Last month, when I expected to be more mobile by now than I actually am, we booked to go to a St Patrick’s Day dinner/cabaret. It was quite a challenge. I was worried about being there, especially since I now know I’m better to have my leg up than down for extended periods. I decided to use the board that holds my leg out. The tables were all very close together, and so were the seats at the tables. It took some negotiating in and out. And when I went to the toilet at the interval, and came back, all the tables were lining up at the buffet, which had been our route to the table. Anyway, we managed. It was a challenge, but we did it. Fortunately, my leg fitted under the table, even on the board. The food was good, and the other people at our table pleasant. The main singer however, left a lot to be desired. Enda, his name is, and he is Irish. And he had booked to do a St Patrick’s Day cabaret – and apparently he did it last year as well, although I imagine he must have done something different. We, and most of the audience, wondered what he was doing there, because he was very resistant to singing any Irish songs. He started with one, and ended his second set with a couple more – but kept saying ‘later, later’ when he was repeatedly asked for them during most of the performance. Mostly he sang songs that had been written for him for one reason or another, and a few covers. He had a good cabaret type voice – but I wouldn’t have gone out to see him under normal circumstances, never mind when the whole thing was such a challenge. The dinner was the Irish Association St Patrick’s Night function, with the local Rose of Tralee – it does seem fairly reasonable to expect a little Irish music!Anyway, enough whingeing. We also went to see Becoming Jane, about Jane Austen’s young adult life this morning, so I’ve had a busy weekend for an immobile person. That was much more what was expected, and included the complete entourage of British acting. Anne Hathaway made a good Jane, except that she is far too pretty. I wonder how much of that story is ‘true’. I should imagine that they made up a good proportion of it. However, the overall sense of it is right, I think. That she would have had some model for the feelings she wrote about is likely, and the writers managed to portray these in a convincing storyline with a range of characters who are not quite as solid as Jane’s own characters – but then, as every writer knows, real people never are quite as solid as fictional ones.