A couple of hours ago, I composed an entire post, in my head of course, but I went to sleep instead and now that awfully interesting, hem hem, subject has gone from my flaky little head. Instead, I’m coughing. One of those intensely tickly little coughs that gets in your throat and is very hard to resist – impossible, in fact. I reached for my bag and got a blackcurrant lozenge, which I’d bought to take to the theatre, but that didn’t do the trick so I slipped a menthol and euthalyptus sweet in my mouth too, have drunk water, nothing is working and I woke my sister. She is so polite and good-natured about it. I hope I will stop soon.
We are in London for my birthday treat: she took me to the theatre as my birthday treat. It was very good, a Rattigan revival by Kenneth Branagh’s theatre company, with himself in the lead rôle and Zoë Wanamaker in the cast too. I’ve seen them both before, not for many years – she was in a production of The Importance of Being Earnest, with Judi Dench as Lady Bracknell – it was a splendid cast, in fact, though very many years ago and probably not worth telling you all about. Branagh was in two Shakespeare plays – Henry V and Midsummer Night’s Dream, I think, or was it King Lear? Or all three? I distinctly remember Richard Briars as Fluellen. If that’s the character’s name, the old drinking partner of Prince Hal who’s caught stealing and is hanged.
clearly, I shouldn’t ramble on at this hour of the night. Half-remembered nonsense gets churned out. I daren’t lie down though, in case my precariously recovered throat starts spasming into coughs again. Wink has gone back to sleep, fortunately.
We have returned to the depressing Greenwich Mean Time, which will plunge this evening into premature darkness and gives me an extra hour of wakefulness now. I shall probably log on to the Sunday newspaper and read, in a few minutes.