On this occasion we took our picnic in the Clore Ballroom, rather than in a flanking terrace, mainly surrounded by mothers with their toddlers. Some of whom were energetically scooting about the place: probably forbidden but harmless enough in the circumstances. Mothers who made a fair amount of mess with their picnics, but who tidied up after themselves.
On for pre-theatre refreshment in the Nell Gwynn in the splendidly named Bull Inn Court. A proper old fashioned boozer. A bit cramped, lots of brown wood, a bit scruffy and very little in the way of food. Furthermore, the barmaid had been a maid in the last excursion, 'A woman of no importance'. I was tactless enough to explain that we thought the play a bit long. She explained that she had been one of the maids, which I had forgotten about until BH reminded me, after the event, of the rather jolly musical numbers between some of the scenes. Also that she was paid £650 or so a week for the duration which she thought was quite good money, so presumably better than barmaiding.
Later on I tried to remember what 'A woman of no importance' was about, and completely failed. I tried a refresh with the long plot synopsis offered by Wikipedia, but I did not have the patience to wade through that. So all that I am left with is that it was another play involving a mix-up over parentage - as was, as it turned out, the one to come. A subject which was perhaps all the rage at the time Wilde was writing - or perhaps close to his mixed up heart. Perhaps it was common for bored housemaids, when they were not having fantasies about white slavers, to have fantasies about being the natural child of some prince or other.
Another clever production, nicely staged and dressed. Better than the last one, but still a little too long. And the third scene, the boozy club men scene, seemed rather forced somehow, rather in the way that the gangster failed in the first half of the birthday party. See reference 3. More clever song and dance in some of the intervals between scenes, one including a star performance by a maid. The sort of thing which might, I suppose, have featured in the music halls of Wilde's day.
After this second outing, our verdict was that Wilde had worn quite well, but was past his sell by date. No need to see any more any time soon.
Out to get a little lost in the area once known as the Adelphi (I think from the Greek, after the three Adam brothers), a losing noticed at reference 5, and then onto the Villiers Street branch of L'ulivo, a place we have used occasionally in the past, just about seven years ago according to reference 6. Quite possibly a family-run independent, with just the two branches.
Presentation, service and ambience good. Garlic bread a little salty, otherwise good. Spaghetti Bolognese adequate, rather than good. Rather too wet for my taste and not enough spaghetti. Perhaps it was a mistake to take one of the cheapest main courses on the menu. I was also reminded of the BH story about Italians thinking it odd how much pasta English people like to take with their sauce. Supplementary bread poor, fresh out of a machine bakery. Tiramisu good, better than I have had for a while. Appeared to have been made in a shallow bowl, with half a bowl being a portion, rather than the more usual slabs of commercial confectioners. A new us white wine from the 2015 vintage called Valentino which we rather liked. It even had a real cork, which caused the young waitress a bit of bother; clearly no longer used to such things. And, contrary to what Wikipedia might say, the bottle said something about Tuscany.
Back across Hungerford Bridge to Waterloo, to be offered a seat by a smart young lady in the rush hour train to Epsom. It took me a little while to realise what she was on about, but I accepted in the end. Not too proud to sit on this occasion!
PS 1: the illustration found by Bing, possibly from the first production of the play, back in 1892. Possibly the St. James's Theatre which is now Webber's Other Palace.
PS 2: looking at the tickets again this morning, I was reminded of the irritating practise whereby the price you pay for your tickets is significantly different from, invariably more than, what is called the face value. I suppose that theatre companies have found, like insurance companies, that flexible prices is more profitable than fixed prices. Irritating though the former are to people like me. A practise which, I am pleased to say, does not seem to have percolated through to concert halls.
Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2017/11/wilde-one.html.
Reference 2: http://www.thenellgwynne.com/.
Reference 3: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/the-birthday-party.html.
Reference 4: http://www.lulivo.co.uk/.
Reference 5: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/fake-23.html.
Reference 6: http://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.co.uk/search?q=l'ulivo.
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