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No country for old women: Old Ladies - at Finborough Theatre

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The day after seeing The Old Ladies at the Finborough Theatre , I was describing the play to someone in great detail: about three old ladies who lived in a rickety house in southern England in 1935. Based on Hugh Walpole’s novel and adapted by Rodney Ackland, it is the sort of story with enough believability, humour and mild thriller to stick in your mind. Perhaps it is the lure of this dark, forboding tale of a life without money, to be alone and to be old, that makes you feel attracted to this poverty porn. But then again, given the state of the world, the cost of living, an ageing population, or just the fact that it’s a dog-eat-dog world, it might as well be an every little old lady-for-herself, too. It’s a well-acted and staged piece that moves at a brisk pace, so there isn’t much time to think about it too much. And in the intimate (or should that be claustrophobic?) space of the Finborough, there’s nowhere to avert your eyes. Even if you wanted to.  The scene is a grim Cathe...
Overheard on the Tube tonight:

Chav #1: I am not doin' any more girls until school finishes...
Chav #2: Yeah?
Chav #1: But Jo came yesterday at 5 and I gave her a good shaggin'... She won't forget that...

Overheard at the London Lesbian and Gay Film Fest tonight:

Leather Man #1: You know Peter, the young boy that hangs around us sometimes?
Leather Man #2: Oh yes I know the one
Leather Man #1: Well he sent me a text around lunchtime which said, "Get yourself to a TV, she looks faaabulous in oyster silk and chiffon!"

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