More culture

We went to the theatre last night. This did involve a fairly long saga about me phoning up for tickets, discovering that the best and also cheapest seats can only be booked on the day, so I splashed over there in the freak rainstorm last night (sandals, no coat, of course) only to find they’d all gone, and I ended buying almost exactly the tickets I would have bought when I phoned up last week anyway. Still, I was then able to get home, shower and cook before going out again, to drink execrable wine at the Royal Exchange, and watch Mirandolino, which promised to be a jolly good romp about one woman triumphing over several men. I quite liked it, but husband was less impressed, as he felt all the characters were unlikeable, and one in particular had a comedy stutter, which was a bit unkind. I on the other hand am quite happy watching a woman win the battle of the sexes, and a couple of really good laughs. The whole thing unravelled a bit in the second half, though.
On the way home, we went to a pub that should theoretically sell fine wines. My Pinot Grigio was a bit pants though.
And so to bed, full of too much bad wine, after spending some time trying to decipher the voice text left on our answerphone. Eventually we worked out that we did know the number, and got a real text message, which made much more sense.

Most bizarre things overheard through the window of a canal-side office:
Hey Patrick! I think we’ve just run over the dog!

It is: 3.5 working days til I leave. 25 days to Greenbelt.