For my birthday last year, the L half of D&L bought me a little lemon tree (along with a little bottle of gin, presumably so that when it bore fruit I could make lots of little gin and tonics – and then, you know, pour them all in to one big glass).
However, and perhaps predictably, after two months of living with me the lemon tree started to look rather unwell indeed. Its leaves shrivelled and dried, and it became a somewhat sad and twiggy thing. This could be down to our flat's rather aggressive central heating, but I suspected it was somehow my fault, that my lemon-tree tending skills were sub-standard. I was at a bit of a low ebb at the time and, of course, this became Just Another Thing In My Life That I Had Managed To Fuck Up through my general uselessness.
But still I continued to water and look after what remained of my lemon tree. And, last week, I noticed proper shooty green things – leaves and everything – protruding from what were recently dry and bare stems. I was so happy and excited I cried a tiny bit.
So no theatre this week, as you may have gathered. I’ve actually been enjoying having a run of evenings to myself and have been spending some quality time with the glinty box in the corner of my living room. As I don’t usually watch much television, I am however a bit behind on most things - still I enjoyed learning that selling kisses to old men in Richmond pubs is a legitimate business activity and not at all cheapening and tawdry. Who knew?