Featured Post

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

Image
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
Weather resolution

Guy-who-took-room-after-me ends up suggesting on Friday night we go for a drink, which after leaving work at 8pm I figure what the hell, I'll skip gym for that. However:

  • He has another commitment so drinks will commence at 10.30pm, which is hardly enough time before closing to make it worth the effort, but I figure I am only a 20 minute walk to soho so I should be arsed to do that. I spend the hour and a bit between getting home and going out again discussing the imminent Papal death with lapsed Catholics back in Australia.
  • After quick drink in soho Guy-who-took-room-after-me suggests we head to G-A-Y at the Astoria. He bought with him fliers to get cheap (and quick) entry which I thought was pretty organised. The only thing to wait for was the security check. Security guard frisks me and queries the five pound note I have scrunched up in my jeans pocket. I say to him, "its money" and I guess that dumb response suggested I was not some coke addict.
  • G-A-Y at the Astoria on Friday nights is pretty casual and relaxed. The music on Fridays is all ABBA, Kylie and a curiously high number of Pointer Sister tracks which will make you wish you put on your "Choose Life" t-shirt, shoulder pads and extra thick hair gel. But hey when you can sing along to all the tracks it can't be that bad a thing...
  • Drinks come in cans which is fine if you like English beers or cider. Beer or cider in cans in a very warm and sweaty environment is such an experience, but it does encourage the punters to drink more... Well those punters that can take their alcohol - and take English beer or cider.
  • It was probably around the fourth or fifth can of cider that Guy-who-took-room-after-me found an Asian midget and started snogging the thing.
  • I realised I was way too sober and after the earlier discussion about Catholicism really not ready for the wild crazy hedonism that seemed to be breaking out on the dance floor amongst the discarded cans, the warm air, the bright lights, and the Spice Girls Movie playing on a large screen and the endless stream of classic pop from the eighties. So I called it a night at the awfully sensible hour of 2am, wishing (on three separate occasions) someone a good night after they tried to distract me from leaving.
  • Five minutes later I was home... Location location... I got a text today enquiring if I got home last night and some references to a few too many cans of cider but I figure since I make a lousy drinking buddy and I don't drink cider, I probably wouldn't skip gym again for that. Although I did download some Pointer Sisters tracks from iTunes for my collection... Baby, make your move, step across the line,
    Touch me one more time, come on, dare me!

    Amen to that...

Popular posts from this blog

Opera and full frontal nudity: Rigoletto

Fantasies: Afterglow @Swkplay

Play ball: Damn Yankees @LandorTheatre