Here’s a tip. If you have any sort of paranoid complex about the effect your presence has on a roomful of people – if you reflexively conduct an armpit sniff-test whenever a stranger moves to a different seat on the train – then you should approach a 7pm booking at Lasdun with a degree of caution. On a recent weeknight at the National Theatre’s glinting new flagship brasserie, I found myself in a busy, clamorous room at the precise moment that the show was about to begin. Arms semaphored wildly to request the bill, and then, in a flurry of gulped wine dregs and stampeding feet, almost every table bar mine headed towards the exit.
“It happens every night,” began John Ogier, once of Lyle’s and one of Lasdun’s co-founders, stopping by my table with a wry smile. “And it doesn’t get any less weird.”
