What a difference a sleep makes
Words: Dusty   
Wednesday, 15 August 2007
God, what a difference ten hours' sleep makes!  Yesternight I was flagging -
I could barely muster the strength to raise my wine glass to my lips.  Today
I feel like a new man, albeit one with a rather sore throat. This I must attribute to the bizarre weather.  Muggy one minute, arctic the
next.

Last night's Vaudeville was a smash.  My new neighbours, Mark and Svetlana,
plumb depths of physical comedy that leave even a hardened soul like mine
trembling. Their banana act must be seen to be believed.  Though things got
off to a spine-chillingly funny start with the sublime Pearl's World
(imagine a Swedish Edith Sitwell singing in a baritone to accordion
accompaniment), they swooped through aerial and tap (the astonishing Tap
Olé) to a contortionistic turn that involved the dislocation of Al the Human
Knot's body parts and the audience's jaws.

We even had Des O'Connor (not that one, another one) playing the ukelele.
And who says variety is dead?  In other news, I was most temperate in my
drinking, did not try to snog anyone inappropriate, and was in bed by 2am.

Today's pressing duties included having lunch with my impossibly glamorous
and programming director Feimatta at Sardi's, where her friend Grace joined
us for a birthday surprise.

Imagine Grace's surprise to find Neil and Christine Hamilton singing along
with us in a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday.  I do love the Hamiltons.  I
met them last year and despite the absolutely polarity of our politics, they
were incredibly good sports.

My job now is to get to see some more shows.  I don't want to miss out on
all the fun.  Tempting as it is to go see Cabaret 1927 over and over again,
I must be strong.  2000-odd shows (and possilbly 2000 very odd shows) await
me.