So I finally made it to the White Bear on Thursday, coughing having sufficiently abated that I could sit through two hours of Shakespeare and not make the cast and audience hate me. If you’ve never had the pleasure of the White Bear, it’s a proper pub-pub in Kennington with permanently smoky air and ‘regulars’ who are rather unsteady on their feet and repeat themselves a lot: “This friend of mine, Charlie, he went skiing, right, skiing. Off skiing, somewhere people go to ski. Skiing I tell ya.” And the play, a fringe production of Timon Of Athens was OK, quite good in moments – a review will appear here at some point.
In other news it now seems like Wandsworth Council in their wisdom will not be withdrawing funding from the BAC after all. Which is a good thing. Now if only I could get them to actually come and collect the bloody, sodding, bloody cooker that’s been sat outside our flat for the past fortnight, given that they have taken my actual money to do just that very thing, then I would be happy.