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You can’t stop the boats: Sorry We Didn’t Die At Sea @ParkTheatre

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Sorry We Didn’t Die At Sea by Italian playwright Emanuele Aldrovandi and translated by Marco Young, has made a topical return to London at the Park Theatre after playing earlier this summer at the Seven Dials Playhouse. In a week when leaders and leaders in waiting were talking about illegal immigration, it seemed like a topical choice . It also has one hell of an evocative title. The piece opens with Adriano Celantano’s Prisencolinensinainciusol , which sets the scene for what we are about to see. After all, a song about communication barriers seems perfect for a play about people trafficking and illegal immigration. One side doesn’t understand why they happen, and the other still comes regardless of the latest government announcement / slogan .  However, the twist here is that the crossing is undertaken the other way. People are fleeing Europe instead of escaping war or poverty in Africa or the Middle East. It’s set sometime in the not-too-distant future. There is a crisis causing p
The Necessary Business

I am a little bit tipsy as I write this update thanks to the UK taxpayer and some farewell drinks as the office moves (I see it as a small rebate for the huge amount of tax the government takes from you here)...

Anyway last night I had the discussion with my housemates that I was avoiding all week. It was the I won't be alone in a few weeks and I need to know if I should be moving out conversation. And yes I will have to move out.

It was a polite sit down conversation over supper... but one that I had to have as I need to give four weeks notice and it is now less than four weeks.

I have mixed views about leaving beautiful Haringey. Well lets face it the neighborhood is a shit hole because it is full of Turks and illegal immigrants who have no concept of modernity. They haven't built a community in this neighbourhood as so much as replicate a middle-eastern slum. On the other hand, Soho is only twenty minutes on the tube...

There are plusses and minuses about moving out. The house - while all beige and proof that a queer eye is no guide to style or taste - is still quite lovely by London standards. And the guys I share with - while full of the popular London self-loathing and anal retentativeness - have been nice in their own way too. I think they will be sad to see me go as well. As lets face it, I am a dream tennant. I'm clean, tidy and good for a few laughs. Assuming you overlook:
* the time I left the coke can and the toaster out on the kitchen bench and went out for the day
* the time I left the good knife in the cutlery drainer to air dry rather than dry with a towel and put away in its proper drawer
* the time I ate yoghurt on the non food couch

So today I started looking for a place for two. There was a bedsit in West Hampstead that looked just right advertised on the gumtree - a popular site for Australians looking for accomodation in London. I rang the lady who was the contact in the ad and said I was enquiring about the place for myself and my partner.
"Is your partner a female partner or a male partner?" she asked.
"My partner is male" I replied.
There was a pause, then:
"I'm sorry, but I cannot let this place to two gentlemen"
"That's quite allright you have a lovely day" I told her and hung up. Hey if she doesn't want two dream tennants that's her loss.

Besides, I still have to check outlet.co.uk and gayshare.co.uk exist. I have a hunch they offer much better places (even if they may suffer from a bit too much beige)...

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