In Praise of Pang's

Finally I've found it - a London fish and chip shop that sells mushy peas. Admittedly they're not all that authentic, in that there's rather more mush than pea; in fact, it's mostly just green liquid rather than either mush or pea; but my point is that they've tried, and it dispels Peter Kay's assertion that in London fish shops don't sell "owt moist". But Mrs Pang (I presume it was Mrs Pang), who runs a successful and sumptuous Chinese takeaway next door as well, is such a congenial host that, despite my exile to central London, I might well make the trip up to Kentish Town once in a while to sample her Cod and Chips (£5) with Mushie (sic.) Peas (70p). The chips are excellent and there's actually a substantial amount of fish on the fish, once you get through the impenetrable and unfortunately disappointing and unauthentic (sorry, Mrs Pang, you did your best) batter.

Moving house I trawled through our "Drawer of Crap". I'm sure everone has it. It's that drawer in the lounge, or study if you're poncey like we are now, that's full of stuff you're not sure what to do with but don't quite have the heart to throw away, like an assortment of greetings cards that "might come in handy" one day, but haven't yet. In my Drawer of Crap I found all the reports I've been sent back by the various theatres who've turned down my plays. In particular, there are three reports for "Graffiti of All Kinds", which is my favourite play because it isn't unutterably depressing and has a title of whic I'm openly proud. And here was an illustration of the main problem of being a writer - it's so damn subjective. For here was exactly the same play, sent to three different theatres, which had illicited three entirely different responses.

The Royal Court Theatre had called it a "charming and intimate piece" and claimed they would "certainly be interested in reading more of your work", in a glowing review I might frame one day. Soho called the dialogue "natural and eloquent" and commented that the characters "though types" were not stereotypes. They also said it touched on "weighty issues". (Which it didn't especially, but it was a nice thing to say.) In contrast, just as I was bathing in my own eloquence and charm, I got a report from the Oldham Coliseum. They called the dialogue "stilted and banal", the characters "unoriginal and boring" and the topic "inconsequential." I'm now sending it off to an obscure theatre company in New York which specialises in new British theatre in the hope I can get three out of four.