Monochrome Miffy and other stories

I feel for the first time that I may have cracked this sartorial conundrum. it's been all good this week and it's looking good for a few weeks to come too, despite the casualties of war.
I normally dress down on Friday but I have dinner at Les Deux Salons tonight plus a private view of Watteau so I felt a little elegance was in order..non?
Tomorrow Yohji Yamamoto @ V&A

I was in such a rush to leave the country I failed to report back on the joy of Twelfth Night, any concerns I had taking The Leyla Monster were quickly dispelled after the opening scene. The only draw back was the miserable fucker gentleman sat next to us who moaned when Leyla lent forward, he failed on every level to understand the bar in front was ridiculously large and seriously impeded the view of a 9 year old who was frequently swept along with the plot. Whilst nothing will EVER come close to replicating the amazing Michael Grandage production this one was good, marred for me by two actors. Not as I expected Malvolio who was very good, but Viola. Rebecca Hall is such a limp, fey actor, she really does not breathe much life into anything, she plays the same character in the same way in everything and what was worse the production was set in the restoration period simply it seemed to accommodate her long hair. So bad at conveying her disguise as her brother, hers was the only character I had to explain to Leyla. The other poor performance was the maid whose shrill voice grated and very nearly spoilt every scene she was in. The star for me was Marton Csokas, I didn't recognise him but he played a bad boy in Kingdom of Heaven. He was brilliant and stole every scene he was in. I have come to the conclusion that a troll could play Orsino and I would lust after him!
Leyla loved it she laughed so much when the letter gets 'dropped' and her face as the brother and sister arrive on stage together was a picture, she actually sat on the edge of her seat and squealed with delight, something that miserable idiot next to me had clearly not done for a while.
In my haste to get to the airport on time I managed to forget my toiletries bag, the belt to hold up all my jeans and books to read. I bought Kate Atkinson's Started Early Took My Dog which I loved, not least because much of it is set in the Leeds's of my childhood.

It was Maggie O'Farrell's The Hand That Held Mine which blew me away though, it is so exquisitely written every sentence was just so beautifully poetic, I loved it and did not ever want it to end.