The Social Whirl


I love it when my diary is filled with days full of fun, shared with friends and family.  This weekend was one such time.




A year ago, Mary tipped us the wink that our discovery  ;-) was to perform in London and we might keep an eye out for concert tickets.  Keep an eye out we did, so carefully that we were the first to book for Friday night’s concert at The Barbican.




So, best seats in the house for the most memorable evening, thanks to “The Dude” and his band.  We heard Mahler’s 9th, which isn’t high on our list of Mahler favourites – or should I say, wasn’t.  The length of the symphony meant that it was the sole piece on the programme and to begin with I wondered if we’d feel a little short-changed.  The tickets were expensive and the effort of getting to the Barbican is considerable. We needn’t have worried, though, because after listening to an hour and a half of the most compelling and powerful, roller-coaster of a journey through every emotion, mood and spirit, neither of us wanted to overwrite that magical final movement.  Indeed, the man himself stretched it out as long as he felt able; the audience and the orchestra left hanging on his upheld baton for a good minute and a half’s silence after the final note had drifted away…before gradually, ever so slowly, the lowering of the arm and the gentle sigh of relief was broken by first a single clap and soon the sound of rapturous applause.

What a night!




Coincidentally, two dear friends decided to hold their joint birthday party on Saturday lunchtime, in the very smart surroundings of The Ivy.  We had a lovely time in delightful company and who couldn’t enjoy a birthday lunch which features Rhubarb Sponge and Custard for pudding?




Not only that, but we were given going home presents too!

We couldn’t leave it there, so a bunch of us went to Les Mis (some for the first time, some for the fourth or fifth!)

Of course, we still didn’t really want to go home…and another birthday was dawning for one of us, so we adjourned to the appropriately named Cafe des Amis where we gently put the day to rest over a plate or two and a bottle or three.

What a grand weekend.

and yet…

The Fishwives of Billingsgate