London Lives

The Old Vic, Waterloo SE1
Kevin Spacey, David Troughton
Directed by Trevor Nunn

Jerome Lawrence and Robert E Lee’s play about freedom of thought is as relevant as ever in this, the 150th year since Darwin’s Origin of Species was first published. A classic battle between science and religion, Trevor Nunn’s production is a tense and sweaty courtroom drama. It was also surprisingly comic in places, with the house laughing along to Spacey and Troughton as they delivered their performances with conviction.

Kevin Spacey seems to divide opinion: I’ve discovered that some of the people I know really don’t like him. I loved American Beauty at the cinema and wasn’t disappointed by The Usual Suspects. To me, he excels in playing an apparently ordinary Joe with a sinister underbelly. While his role in Inherit the Wind doesn’t immediately call for these things, there is a seeping sense of him wearing down his opponent’s argument amid a climate which doesn’t promote freedom of thought. Spacey is a prowly presence on stage against Troughton’s Biblical bluster. Stunning stuff, even better than I expected it to be.

Beforehand, we ate at the Waterloo Brasserie, new place for both of us. It’s the first time I’ve booked a restaurant online and it all worked. Fish and chips for me, followed by apple and pear crumble with cinnamon ice cream. My pal had the crab linguine, which I sampled some of and it was luscious. She also had the crumble. The Brasserie was good: smart and busy with pre-theatre diners. Lots of red design and dark woods. We will return.

To a Friday rendezvous at my friend’s local in east London, catching up on the week’s gossip over gin and tonics. Friday after-work pubbage is a rarity these days; I’m more likely to be cooking something or eating out. Anyway, good to see some regulars, catch up on my friend’s news and chat to one of her friends too.

There had always been a plan to fit food into the agenda and it was never going to be difficult to persuade her into the the local Indian for a sit-in and natter. We had prawn biriyani, side dishes, and Goan haddock with pilau rice. They have quite an extensive fish menu which we’ve promised ourselves we’ll work through. Biriyani always sounds bland, but I think it’s a very delicately spiced dish, that matched the chilli and lime of the fish. All very lush and for once we didn’t over-order. All of it was eaten.

A quick swish around the supermarket was needed (alcohol, milk, breakfast things). Then we linked arms and trundled home among the blustery streets. We’d been warned about fairly wild weather this weekend and it was starting with bits of squally rain and serious winds. Near the Tube station, a man who’d been walking ahead of us suddenly turned and handed us pieces of paper. We muttered thanks and each of us knew they must be religious tracts. Upon inspection, we were right. “What’s Your Burden?” it asked.

Wandering to my friend’s house, the wind was gearing up. Under the street lights there were piles of enormous leaves, blown flat to the path by the wind and  kept there by numerous sheets of earlier rain. We stood for a while under the light, watching a beautiful tree as it writhed in the wind.

At her house, we sipped Amaretto liqueurs and played with her beautiful cat Phoebe. She is quite adorable. Caught up with music on Later with Jools Holland. He always has someone interesting: Steve Martin playing the banjo (Steve Martin – who knew?) and a great band called Delphic. I must look them up on iTunes.

Overnight, I was snuggled asleep in the living room, but the cat-flap was swinging so much that Phoebe kept cantering to the kitchen to check no other creature was invading her territory. The wind and rain were ferocious.

I got my hair done today and had to venture out among all the wind. The hair is great, veh slinky. I am very pleased with it. I bought nice shopping on the way home with a view to battening down the hatches this evening.

Salmon and mash planned  for dinner. Tomorrow I am supposed to be shopping for a proper winter coat. Weather permitting.