First attempt at the third round

Second afternoon of of the third round of this summer's bouldering league. I made good progress, doing 10 of the first problems with no trouble at all. I struggled with number nine, but the general consensus was that it was deceptively difficult: even the really good people were struggling, with some of them resorting to campusing the last bit. The next few routes also look possible but given the increasing level of difficult and the pressing need to leave in time to get to Teignmouth, I decided to save them for another day.

Still, progress: I think I've already passed my total score for round one...

A night at the theatre

Home from the quay in time to scrub up, change clothes and catch the train to Teignmouth for tonight's performance. The journey was a definite improvement on the bus replacement service but it still took forever to get out of Exeter — although on the plus side I did get to see a genuine steam train flashing through St David's while I was waiting for us to change direction. In the end I arrived in good time, strolled down to the pier and met up with R.

We made it to the Carlton Theatre for the TYKES cabaret evening, which marked both their last performance at the theatre — it is due to be demolished and rebuilt in September — and also L's swansong as their artistic director. The show was really good and the standards were extremely high. The program was a mix of songs from various musicals and films, with a couple of clever medleys combining elements from various different songs into seamless pieces.

Some of the numbers were quite emotional and R started sobbing almost as soon as the first solo number started, but luckily, as per her instructions, I'd come equipped with a spare packet of paper hankies just and thus saved myself from getting to tear-stained. I was less emotional until we got to the end, when I have to admit that L's speech and her final duet tugged at even my cynical heartstrings. I'm really glad I finally got to go to one of her performances, having completely failed back in January; it's just a shame it was my last chance.



After enjoying a nice post-show drink in the bar, I made my way to the station and caught the train back to town. The journey itself was OK but other occupants of the carriage had obviously dedicated a serious amount of effort to getting themselves as drunk as possible and, once we were underway, they dedicated themselves to slurring at each other in a fashion that might, with a great deal of charity, be described as arguing. Fortunately for me, this Sartrian nightmare was somewhat offset by the hefty chunk of cake that R had given me earlier in the evening and by a solid chapter of Charlie Stross' The Rhesus Chart.