What’s new?

I know, I know I sort of promised I’d add to this blog weekly. Well it wasn’t exactly a promise but I tried to. And have failed just recently. Socrates said that the unexamined life was not worth living. True. A valuable part of our humanity, in my opinion, is our ability to reflect and hopefully learn and grow. But, but, the unlived life is not worth examining (Tom Morris, American philosopher). Clever clogs.

And I’ve been living, and so have you, I realise. I have no followers from The Other Side. Anyhow I’ve been busy and it’s been great. I’ve done some new things, including this.IMG_3037

I’ve never done pumpkin carving before and in the past I would have been sniffy about Hallowe’en and all its manifestations. I sent this picture to my son who replied “Is it not a bit ooey ooey, Mum?” He’s referring to my hardcore stance on things supernatural when they were children. There was a list of programmes they were forbidden to watch and merchandise from the programmes they were forbidden to own. Scooby Doo was about the limit for supernatural activity. It was always someone dressed up in a sheet. Phew. Ghostbusters? No. Cities of Gold? Worshipping other gods. I wasn’t even sure about The Demon Headmaster. Something about the eyes. And that D word.

So tame as it may seem, Jack o Lanterns are radical when you’re sitting where I am.

Other things I’ve done.

Been to Much Ado starring Vanessa Redgrave and James Earle Jones as the snappish lovers Benedict and Beatrice. Not great. They are too old and slow for the text. The production was limp. Harsh I know, and disappointing – the tickets were pricey – but when you’ve seen some excellent physical theatre (eg Propellor an all male company with an eye for contemporary detail and style) your expectations are high. And this was the Old Vic. Shame.

More disappointment. The National Theatre’s production of People by Alan Bennett came to Canterbury. I love the old curmudgeon, but this was stagey and stilted and not funny. I didn’t laugh out loud at all. Neither was it moving as his vignettes often are. It was silly and cheap and a waste of £20. The best part of the evening was the ice cream in the interval.

But I did enjoy Kate Rusby at the Marlowe. We booked the last two tickets and enjoyed this wisp of Northern woman with an unlikely Barnsley accent when speaking and the ethereal voice of an angel singing. She spoke about having being born with songs pre-installed, a nice thought. She can’t remember not knowing this one.

And she wrote this.

Like. Sentimental aren’t I? I think I’ll leave it there.

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