Lynne Patrick
Sometimes I have to stand back and admire the ingenuity of my blogmates, who devise witty, imaginative headings for their posts. But sometimes a heading is just a heading, and what you see is what you get. This is one of those times.
They say, whoever the elusive they are, that pleasures have to be paid for, and I certainly seem to be paying for my highly enjoyable three-day break last week.
If you think reviewing theatre is a cushy job, try four in one week: one amateur, two low-budget small-scale professional (and not the best examples of their kind), one local festival ‘rehearsed reading’. Like most of the theatre I see, each has its moments, but it’s all getting a bit... relentless. And then came the celebrity phone interview, with workmen outside on the office roof installing solar panels, which is not a quiet job.
So sitting here telling Dead Guy followers about my visit to Stratford-upon-Avon last week comes as something of a respite.
In brief, it was great. Stimulating, informative, relaxing. And it didn’t even rain.
If you get the opportunity, go and see for yourself. It’s worth the trip even if there’s nothing you want to see at the theatre.
Of course, there was something we wanted to see – two somethings, in fact – and that was the main reason for the visit. I’m normally a little wary of books turned into plays, especially two-inch-thick books which cover a lot of ground, but even if I hadn’t known the history behind Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies, I don’t think I’d have had a moment’s difficulty following what was happening on stage. And when the productions are of such quality, two nights in a row is pure pleasure, especially when I don’t have to write three hundred words of carefully targeted critique afterwards. Both plays close in Stratford very soon, but only so they can open in London in early June.
So, having elected to stay overnight between plays, we needed something to do on the intervening day. Not a problem; this was Stratford, Shakespeare capital of the known universe. We visited the great man’s birthplace, his daughter’s house, his granddaughter’s house and his wife’s family’s house, all preserved in the best style of museums and well supplied with guides who knew their Shakespeare. And by way of a bonus, a small group of professional actors treated us to a scene or two from Romeo and Juliet in the garden of the birthplace. They were taking requests; the next people to wander by asked for Julius Caesar.
That wasn’t all. As we traversed the town en route from one Shakespeare-related dwelling to the next, we spotted a café selling the most mountainous cream scones you’re ever likely to see anywhere. I kid you not, they were six inches high, and three of the inches were whipped cream. Reader, I was tempted. But scones aren’t my personal choice of self-indulgence, and that much cream in one sitting would probably disagree with me. I settled for a slice of chocolate orange cake, and a couple of hours later, a glass of the best hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted.
Shakespeare, great drama and wonderful hot chocolate, all in two days. Who could ask for anything more?
Recent Comments