Mixed Fortunes.

Went to the theatre again today after returning Frothgarssen to his ancestral homeland and retaking possession of the moody Frenchman. I arrived in the middle of a wake for the deceased theatre critic of the local newspaper, so talking to Rob in the bar wasn’t as free as it usually is. There were lots of people in black milling about, and a man in dark grey (I think) making a speech badly. I left to walk down to the town centre, since time had flown by and I was becoming desperate for my Gregg’s vegetable pasty.

I got waylaid in the foyer by two old pals. First there was Jed, an actor of Irish extraction who did several shows at The Vic during my time working there. We talked about Brian Friel (Jed’s first stint at The Vic had been in Friel’s play Translations, one of my favourites) and the different ways of using the English language. And then Jo walked in...

Jo left the theatre even before I did, so it must have been at least a dozen years since I’d seen her. How shall I describe Jo? Let’s avoid the word ‘beautiful,’ since that word is a minefield of nuances and interpretations. Let’s say that she is – to my perception – possibly the loveliest woman I’ve ever known. Lovely to look at, with a lovely voice, a lovely smile and a lovely personality. I greeted her cordially.

‘Jo! How nice to see you. You haven’t aged!’

‘Jeff! Neither have you!’

‘Whoo!’

And so the day took on a convivial, complete and wholesome identity. Until, that is, I discovered that one of the ‘new’ tyres that Nigel had put on the Renault as part of its facelift was losing air. Which is a nuisance, right? So then I became extremely irritated again.

Will a time ever come when I get three nice things happen consecutively?