While scribbling away in a Ruislip bar at the end of town I receive a call from Odile, the daughter of the ex-wife of one of dad's friends. She's keen to meet up, and although her husband can't make it she promises to bring along one her crazy friends from the East End as a substitute.
We're to meet at Leicester Square. When we get there it's absolutely packed! Admittedly, it is a Friday night, but I can't think of any place in Sydney where this many people cram together just to meet someone. People who don't know each other find each other these days with the trusty mobile phone, waving wildly until you spot another person on a phone waving wildly back - this worked for us.
Odile teaches English as a second language. She was told I'm a knowledgeable man of letters and also an effeminate pianist, both which I quickly debunk. She admits that because I play piano she imagined me as effeminate, but I don't come across this way in person. This is great news!
Having earlier booked a ticket, I duck off to see a play, promising to meet Odile for another drink after. The Mousetrap, by Agatha Christie, is England's (and possibly the world's) longest running play and is still showing at St Martins Theatre. The playhouse is Edwardian in layout, with gallery, stalls and orchestra pit to sit the 'lower classes'. I chose a middle class ticket and get my money's worth! - good elevated seating in the centre, although I almost nod off to sleep in the first Act.
An espresso brings clarity of attention after the interval. Despite being distracted by the sleazy manoeuvers of a stocky man in front trying to pick up a blonde with her mother .. I enjoy the performance. The only weak point was one actor overplayed his part and gave the game away. We're told after the performance to hold the secret of the murders close to our heart, and this I'll do, although I'll say one thing .. look out for an overacting prime suspect.
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