Pinkies Up

Tea time at the Wolsley. Best behavior... excuse me... behaviour required. Did the SJG pull it off, or was I tossed out on my bottom?

Happy to report my manners were spot on. Didn't spill a drop of tea. Lifted my cup, pinky up. Ate my scones and clotted cream like a royal. Nibbled my cucumber sandwiches ever-so-proper. Henry Higgins would've approved. 

"Sunny Afternoon"

"That was awful!" a woman said at top volume, on the way out of the Harold Pinter. "If I were going to review this play, I'd do it in two words: Don't go." Oh you Brits. You are so entertaining. And pray tell, what's with the ice cream cups at Intermission, or as you call it, the Interval? You are all about the ice cream cups. You pre-order them and have them delivered to your seat. Is this some sort of snack ritual dating back to Shakespeare? I don't understand. No one screams for ice cream at the Neil Simon in New York. And what was Little Miss Cranky Pants going on about? "Sunny Afternoon," the story of Ray Davies and the Kinks, was in one word, fabulous. The great hit songs! The complete rock n' roll debauchery! The ups! The downs! The love! The hate! The violence! The brotherly animosity! Let's just say "Sunny Afternoon," you really got me goin'.