To bed

"She's not crying because I said she was 41.  She's crying because she is 41!"--On Approval

Saturday John and Kathrine came over and we had Indian food. (The nearby Indian restaurant has a December special!  We'll have to eat it with Donald too.) We ate what was left for the next couple of days, of course.

Yesterday we put The Marriage of Figaro to bed. (Someone brought a chocolate cake.) We got to keep our wigs so Anne may photograph me in my costume after all.  Moira came to the last show.  She said that the music is great--she loved the soloists, who were mostly new--but the plot gets silly in the second half.

This evening Miriam and I went to a Toronto Film Society double bill at Innis Town Hall. They were droll, sharply written British comedies from the 1940s: Clive Brook's On Approval and the Alexander Korda production of Oscar Wilde's An Ideal Husband. (I saw the play at London's Old Vic about twenty years ago!)

It looks like I've finally straightened out my Prestocard account for now. (I paid $100 into it.)