Last November I suggested to Paul that we should book something for mid-February, when the dark days of winter are starting to make us wonder if we will ever see the sunshine again. Paul agreed. So I booked a matinee for Thursday 15th February at the St. Martin's Theatre to see Agatha Christie's 'The Mousetrap'. This thriller has been running since 1952. I saw it in the 1950s and Paul had seen it before. But we had both forgotten the ending who dunnit! That is until the interval when Paul wrote the name of the murder inside his programme - and he was right (and that was no surprise for the lad has a photographic memory, such that if you give him a month of the year in the late 1970s he will be able to tell you the second colour used in SCOUTING Magazine of which he was assistant editor at the time to my editor).
I arrived at the new Tottenham Court Road Station which TfL have done up somewhat. There in the foyer - near the swiss escalator onto the street - is a piano with the invitation to anyone passing by to play. The chap in my photograph was brilliant - with fingers that dashed all over the place playing sparkling tunes. He stood up to give way to a young man, but before the latter could be seated a girl of about eight sat on the seat and started to play with one finger. The pianist then sat down with her and they played together. It was just magic in the Underground. I am told - by Paul, who knows these things - that other pianos are installed in various stations in London.
A short walk down Charing Cross Road - and a peep onto Foyles, but I have a house full of books so I was not tempted - and I arrived at the St Martin's at the same time as Paul. The play started out at the Ambassador's next door before moving to the St Martin's. The cast changes every year - which is just as well for the originals would be somewhat older by now. OI had expected the theatre to be filled with oldies - but it was half term so there were lots of families which was good.
From there we partook of a Starbucks Coffee and then journeyed to Fleet Street for dinner at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese. Paul had promised me dinner there for it has great literary associations - Charles Dickens, G K Chesterton and the like dined there. Dating from the 16th Century, it was destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666 and rebuilt a year later. I had steak and kidney pie - what else! We both had a G & T - hence the photograph is a bit shaky. That's two G & Ts in as many months. I may become an alcoholic.
We had a couple of taxis as it was far too cold to stand about for buses and I wanted to make it a day we would enjoy without getting ill into the bargain. London at night from the warmth of a London cab is something to be savoured and enjoyed. The driver of my Ilford Radio Cars mini-cab from Ilford Station to my home had not seen me for sometime and when I told him where I had been, he asked me if I should be out at eight at night - alone on Ilford Hill. When I told him I am 85 next month, he just sighed!
