Strings and Burritos

On Friday night I met up with Kristy at South Bank to see a string quartet play in Elizabeth Hall. The quartet was American, the composer was Czech (Dvořák), and the inspiration for the piece came after a trip to America. Oh, the circle of life.

(The Emerson String Quartet. This picture commemorates the time they bumped into each other beneath an old rail bridge in London. They were all wearing suits.)

I sat beside an old man who appeared to share genetic code with a herringbone jacket, which he wore (or perhaps it wore him?). He made affirming wheezes in between sections, and rested an elaborate baton on his knee. Or was it a walking stick? It was too thick to be a baton, and too short to be a walking stick. (Regardless, you can never win with one of those things - use it to conduct an orchestra, people will say it's a walking stick; use it to walk, people will say it's a baton.)

We enjoyed the music very much; however, when we made to leave at the end, we noticed an alarming number of jackets left on seats. Intermission - foiled! We left anyway.

Before the show, Gerrod joined us for dinner at Tortilla (his London home-away-from-Chipotle-in-New York) for some delicious burritos and bottomless soft drinks. I don't use the word 'delicious' lightly here (though I've been known to in the past) - that sucker was the best burrito I've ever eaten, and it may have weighed close to a kilogram. And bottomless soft drinks, well, what can be said about them that hasn't already been said?