Genie in a bottle...

Well I shan't be showing my face in London again for sometime...

As you know, the husband took me up to London on Friday night to see 42nd Street, with the added 'treat' of taking son number one out for dinner before we headed to the theatre. The husband, always one for Leaving in Plenty of Time, rounded me up after Binland and we left home at 2.00.  We were meeting son number one at 5.00, and with the best will in the world, we were going to be very early, what with us only living 54.2 miles away and going in the opposite direction to the Friday rush hour.

Having parked the car in some weird underground concrete maze run by NCP, we found ourselves in Soho.

'Fancy a drink?' asked the husband.

And so started the downfall of yours truly.

After two large glasses of wine and some middle aged lady chair dancing, the husband steered me to the nearby Mexican restaurant where son number one was waiting for us.  Sitting us down next to three rather flamboyant characters, we started looking at the menu (having ordered another glass of red wine, naturally).  

'Shall I order?' asked son number one.  Never have I been more relieved.  I could just about make out what the menu said, if I screwed my eyes up and focussed very carefully, but the trouble was, even though I could read it, I didn't recognise anything on the menu.  Where was the chilli?  The chimichangas?  The burritos?  This is what happens when you eat in London - they try to be be clever and catch you out.

So the food arrived, I ate some of it (can't tell you what it was, as it all looked very different to anything I've experienced in a Mexican restaurant before) and it was delicious. This review is based on what the husband said, as I have no recollection of eating any of it, especially after that third glass of wine.

And then I started talking to the trio of characters sitting next to us, and it turned out that they were performing on stage later that night'.

'How exciting', I slurred.  'What show are you in?'

The youngest of the three raised his eyebrows slightly, and told me that they were in Aladdin.

Assuming (wrongly) that this was a local amateur dramatic panto, ' I said in a sympathetic voice, 'Oh well, never mind.  Perhaps it will be a springboard for something bigger and better.  You never know who might be sitting in the audience'.

There was silence at their table, and at ours, as son number one muttered an apology to them which involved the phrase 'glass of wine', after which they all got up and left, each of them throwing a pitying look at the husband as they walked out.

I was then informed by son number one that Aladdin is the biggest thing in the West End at the moment, and on further investigation, it appeared that I had just dissed the genie in a most magnificent manner.

Ever wanted to disappear?  

I have.

Pass me that ruddy lamp...