Oh darling, we were simply wonderful. From the stamina-sapping self-indulgence of Cheltenham to the, well, stamina-sapping self-indulgence of amateur dramatics. The Boy Roberts gave the world his Rafe Crompton last week. Four performances of variable quality with a prelude of a truly awful dress rehearsal on the Monday. The play was Bill Naughton's Spring and Port Wine - if you do come across a production of it I suggest you give it a chance because this is a seriously good little play. My best line (I was by way of a change a stern patriarch) - "I'll thank you not to dip your nib where there's no ink."
Friday night was the by now traditional cast and crew curry at Shaban - I'm a sucker for their Butter Chicken. Shaban
Quite the most extraordinary culmination to the Six Nations - bucket loads of tries and excitement. Let's just get it clear that England did not lose the championship last Saturday but rather the previous week when they butchered so many scoring chances against Scotland. Such profligacy is unprofessional I'm afraid. Full credit however to the well-honed skills of the triumphant Irish.
Here's something you haven't heard in these pages before - whatever happened to the quality of parliamentary draftsmanship? If you are at a loose end and want to check out how the art has ben lost please consider the Health and Social Care Act 2008 (Regulated Activities) (Amendment) Regulations 2015. I did this afternoon and I'm telling you they're shocking. But it all makes work for the working man to do.
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