The play was excellent, although a matinee performance might be more appropriate. Then you could spend the rest of the afternoon in the pub with a few scotches pondering then experiencing the fragility and unreliability of memory. It’s a familiar subject, and well suited to long hours of contemplation. The life in limbo, no certainty about either what has gone before or if anything is still to come. The notion that if one is to live in no man’s land then to do so with a friend is preferable. The inevitable attraction of two complementary souls, and the recognition that what people yearn for in a friend is the other side of themselves. It’s hard to think of two actors better suited to this play, segueing as they do between support and dependence, intimidation and soothing, rivalry and servitude, bluster and humility. Of course everyone’s a theatre critic, aren’t they? It’s slightly odd, though, to hear Pinter discussed by confident American voices, particularly when their views are so wholly different to mine. I wonder what the two knights would think of their interpretations. Or mine, come to that. The beauty of Pinter, of course, is that every line is open to interpretation, as are all the spaces between the lines. Your own view is what counts and the others are in no man’s land. Just like life.