A lovely Time

An odd drive back from Leicester, with the satnav taking us by a most scenic route home, possibly due to one, some, or all of: the Tory party conference; Manic Street Preachers playing Manchester; and either City or United playing at home. Whatever the reason(s), it was far more enjoyable than just going along the A50 and M6.

In the afternoon I was in college, which was, as usual, most enjoyable, and then the Minx and I had dinner at Porta before heading over to Grub for Amy Gledhill's 'A Lovely Time'. (We would have walked but, boy, the rain was coming down.)

However, on this occasion, Ms Gledhill had prior commitments, so there was a stand in compère who, to be honest, wasn't quite my cup of tea. And then, as usual, there were three acts.

There is a clear hierarchy at these gigs and I guess someone has to be told "You're the least funny, so you're on first". Thus I am usually a little uncomfortable during the first act, have a couple of laughs in the second, before enjoying the third to varying - but usually quite high - degrees.

The middle act tonight closed off with her Crufts showpiece although, she said, her dad hadn't turned up with the dog, so she performed the routine alone to the music. It was very good. 

But the high point was undoubtedly the main act, Alasdair Beckett-King, who had me in tears of laughter, especially - although not exclusively - for his impression of Robert DeNiro.