Don't sing

A dreich day in London, but still a very good night out. After stopping to spot the peregrine falcons atop of the Tate Modern (thanks to the RSPB, which had telescopes set up), F and I wandered down the South Bank in good time to meet a friend, then realised we were walking behind him. We sang 'Happy birthday', and he still didn't turn around and recognise us. His friend, however, did turn around - phew!

We went to the Oxo tower for cocktails, listening to a great pianist. Then we walked over to the Sarastro restaurant on Drury Lane. This is a wonderful place - full of lots of interesting decor and fun. The toilets are very rude, and the ladies is always full of women with cameras shrieking and giggling at the images. We had a balcony table and we had a great view of the entertainment. A string quartet (pictured) played for us, then an operatic duo. The players mingle with the diners, coming up the narrow steps to play or sing at your table. The operatic lady sat down next to F and laid her head on his shoulder, and F decided to sing along with her (he can't help it with opera). In between refrains, she quietly but firmly said 'don't sing'. It had us in stitches!