So, you know, today was excellent.
Andrea and I beetled off to That There Lunnon, and ate a lot of food. We wanted to eat a lot of food at Bills in Covent Garden, but there was no room at the inn, and waiting for an hour for a great lunch would have made us late for a great play, so we went to a Thai canteen across the road, called Suda, which did not look terribly promising but which turned out to be very nice.
We were served by a man who had hair that looked like a crash between an arch angel and Sport Billy. So that was nice.
I got my scarf trapped in a chair on the way in and nearly garrotted myself, which was less nice, and slightly embarrassing.
On the other hand I was not tempted to buy a hand whittled wooden goat, which adorned every table, and which you could buy for £25. £25!
The play, called King Charles III, was at Wyndhams on Charing Cross Road. It was supposed to star Tim Pigott Smith, but he was ill, so we had the understudy instead. Actually the understudy was very good indeed, and the play didn’t suffer in the slightest. It was very funny, very topical and thinky in a good way.
We only slightly wanted to kill the man behind us who kept crunkling up his plastic water bottle like an asthmatic accordion player. He also provided commentary in all the musical interludes.
He is lucky to be alive.
We met up with a lovely blogging friend called Sonya after the theatre.
We dragged her to Foyle’s cafe, where we ate large lumps of cake (carrot cake very good. Andrea nearly wept with joy over the lime and coconut slice. Top marks Foyles), and talked at her for an hour and a half.
It was a delight to meet her.
We hope she feels the same way. We’re sorry if she doesn’t.
Going home, the traffic on the motorway was insane, not helped by intermittent patches of fog, lots of rain, and incessant fifty mile an hour roadworks.
Andrea had to feed cows when she got home. Boo.
I got home in time to eat cold Chinese food Jason and the children had left behind and drink copious amounts of tea.