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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...
Rats
  • A rat went scurrying past me in the kitchen last night. He seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. This news seemed to be just as shocking to my flatmate as the news that I should vote Tory. I suggested that warfarin would solve the rat problem, but that Tory voters are bound to flourish as Labour continues to stay in office.
  • At the National Theatre tonight a rat ran out from under one food counter and hid under the table near me. It then ran back. A few of us watched this rat run with bemusement. Have made mental note to just use the bar at intermission in future.
  • They do seem to be getting closer...

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