Alan Bennett. Hmmm, well my limited familiarity of his works led me to believe that anything which didn't involve a solo performance of misery by Thora Hird might actually be interesting. Not so.
There were two plays. About spies (apparently). The first one ended when the curtain went down. I can't think of anything more concrete to say about it than that. There was an actress who met Guy Burgess (famous spy) behind the iron curtain when he threw up in her dressing room. And she came home to buy him some pyjamas. Apparently he dies some time later.
The second play was about a bloke (who may possibly have been another old spy) who apparently knew something about art and suspected one of the queen's paintings was a forgery. Much of the play revolved around dialogue with the queen on this matter. Although obviously a metaphor for the covert work of espionage I found this as entertaining as examining the inside of my eyelids.
I was awoken by a jab in the ribs as my wife jerked with laughter. Feeling somewhat inadequate compared with her obvious empathy with the Bennett literary machinations, I was greatly relieved to discover her mirth was entirely devoted to my erstwhile snoring.
There were some memorable moments - I am told the ice cream was nice. And my three large glasses of cabernet-sauvignon-merlot-shiraz-malbec went down particularly well. Oh yes, the play or plays were called 'Single Spies'. And the theatre exit signs were overpowering and gave the whole place an eery green glow which made the audience look like zombies.
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