With nothing much in the house, I decided to eat in Chinatown beforehand. It's about five minutes walk away, and unlikely not to have space. And my preferred eatery there these days is the Feng Shui Inn. So, I consulted Google Maps beforehand to remind me of the best route there, and how to get from there to the theatre - continue along Gerrard Street and take a right onto Dean Street.
I left in good time, and my journey into town was uneventful, save that I took the Piccadilly Line and was nearly run over by the couple - probably coming from Heathrow - with trolley bags, who didn't realise that the aisle wasn't going to be wide enough for them to walk off side-by-side. And in no time, I was at the restaurant.
It was busy, but not so much that they couldn't squeeze me in somewhere. To be fair, service was excellent, and they buzzed around all night. I had a badly positioned table, one of two small tables that had been inserted into a passageway between the kitchen and the main restaurant. But it really wasn't that bad - there was just a constant stream past me. Oh, and I could see myself in the mirrored wall opposite, if I bothered to look.
The other table was occupied by two Cockney gents, one of whom appeared very drunk, and couldn't understand why his companion seemed so insistent that they end the night so early. He left a right mess, and was incredulous at the bill - although he paid it, finally. Yep, it does add up, and while this isn't an expensive establishment by London standards, you can be left wondering - particularly as the bills aren't itemised. I'd probably have eaten better, and paid less, at my local Chinese - but I fancied a change. So, I had some decent spring rolls, and a kung pao chicken with rice. The menu seems much less extensive than I remember - but the chicken was delicious, although the rice was somewhat lukewarm. The glass of wine was generous, and nice enough that I had a second.
Well, I did have time to kill - it wasn't to be a long walk. When I did leave, and passed along Gerrard Street, I found myself passing my previous haunt, the Black Bean - now closed! I don't know how permanent that is, but the last time I ate there they had gone seriously downhill. Anyway, I continued on my way..
I don't know what she was doing there, but she was attracting a lot of attention..
I was looking for Dean Street, and remembered enough of the area to know that, when I hit Wardour Street, I'd overshot. Turns out that where Dean Street crosses Gerrard Street, it's called Macclesfield Street, and that's where I should've turned. Well, not much of a detour, and I had plenty of time. What an unusual feeling, particularly for this theatre! I strolled in, collected my ticket, and the guy told me it was already open - this was 20 minutes beforehand.
They have spaces on several floors, and I haven't been to the downstairs theatre before, which is less a traditional theatre space than the others, and instead is a bar with a stage. It was packed - I'm glad I booked. As I wound my way around the queue for the bar, a lady with official-looking equipment, such as a headset, a walkie-talkie, and a clipboard, ascertained that I was looking for a seat, and how many of me there were, and offered me a chair in the middle - where I'd likely have been stuck behind some large person - or a seat on the bench at the side. The view from there was decent, so that's what I chose. I'd have lost my seat if I'd gone to the bar, and anyway, I'd had enough to drink.
As the last people arrived, we all had to budge up, and the leaning lass on my left made her presence felt for the duration. But what the hey. Mister Donnelly appeared pretty much on time. He looks much better now than his picture on Wikipedia (see link above), or the clip I saw of him on YouTube. Apparently, he got divorced not that long ago - it seems to have agreed with him! He's cut his hair, lost weight, and had laser eye surgery, which was the subject of his first joke - so no more glasses. Very fit, in fact!
His style is unassuming, and the jokes creep up on you. In a way, they're peculiarly British, in that sense of the hilarity of being embarrassed at things. His observations are pretty spot-on, but I won't repeat any here - as befits a late Saturday show in Soho, the subjects aren't the most polite. And as I write this, we're already into Sunday. So not appropriate then! But I laughed so hard I felt dizzy, and laughed often. Good choice, on my part!
Afterwards, dodging the cars and rickshaws of Dean Street, I returned via Shaftesbury Avenue, where I soon found myself in the midst of a massive hen party with distinctive pink fluffy zogabongs. Ah, London on a weekend night! I'd forgotten how manic it was - this was my first weekend out and about in London this year! What with being back in Ireland every second week, and being sick the last weekend I spent here.. it's good to be back in the thick of it. I came back from Piccadilly Circus, and on the escalator down to the platforms, we were well entertained by a very jazzy number from a busker at the bottom, on an electric guitar. Half the folks on the escalator danced along..
Tomorrow will probably be more sedate. I'm off to Singing in the Dark Times, an evening of song about the work of peacekeepers around the world. In aid of Peace Direct. Takes place in Bush Hall, just off Shepherds Bush.. not too far away, and not too late.
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