the Bliss family - arty, theatrical and unrestrained by convention - spend their life issuing invitations to a weekend at the country pile.

When the guests arrive, they can barely remember who they are, show scant concern for the provision of accommodation and sustenance, let nothing interfere with ongoing domestic disputes and relish every opportunity for a bit of fly-by-night sexual dalliance.

It is all delightfully absurd and very Twenties: Sharp of wit, short on malice.

It is exactly what Coward's reputation is all about. Great praise has to go to the Oxford Stage Company for a production that captured something as unmistakably English as a jubilee fly-past or a suspect midfield.

Noel Coward was revered as the rightful heir of Oscar Wilde - less dusty than Rattigan, far more intelligent than the Whitehall farceurs and an upper-class staging-point on the way to Alan Ayckbourn.

Sally Edwards probably deserves the principal prize for her depiction of the stage heroine who is plotting yet another unconvincing return from retirement but the entire cast was fabulous.

Starchy John Dougall, who has seen the world but can't manage more than a pennyweight of small talk, was hilarious in mannerism and delivery.

Lisa Stevenson was a perfect combination of reckless flirtation and insulted pride. You sense Coward probably gave her some of the best bitchy lines garnered from his own gay milieu.

Oliver Boot had a fabulous bit of silent stage business that is leg-crossingly funny and the plaudits need to continue across the other actors, the wonderful period designers and costumiers to Dominic Dromgoole's evenly-paced direction.

Hay Fever is now on at the Connaught Theatre,Worthing. Call 01903 206206.

Review by David Wilkins, features@theargus.co.uk