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No country for old women: Old Ladies - at Finborough Theatre

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The day after seeing The Old Ladies at the Finborough Theatre , I was describing the play to someone in great detail: about three old ladies who lived in a rickety house in southern England in 1935. Based on Hugh Walpole’s novel and adapted by Rodney Ackland, it is the sort of story with enough believability, humour and mild thriller to stick in your mind. Perhaps it is the lure of this dark, forboding tale of a life without money, to be alone and to be old, that makes you feel attracted to this poverty porn. But then again, given the state of the world, the cost of living, an ageing population, or just the fact that it’s a dog-eat-dog world, it might as well be an every little old lady-for-herself, too. It’s a well-acted and staged piece that moves at a brisk pace, so there isn’t much time to think about it too much. And in the intimate (or should that be claustrophobic?) space of the Finborough, there’s nowhere to avert your eyes. Even if you wanted to.  The scene is a grim Cathe...
Food South Indian Fare just across the divide

Among shopping and other things today, ventured with A across the great divide (no not the Thames but Euston Road which is such a wide and confronting road just north of where I live and I haven't faced it before) to a South Indian restaurant.

The food was great and one course was served with a flattened rice flour pancake that was propped up and looked like some sort of hat with little pots of tasty things underneath.

A (seeing arrival of the food): Oh our hats are here to eat...
Paul: Yes they are fancy hats...
A: You could almost wear them at the races in Ascot...
Paul: Oh so is that how you distinguish the Southern Indians at the races? They are the ones eating their hats??

Silly perhaps, but great food, and so close to Warren Street Tube...

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