The last time I was at the theatre was ...
Bad sign. I cannot remember. So it is just as well to record Saturday July 23 2011 as the last time I went to the theatre. Went to experience Emperor and Galilean as written by Henrik Ibsen and updated by Ben Power.
Ooh was it big and stagey.
It featured a host of people I don't know - because I don't go to the theatre etc etc - but it had Ian McDiarmid. I do know him because he is Mr Bad in the Star Wars things.
An unmistakeable voice - well it is if you've watched the films as many times as I have - it was excellentt to hear it live.
Though I did get a bit freaked when he was urging the anti-hero to "abandon himself". I was waiting for "Give in to your anger."
But this was the Olivier Theatre and not the Death Star.
Utterly brilliant stuff and it made me wonder why i don't go to the theatre more often.
But I think I said that the last time I went.
Sunday, 24 July 2011
Monday, 4 July 2011
The Buses
Perhaps Alfred Hitchcock should have made a film called The Buses. If today's journey was anything to go by it could have been a chiller.
During the voyage from Streatham to Kings Cross, I had enough flashbacks to make Salvador Dali's moustache go green.
This is perhaps why people move away. Too many memories. I think I might have touched on this in the blog before. But with old age starting to kick in I am not exactly sure when I did this.
Perhaps it is all so obvious. I sat on the bus from Streatham heading towards Brixton and reflected on times past. Incident along the road there, memory of a rendez vous there.
Tube journies are not like that. I tend to read on the tube. But If I try to do that on a bus I feel ill. So I look out the window and end up feeling melancholy.
I might well be that way inclined when I travel in Paris in 20 years.
By which time I might have had to sell my homes to pay for my long term care. They are debating this kind of thing in the British parliament. The radio programme talking about it was too much to bear so off I set for work.
Then there was a problem with The Trains.
Which forced me into the vortex of The Buses.
During the voyage from Streatham to Kings Cross, I had enough flashbacks to make Salvador Dali's moustache go green.
This is perhaps why people move away. Too many memories. I think I might have touched on this in the blog before. But with old age starting to kick in I am not exactly sure when I did this.
Perhaps it is all so obvious. I sat on the bus from Streatham heading towards Brixton and reflected on times past. Incident along the road there, memory of a rendez vous there.
Tube journies are not like that. I tend to read on the tube. But If I try to do that on a bus I feel ill. So I look out the window and end up feeling melancholy.
I might well be that way inclined when I travel in Paris in 20 years.
By which time I might have had to sell my homes to pay for my long term care. They are debating this kind of thing in the British parliament. The radio programme talking about it was too much to bear so off I set for work.
Then there was a problem with The Trains.
Which forced me into the vortex of The Buses.
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