I went to Stratford on Monday night to see Don Quixote with Andrea. Andrea had booked it months ago, and when it came down to going, neither of us were sure. I wasn’t sure because I’d read the book and it was not my favourite or my best. She wasn’t sure because she had had a terrible day and could have done without it frankly.
As it was, we were both delighted we went. Not only was it infinitely better than the book, it was funny and imaginative and creative and entirely entertaining. It was like a hugely intelligent pantomime, and it was exactly the escapism we both needed.
It also had a stellar cast including the magnificent David Threlfall and the always top notch, Rufus Hound.
We loved it. If you get a chance you should go, and if they screen it, go to that.
Not a bad showing at the pub quiz last night. Joint fourth for our team, which was called ‘The Team with No Name/Celebrity Injunction’ last night. I still don’t think we’ve ever bettered ‘Quizzy McQuizFace’ as a team name though, frankly.
I forgot to deploy my signature answer, Gary Lineker in there somewhere last night. Sadly it slipped my mind. I expect if I had made good use of the Lineker, we could have come first. Not that any of the actual answers are ever Gary Lineker by the by. He is however, my good luck token and my homage to the ever excellent, Gavin and Stacey.
I finished reviewing the latest Maggie O’Farrell book; ‘This Must Be The Place’. It is, as all her books are, delicious. She writes so beautifully. The way she captures emotional landscapes pleases me enormously. I am on a bit of a roll at the moment. I’m half way through the wonderful ‘Man At The Helm’ by Nina Stibbe, and in the post today I got my copy of the glorious Belgian Waffle‘s ‘We’ll Always Have Paris.’ I predict late nights and burned dinners while the pages turn.
After last week’s flurry of activity that meant I spent large parts of the week out of the house, I have actually managed to catch up with Jason and the children again, sitting down to eat together, over meals that I have actually cooked. We are all still on speaking terms. I say this. We don’t really speak at the dinner table. It’s more of an intellectual free for all, interspersed with a broad scatalogical humour. You know how in large families you eat quickly and grab what you can while it’s still there to be had? Well, we do that verbally as well. I am often reminded of the Tower of Babel when we get going. I sometimes think we should offer first time visitors, ear defenders.
On the food front I have been making some splendid soups (now ear wormed by ‘two soups!’ and ‘soooooup of the evening, beautiful ssooooup’). We also had a cracking vegetable Jalfrezi one night, from the ever reliable Anjum Anand’s vegetarian recipe book. I really love Anjum. For Indian cookery that is uncomplicated, full of flavour and hits the spot every time, you cannot beat her.
Today is baking day. A birthday cake for a friend’s daughter, which I may have to replicate for us, even though there is no birthday to celebrate, and bread. I am experimenting with a sun dried tomato and garlic loaf, which may be triumphant, or maybe not, but it does smell amazing. I am a captive to the stove all day today, which is probably a good thing, given that I am also on a bit of a shopping roll at the moment. I took a boot load of stuff to the charity shop yesterday and came home with a bag load of treasure. This is not how it is supposed to happen, but I have the self control of a three year old, so it was not entirely unexpected. I am particularly pleased with my Hardie Amies jumper, which is a tremendous shade of green, and cost me the princely sum of £3.
Now I have to remember not to shrink it to Barbie size when it goes into the washing machine. It may well be going back to the charity shop as a child’s sweater in the very near future.