Of course, we left late last night, but then we always do.

Then we got lost, so we had very little chance of meeting them for a drink before the play started anyway. They left our tickets at the box office and I had to try every surname I could possibly dredge up that came anywhere close to Fellowes to try and retreive them.

I got it eventually, which was a miracle. Roger had booked them and I have never known his full name before. Trevor had tried to tell me what it was down a crackling mobile line as Paul parked the car outside a rough-looking pub and the battery cut out. I am always suspicious of pubs whose windows are not frosted. They’re cheaper to replace, I suppose, which makes you wonder how often they get broken. Probably more often than most.

We half-ran, half-walked down towards Covent Garden and arrived in the bar of the theatre just in time for them to call us to our seats, right up among the lighting and associated pulleys, cables and wires, where the air was hot and thick. It was incredibly full, and Paul and I were sat on the opposite side of the stage to Trevor, Jon, Roger and Graham. As the lights dimmed down we could just exchange a quick wave before we were plunged into darkness and transfixed for the next two and a half hours.

It was not at all comfortable, but that didn’t matter a bit. The play was Privates on Parade, which I’ve not seen before, in spite of its age. It’s set in the Far East, which is enough in itself to hold my attention, but the acting, the music and the sparse, simple sets had me in their grip from the first line to the moment the house lights came up again and the actors took their bows.

It was inevitable that it should be the topic of conversation as we ate in Pizza Express. At the next table, purely by coincidence, was Mike, one of the newsy-types who works a couple of floors above me. We recognised each other, and waved as he left, but our party was there for a good time longer and, after again getting lost on the way home, we made it to bed around at Paul’s very late and very tired.

It’s no surprise we weren’t wearing the pants of punctuality this morning. We crawled out from beneath the duvet coming on for noon, although to our credit we had eaten breakfast and drunk mugs of hot tea already by then so we weren’t too bad.

I walked home through the first few spots of what was to a day-long rainstorm. Now, at half eleven, it is hammering on the window like hail, although I know it’s too warm for it to be solid.

I did productive things all afternoon, ticking off jobs that have needed doing for weeks. I still have plenty to do, and a stack of emails that are waiting for replies, but they will have to wait until later in the week. Mum still had my coat in her airing cupboard, drying out from yesterday’s wash, so I drove around to collect it before it got too late, and took Rummikub with me.

We played four rounds. I won them all.

1. Back to Spain
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2. Christmas so soon?
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3. Shopping
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