Eve

'dzooks. I have a moment, flipping through the falderals of that literary institution Vogue. Look at them all; look at us all. That night I go to the Almeida's brilliant new sandblast of a Homecoming, and watch Jenny Jules as Ruth penetrate Pinter's dank hotbed of sixties north London masculinity; teasing, manipulating, revelling. Revolting. Magnificent. I drink a glass of wine alone in the bar, wearing my over-the-knee (but flat) leather boots. Flipping through Vogue, looking at us all. What a piece of work is woman.