The night I was turned away from the Ivy

How the mighty can fall. I was overwhelmed by the approbation I had received for my one-woman show, Behind the Shoulder Pads at the Adelphi Theatre. Standing ovations would erupt several times during our performance. The roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd were heady as my co-star (my hubby Percy) and I took our bows to wild applause and cheering. At the after-party at Rules, the oldest and most revered restaurant in London, we were inundated with admiration and support from everybody there. Two nights later, still glowing from all the attention, Percy, my daughter Katy and I went to the Curzon Cinema in Victoria, our first visit to a big screen for six months. Percy had booked the Ivy Victoria for between 7.45 and 8 p.m., informing them that it would be ‘after the movie ended’. We showed up a few minutes before eight to be greeted firstly by a look of ‘Who the hell are you?’ followed by a reproving: ‘You’re very late so we don’t have a table for you now.’ While Percy cajoled and entreated with various hostesses, managers and waiters, Katy and I slunk to the bar trying to ignore the amused expressions of the seated diners. After a highly embarrassing and frustrating ten minutes we left, caught a cab to the ever-welcoming Frantoio where we enjoyed a first-rate repast, great service and appreciation for our patronage. As I’ve been going to the original Ivy in West Street since I was 16, that brought me down a peg or two.