What revels are in hand? Maltesers?
THIS week we have mostly been culture vultures.
That is to say we have been to the theatre, lovey.
Small But Fierce of Ipswich and I are not regulars, it is safe to say, but we do enjoy the odd outing to absorb the roar of the greasepaint and smell of the crowd, or whatever it is.
It was SBF who made the move, saying that she wanted to go and see A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Now I’m not big on the Bard, having been damaged as an ‘O’ level pupil by enduring a lengthy black and white film of King Lear in Russian, which is heaping misery on despair in any teenager’s book.
But, fortified by a pleasant pre-theatre supper, we tottered in and took our seats among the English Lit ‘A’ level students who made up the bulk of the house.
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It was great fun; a splendid production which would have cheered up many a glum soul and gave us ample opportunity to make Bottom jokes, which was nice.
As if that was not enough cultural input by the time you read this we should have seen the film of the year, The King’s Speech. (We weren’t waiting to see whether it was an Oscar winner - we were just waiting for the EADT’s excellent 2 for 1 cinema ticket offer. SBF keeps tight control of the King’s Purse.)
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I will be emotionally and culturally spent and there may well be some weeping, especially if I am denied a jumbo bag of Maltesers.
Talking of spent, SBF and one of her chums availed themselves of the delights of a spa experience this week.
They spent a testing day being gently pummelled, wrapped in mud or seaweed or mushrooms or something and anointed with oils and unguents pausing only for a break to take on board a delicious lunch.
When I fell through the door later that evening, worn down to a nubbin by the daily grind of regional newspaper middle management duties, she had the cheek to announce that the day had left her rather tired!
I had no answer.
But I do have to come up with some fine dining for Tuesday night to celebrate the birthday of SBF, who will be... well, a year older, let’s say.
I have been checking out the ready meal counter of one of the better supermarkets to see if I can identify a dish that I can take apart before SBF sees it, miraculously re-assembling it in the kitchen to a storm of critical acclaim.
It is a challenge but one I’m equal to. Failing that, a swift exit to the local auberge may be in order. Bon appetit!