Good grief. I have just discovered that someone I met at university once or twice through some mutual friends and who is just half a year older than I am, is the director of the new Wyndhams Theatre play, Bog of Cats. “Leading a cast of 11, Oscar winning actress Holly Hunter makes her West End debut in this powerful and poetic tale.” Directed by Dominic Cooke. Good on him. I have totally wasted my life.
J is complaining that his waistline has thickened. He is now 32 and a HALF around the middle. He’s off to a wedding tomorrow at a golf club in Rickmansworth. My brother told me that he once arrived at the self same place in a tatty Ford Escort and was thoroughly embarrassed to be parking his car next to all the shiny brand new swanky Jags and Mercs and Porsches. Welcome relief then when his mate Dave screeched up in the work’s dirty white Bedford van emblazoned with the company name and slogan: “ Watford Blinds – if you don’t use us, it’s curtains!”
Dad has lost his best shoes. A complete mystery.
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