All the world's a really tiny stage

Oh my word what a fun night I've had. Twelfth Night in the space between my foot and the next ones. Starring the wonderful Pericles, in the private club of The Ivy and including a rather splendid dinner.

Earlier in my day of culture there was Alan Johnson being interviewed by Mark Lawson about his new book, The Long and Winding Road, at Kew Gardens book festival with my folks. Where my dad was so embarrassing I can only bring myself to write about him pointing at folks and declaring "Tory" really loudly so I can remember it but if you could all just gloss over it me and my mom would be really grateful.

Before that there was some work and some Rummikub with Jackson.

And even before that there was the arrival of Jackson in the bed, on the new pillow, horizontally. It did not do its job.

But a trip into town and the theatre have done their job with me. I emerged from a rammed tube where I had asked a woman to respect my personal space (her reason for invading it was ridiculous and I was alarmingly polite but very firm) and stepped onto the pavement outside Leicester Square and paused to take a deep breath and sigh and fill myself with life blood. Until I am beyond taking that last breath I will never fail to be revitalised by that London Town.

Lesley x