Cider with Herring

Chris and I took the 5.15pm train to King’s Cross on Friday – the Cider Express judging by Chris’s intake – to meet up with Chef for Richard Herring’s show at the Arts Theatre on Great Newport Street. I was also going to squeeze in a drink with someone I’ve been chatting to on and off online.

Chris’s two cans of cider on the train were followed up with two pints in the Duke of York on the platform at King’s Cross – his mum was there waiting for a train back to Hull. Chef joined us here.

Then to the evening’s second duke, the Duke of Wellington in Soho, where I was meeting my friend. Chris and Chef thankfully made themselves scarce for the duration.

At nine we headed to the Arts Theatre and took our seats in row A – the second row, the first row naturally being row BB. Nobody sat in row BB, though, so row A was effectively the first row. This mattered deeply as we expected Richard Herring’s chubby little fingers to point to us during the show, and so it proved (some nonsense about Chef sitting with me and Chris to make himself look good). At least none of us was dragged on stage.

He talked more or less non-stop for over an hour, longer than my Fisher Price bladder could last at any rate. Almost entirely new material, with a recycled Fist of Fun joke clearly identified as such. Good stuff.

Avaragado’s rating: one lollipop

After the show, since Chris and I were staying Chez Chef overnight, we wandered around looking for somewhere to eat. We settled on the Alastair Little Restaurant on Frith Street. I think Chef’s paydar must have taken us there, since it wasn’t cheap. I had what I believe was the world’s most expensive lasagne. Very tasty though.

Avaragado’s rating: two wild, absolutely livid mushrooms

We scandalously turned down dessert to avoid missing the last tube back to Chef’s in Kentish Town, where further wine was taken.

Chris and I returned to Cambridge relatively early on Saturday morning, via tube, train and, sigh, replacement bus service from Royston.

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