Lunch at La Dolce Vita on Martyn's birthday. Decent meal, very potable house red by the glass, reasonable bill. Lunch on Sunday at a pub in Somethingdean with Barbara. Pleasant reception and brisk service, sticky table, uninspiring meal, adequate wine, shocking bill.
The touring performance of Calendar Girls is in Disgustedville at the moment, and it was a nice night out, even if the Assembly Hall's cellar leaves something to be desired. The performances were generally very good, and we had a good ration of belly laughs. Bit of a sting in the tail, however: there was a message from the bank's fraud department when we got home: my debit card seems to have been compromised: someone had bought £15-worth of pay-as-you-go minutes from one Mobile operator, and attempted to buy £10-worth from another, which was refused. Top marks - for once - to RBS, who were quickly on the case, have refunded the £15 debited, and have issued a replacement card within 36 hours. It's for the bank and the police to work out whodunit, but I have a theory, not unrelated to the only unfamiliar place in which I've used the card in the past few days. Next move: change all PINs.
It was good to practise my unmentionable hobby yesterday other than as chairman, the more so because the chairman was a dear friend from the same litter of 2004 swearers-in. Gosh: I'm more than half-way through my career in said hobby, from which I must retire in July 2020, if I live that long.
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