Monday, December 18, 2006

Literal shopping trip...

There's intense debate going on in theatre land re literal vs metaphysical playwrights and blinkered, metaphor and ambiguity-disliking critics. So we went Christmas shopping. Almost finished, although it appears we may have left it too late to replace the tree decorations, unless we want to fill the house with garish colours. The outing was book-ended by car parking trauma - managed to dislodge a wing mirror when sliding into a tight spot and, when we returned at the end of the expedition, realised I'd lost the ticket so had to fork out an additional £3 before the nice chap at the barrier would release us. "If you find the ticket destroy it. Immediately," he implored, very dramatically, before engaging me in a conversation about decent places to have a Toyota Yaris service ("The Toyota dealership keep charging me £230 without doing any work on the car," he told me, although I think he was just trying to make me feel better about the extra £3 I'd just handed him). I liked the bloke but a queue was building up so we didn't manage to exchange telephone numbers or decide who was going to who for Christmas dinner.
We ate lunch at the New Clarence (where my reader with good long-term memory will recall I watched the rugby final) on the strength of the pleasant odour coming off other folk's food the other day when we were in the place having a coffee. I had a steak, which was a nice post-shopping treat. It came with enough pepper sauce to flood this island of ours. Left feeling totally stuffed and safe in the knowledge that the food lived up to the smell.

Listening: The Gossip - On The Prowl.

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