The plaque on the door of my hotel room said ‘Superior Room’.
Once inside, I searched for evidence for this rather grandiose claim. None was apparent, though there was a chocolate on the pillow. And the toilet paper had been folded into a neat point by a Polish chambermaid. If the Polish ever go home, England will collapse.
I am in the middle of a tour of English towns with a modest theatrical offering, which is proving to be very successful. Most reassuring, since I was seriously thinking of auditioning for a riserrecliner commercial.
The trip is taking me to some wonderful theatres. I had not realised how much I had missed all those little pink faces peering at me out of the gloom and rising to their feet at the end of the show.
