In addition to the spider plant I grew off of an ambitious scrap I stole from somewhere in the office, I now have a little vase containing a violet I found in the front yard of some apartment building in Putney, a crocus someone kicked out of the ground in Red Lion Square, and a snippet of a prayer plant I liberated from the office decor. I think I'll try to dry the violet; I'd never seen them growing wild before. With luck the prayer plant will decide it likes its new home and put down roots - then I can pot it and it will really flourish.
The West End Whingers' review of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert has me drooling, but because it's at the Palace (where I saw most of Spamalot - the view most hindered from the balcony), I'm not buying tickets. Pay £60-£90 or miss half the show? It seems like blackmail. I can only find semi-cheap tickets away from the Ambassadors, at places like WhatsOnStage and LastMinute. Meanwhile Madame de Sade and Dido, Queen of Carthage are being skewered; thankfully, I've only got tickets for one of them (and they're returnable). Perhaps I should be looking at The 1959 Broadway Songbook, available for £15, and the Stovepipe walkabout show the National's running. In fact, that show takes place on Sundays; I'm going to book tickets.
Tonight I'm off to see the Maltese Falcon. If only it were the Malteser Falcon. If that were the case, tell me, how would you build a film noir centering on a bird statue made of malted milk chocolate balls?