Yesterday we went up to the big city and went to see a play!
It was "God of Carnage" at the Gieldgud - doesn't that spelling look strange? I had to check it on the programme which we bore proudly home from our dash of culture.
It was written by Yasmina Reza who also wrote "Art" - which I had heard was excellent and now I wish I had bestirred myself to witness, as this play was excellent.
Very funny, very witty, intelligent and often surprising.
Sadly as I am an old codger a Matinee was thought appropriate. I assumed it would be half full with coach loads of Japanese, or similar. However, what do I know, not a lot, obviously.
The theatre was packed, and if my neighbour was any guide - well heeled and ....... arrogant. Well that is probably unfair, she had a loud, toffy nosed voice, and allowed her Chanel like jacket sleeve to dangle over the seat edge into my territory.
This is annoying to moi, I am always willing to fight for my share of the arm rest in any circumstance, this dangle was more subtle, but non the less encroaching.
I tried to ignore it, unsuccessfully, I tried leaning heavily on it, so that when she shifted in her seat she would feel the pressure, obviously the upper classes don't shift about, as no response.
In the end the play was so entrancing i forgot about it, most of the time.
It was so exciting to my tiny world to see Ken Stott in the flesh, sweating; Ralph Fiennes sneering - he seemed to continue thus throughout the curtain calls so maybe he was in that mood. Tamsin Greig, my hero from so many gog gems [Black books, Green Wing, Happiness, Love Soup] was excellent but dressed in a somewhat dowdy black jersey dress that didn't quite cut it as a well off Parisian [and she had a jumper on underneath] and Janet McTeer who had wandered in from Sense and Sensibility and undergone a complete change of century and personality.
It was great. How can they do that 5/6 times a week tho. Logically they could film it and then ........show the film...............but then I wouldn't have got splashed with water from the flying tulips.
Afterwards we pottered around, not a total joy as I rarely wear my respectable shoes, and eventually ended up in a wine bar, which normally i wouldn't dream of approaching, but somehow hoards of shouting young persons, gathered in single sex groups round scrubbed tables is entrancing in London.
It was like being in the parrot house at the zoo just as the keeper throws a packet of peanuts in the air.
The food, when served after several aeons, was very tasty and by the time we left the place was only half full, but still as noisy. I wondered if the sound was actually piped in as at new football grounds to establish atmosphere.
Coincidentally, on return, we found we had timed our re-entry into town to coincide with the locals exiting the footie. Altho they had drawn with Cardiff, they were not happy and wandered morosely to their cars, driving off with an apathy that meant it took twice as long to escape to rural peace.
