Aaaaagh! For all the world knows, I am permanently stranded in a stairwell in London because it has taken so long to complete my account of our UK trip! And it is not as if I am trying to compose a travelogue or download a million pictures.
It is just that things get in the way. Volunteering makes demands. The garden wants attention. And we occasionally give in to a spontaneous impulse and attend a play in
Stratford.
We were not alone either. On Wednesday when Bruce and I took in a wonderful matinee performance of Fiddler on the Roof, we had plenty of retired company. It was a full house with an all-ages audience, but there were
loads of grey-haired attendees. (I concluded that some of these older and younger folks were together: grandma and gramps giving the kids and grandkids a cultural outing. Perhaps I suspect this because it is what I can imagine us doing in a few years.)
The seniors-love-Stratford thing was also evident when we had dinner afterwards at a favourite restaurant,
The Parlour. Carpeted floors, comfortable seating, and wasn't that Faure's Pavane tinkling in the background? How very grown -up! And how appealing to the older folk we noted among our fellow diners.
We were really at The Parlour for their pavlova, but it was still a relief that there was no assertive hip vibe (the attitude, not the body-part) to remind us of our essential un-hipness.
Yup. Stratford knows its audience. Even as we drove into town we had been greeted by an age-- appropriate message on one of those "thought for the day" displays outside a local Inn:
Time is a great healer but a lousy beautician.
I am capable of more than one act of summer spontaneity. I should take another look at that Stratford playbill....
