Wednesday, March 31/2010

Up as early as we can manage and over to the National Theatre by eightish to queue for tickets for Alan Bennett's The Habit of Art. It's cold, and while the overhang protects us from rain it's surprisingly windy. But we're third and fourth in line, so we know we'll get tickets. The man ahead says that when the weather is really bad we're sometimes allowed in early, but he supposes it's not that bad.

Tickets pocketed, we go over to Canada House to check the email, exchange rate, etc. They no longer carry Canadian papers "because they're available online" - read economy measure.

The Habit of Art is no disappointment - Bennett's plays never are. This one chronicles an imaginary meeting between Auden and Benjamin Brittain at Oxford in the '70's, both of them past their prime (Auden vulgarly and outrageously so) but persisting, movingly, in the habit of art. Wonderful messy set, casual staging and witty lines. And a good two and a half hours. Never anything thin about what Bennett provides.