As the World descends upon Leeds for the Grand Depart of the Tour de France, so I slipped away on the 10am train to London. Bumped into Anne W who was guarding the Headrow.
I was off to see a production of my favourite ever book in the world, Fathers and Sons by Turgenev, which I have read about 15 times, once in Russian and the rest in English, by various different translators.
But first a question of the Ladies Final. I book in Roseberry Hall, find the tv room and settle down to watch the amazing Kvitova walk all over the poor Canadian woman.
Next it's off to meet Grafton, Charlotte and Skye at a street party in Clapton where Pantonic were playing. then it's bus to Manor House, tube to Covent Garden, no, it sails past, to Leicester Sq, finally find the Donmar Warehouse with 1 minute to go.
This is the theatrical performance of a lifetime. Cried through most of the second half, stayed and shook a few hands. I never saw anything so beautiful, so perfect, such an interpretation of such a much loved book. Great liberties with the storyline, but brought out the women characters and let Arkady shine again. Down to the men's haircuts it was perfect and it even managed to be a comedy.
Next day it's the train back to Leeds and the men's final. I nip to the allotment for some strawberries and contemplate Djokovich and Federer's titanic struggle. Briefly nip up to Chloe's dad's garage for the pans for Birmingham, and that's almost, but not quite a pan-free weekend.
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