Three scenarios as London recedes into the distance:
1. Meeting Lindah outside the Old Vic, and realising that we're so old, we can remember a time when Tim Pigott-Smith could reasonably have been expected to play Freddy, rather than Higgins; and Una Stubbs, at a pinch, might have been Eliza.
2. In Benugo, the rather-too-pleased-with-itself bar in what I still insist on calling the NFT:
ME: Have you got any stout?
BARMAN: No. But we've got Guinness.
BARMAN: God, that's really embarrassing. And I'm Irish as well.
ME: It's OK. I won't put it in my blog.
3. And I have finished The Unconsoled!