If you viewed the film, you will remember that he wrote, thought and functioned in the bathtub. A situation to which I relate. Until tonight, after theatre, when I was accompanied to the bath by a bowl of cooked, lightly oiled brussel sprouts, and salted parsley. Reading the playbill, not paying attention to the use of the chopsticks the full bowl slide down the porcelain wall and slipped into the water. Not only did that demand an immediate exit for me, but I had to clear the drain of leaves. And the cringe factor? I came home and took a bath and washed all my clothes, including my coat, because it felt creepy-crawly in the theatre seats. In some of the smaller theatres, there is a bed-bug problem, and I trusted that my sense of this one was right.