The Habit of Art

No idea, 5.0 units. Last night we settled into what our hotel disarmingly described as a “Tiny” room, then headed off to the National Theatre to see The Habit of Art, the new play by Alan Bennett to which I had been looking forward so much that I refrained from punching the lights out of the station attendant yesterday. It did not disappoint. Well, only perhaps in the ending, which seemed to run down like an old clock, as though comic inspiration had simply been exhausted. But who can resist the apparently effortless stagecraft of Richard Griffiths, combined with the excitement of wondering whether a man of his gargantuan size is actually likely to make it through to the end of the show? We laughed a good deal, mainly at pleasingly childish jokes. And afterwards we walked across the Jubilee Bridge and made a first visit to the new(ish) Oyster Bar at J Sheekey, our favourite London restaurant, where we discovered that it is possible to eat without booking, in portions that are altogether more suitable for a late night snack, and at prices that are eminently affordable. I can’t see why this is good news for J Sheekey, where I traditionally tucked into a delicious three course meal after a night of corporate entertainment at the Coliseum or Covent Garden, but it was certainly very good news for us.