After skipping across fields, hurdling stiles and leaping over streams with Jude, there was housework to be done. Oh lord. When do I get to sing 'My Way'? And books to be read, which goes without saying. The piles of art history books around the house seem to be mysteriously growing in a vertical fashion. I set off for Piccadilly after lunch and spent a lot of time and absolutely no money in the huge multi-floor Waterstones there. I like. Then the Criterion Theatre for 'The 39 Steps'. A man from the BBC asked for an interview - don't know what for - which we declined. The play was 'A joyous version of the Hitchcock classic' and was 'very funny' and 'enormously enjoyable...a wonderful triumph of theatre' in fact. 'Hugely entertaining' and 'Hilarious'. Go see. 'Tis most chucklesome.
This was followed by far too many pints of gassy lager at Rupert Street, with some fine company. The West End was packed - streets thronging with peoploids. Somebody asked me, 'Is this the way to Tiger Tiger?' I said, 'Yes' although I don't have the faintest idea. I got home somehow.
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