Theatre week

A double dose of theatre this week.

Monday I went to see an Arthur Miller play - Broken Mirror. Any play starring Antony Sher is probably going to get a "powerful" billing, and this was no exception. Set in 1930s New York Jewish community, its about a woman who becomes paralyzed for psychosomatic reasons. But what it is really about is a lack of honesty, people not feeling able to say what they feel, to ask for help, and guessing what others think rather than finding out. But for all the fine acting, it just felt slightly unreal, not helped by the overdramatic denouement where the wife recovers the ability to walk only at the point her husband dies of a heart attack.

More satisfying if unheralded was My City at the Almeida. A genuinely original play based on two young adults who come across their now retired primary school headmistress (played by Liz Ullman who I hadn't heard of for years, I think because she had a successful career in the States). The headmistress is a wonderfully enigmatic figure, a story teller at school and still one now in retirement, but who chooses to wander the streets of London at night. Also a play where you could never guess what was coming next, and utterly engaging throughout, which one can't say for everything one sees at the theatre. Thoroughly recommended.

Haywards Heath and Sheffield Park

Spent the weekend with one of my colleagues and his young family in Haywards Heath. One of the advantages of being a partner in a City law firm is that you can afford a splendid pile. None of your little London backyards. His kids have huge lawns to run around in.

Very much at the younger end of kids I know - may be a few years before I am taking them to gigs, although the 2 year old is already into Top Gear! His little sister was ever so cute and almost from the first moment smiled at me and opened her arms to be picked up. I thought this must be my friendly face, but soon recognised she had just spotted that I, or any passing adult, was a more convenient form of transport around the house than crawling. Just hitch-hiking for babies really.

Another ridiculously nice sunny warm weekend for mid-October. Even butterflies out in the garden.

We made the most of Saturday afternoon at Sheffield Park. Originally a Capability Brown garden but later altered, this is just the most picturesque spot in autumn. The place is swarming with photographers, not just snappers like me but out with tripods. Its a poor man's New England in autumn. They even charge a higher entrance fees this time of year, so great is the demand by people just to see the glorious autumn colours of the trees reflected in the artificial lakes, with the grand gothic house in the background. Forgive me, but I took lots of shots. But not bad are they?

More? Oh yes there are more

25 years on and Scott Capuro

Well, that's a quarter century done. 25 years of working life, all at the same firm. Adventurous or what?

Very kindly my colleagues produced a drinks trolley on Friday evening and we downed a few bottles of bubbly to celebrate. Unfortunately I had already arranged to go out with a couple of mates, so I just got them to come up and join us for a bit. A chance to reminisce on earlier days, pre e-mail, but when we had a telex machine. And what on earth did we do before PCs? Well clearly I did something.

Then headed out to the delights of Palmers Green for a comedy night at my local pub. Actually this could have all gone so wrong. The audience was tiny, so small that the compere went round the tables urging us to move forward and promising not to pick on us if we did. And then the main act hadn't turned up, leaving a floundering MC to pad out his material as best he could. Just as he was on the point of offering us free tickets for the next night, the main act arrived. And thankfully Scott Capuro was just brilliant. At least my mates could see why I had dragged them up to the back of a pub in suburban North London. Scott's quickfire acerbic gay wit is just terrific. If you like that sort of thing. Luckily we did. A good end to 25 years.

Now to start the next 25....

Bath time

Generally I make an annual visit to see friends in Bath. But rarely do I pick as nice a weekend as the one past. Glorious sunshine, but being October somewhat lighter on tourists.

Now I don't blame tourists for thronging to the City. It really must be one of the most beautiful towns or cities in the country. For my money its the very finest. Golden glow of Bath stone, ample Georgian architecture (rarely broken by any Sixties awfulness) and plenty of hills to add height and depth to the townscape. And of course, lots of gift shops (ie shops selling things YOU wouldn't want yourself but for some reason you think someone else will be pleased at you giving them. Uselessness of items seems to be the common theme.)

And if the city isn't nice enough for all that, there is a canal too...

See what I mean?

Well apart from just walk about, in order to earn our Sunday lunch, we went to the Holburne Museum. A stunningly pretty building its own right (originally a hotel with pleasure gardens to the rear, but now with a rather dubious modern rear extension) housing a rather lovely collection, mostly built up by a wealthy Victorian. Nice but manageably small. Fine collection of Georgian portraits, particularly nice collection of smaller Dutch seventeenth century works, and plenty of pots, silver and bronzes to entertain one for an hour or two.

We also ventured outside Bath. Unfortunately by now I have pretty much visited every National Trust property within a half-decent drive of Bath, but Dyrham Park is an old favourite. Lovely grounds, especially on such a fine day, and a deer park to boot. Well every fine house should have one. Stately animals and venison for the table.

Of course we had to spend some time out of the sunshine, so inevitably there was a bit of sport time in front of the TV. Rather disappointing Australia v New Zealand in the rugby, some Premiership football (of course) and some American Football. I am convinced that the latter is just a visual version of Mornington Crescent.

Rather than incomprehensible rules, the joke is that there are no rules at all. Suddenly everyone runs around randomly and before you know it there is another break.

And then Monday back to London, but not before a late breakfast with my friends in the Pump Rooms, just the most pleasant place for a cup of coffee. Starbucks eat your heart out.

Then back in London and a quick theatre trip to see Playboy of the Western World at the Old Vic. London traffic being what it was, the number 4 bus took us almost to the door, but with no more than a couple of minutes to spare. Still, once settled into it (and you need to get your ear in as the Irish accents are pretty full on) it was an enjoyable play, and one of those famous ones you want to see if just to add to your collection. Ever so well cast and a rather nice comedy based on the hypocrisy of small village types, and the rather optimistic view that even the boastful but feckless hero could turn out to be brave and forceful if only people believed in him. Self-confidence can do wonders. Well that was the moral of the tale anyway. Robert Sheehan (of Misfits fame) couldn't be a more perfect Christy (the "hero") and Niamh Cusack is wonderful as the calculating widow.