Fathers, Sons, and Wars

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about fathers and sons. Recent events, of both private and public varieties, have prompted fresh thoughts about this primordial dynamic. Becoming a parent has a way of re-tuning the mind to see familiar concepts in a new light. Watching my “Darling English Boy” evolve into a “Darling English Dad” has given me a renewed respect for fathers and fatherhood.

Just before the arrival our son, Miles, I became obsessed with family history. I was intrigued to find that my husband descends from an exclusively male lineage on his father’s side. His paternal history, like that every Englishman, is a rich tale of fathers, sons, and wars.

In May 1916, my husband’s grandfather, Russell, enlisted in the Army and joined the British effort in “The Great War”. He was but 19 years of age. Yet, the sure and steady longhand and precise signatures that appear on his enlistment form suggest maturity beyond his tender years.

British Legion 'Poppy Field' in Henley-in-Arden

He gave particular care and attention to the signing of his ‘Oath of Allegiance’. The “t” is most carefully crossed, both “i’s” firmly dotted, and a plump full stop appears definitively to the rear of the concluding character. The document exudes sincerity, duty and pride. Russell was a brave soul, amongst a host of similarly valiant youth that answered the call of King and Country. However, unlike the multitude of his fellow brothers-in-arms, Russell was one of the lucky ones that survived. As Shakespeare puts so well, “This story shall the good man teach his son” (Henry V, 4.3.56).

Shakespeare, of course, knew a thing or two about fathers, sons, and wars. His works are a vast reservoir of engaging stories on this theme. His history plays, in particular, are built upon this foundational concept. Most notably, in Henry the Sixth, part 3, Shakespeare underscores the maddening nature of war through his invention of two tragic and un-named characters, referred to merely as: “A Father who has killed his son” and “A Son who has killed his father.” Time and again, Shakespeare shows us the human cost of national conflicts, and the familial relationships behind the power play.

Recently, I had the good fortune to see Greg Doran’s excellent production of Henry IV, parts 1 and 2 at the RSC. At the heart of this narrative exists the triadic relationship of King Henry, Prince Hal and Falstaff. Troubled son, Hal, turns his back on his duty and his sovereign, by displacing his regal father in favour of a low life surrogate in the figure of Falstaff. In performance this complex choice is played with great, rollicking humour and touching pathos by Jasper Britton (Bolingbroke/King Henry) and Alex Hassell (Prince Hal), with Sir Antony Sher stealing the show as the roly-poly, custardy coward, Falstaff.

Alongside the engaging performances, Doran’s direction is crystal clear, making the grand narrative easy to follow. It was, in very deed, child’s play. I was seated next to a little chap called Gregor Bulmer, aged 8, who was at the theatre with his dad. They huddled together during the ferocious battle scenes, and the young lad was enrapt by the performances from start to finish. As the lights came up, Gregor gave his assessment: “Epic.” I asked if he understood it all, he smiled and said he had.

The epic tales of fathers, sons, and wars will always captivate us and command our attention and respect. And so they should, as we should never forget.  

Shakespeare's ambassador

Cicely Berry

“Thou must be my ambassador to them.” – Troilus and Cressida, III.iii.

The journey I make to Cicely Berry’s house is short, but sensational. Trundle from Barford toward Wellesbourne, whiz through that tiny, bustling village - pass the Co-op, then a sharp left. Suddenly and stunningly, the Warwickshire landscape opens wide to view, in all its verdant lushness. On a rainy, Spring day, the flooded road to Walton forces me to inch along its winding road gingerly, under sudden squalls and through pond-sized puddles, whilst skillfully avoiding the oncoming path of less cautious drivers.

Swish, swish, swish  – and then finally I arrive at the beautiful, Victorian schoolhouse that is Cicely’s home. An appropriately dramatic route to visit a woman whose remarkable life has been full of far more extraordinary and epic journeys, as one of Shakespeare’s most passionate ambassadors.

As the legendary Voice Director of the RSC, Cicely has spent over forty years training and coaching a pantheon of stars, politicians, and royalty: HRH Prince Charles and Neil Kinnock (“I tried to teach them both how to relax,” she said.), Judi Dench, Sean Connery, Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellen – the list of her pupils is truly inexhaustible. However, driven by her uncompromising politics, Cicely’s true mission has been that of sharing the joy and pleasure of Shakespeare around the globe.

A tiny, but formidable octogenarian, Cicely regularly travels far from this bucolic setting, with its stunning views across the fields of Walton, to prisons, detention centres, and some of the most remote and dangerous areas on the planet, such as Zagreb, Zimbabwe, China, Brazil (another inexhaustible list). She ventures to these places preaching the gospel of words, and using Shakespeare as a tool of empowerment. As she often explains, “Everyone has the right to speak. Everyone has a right to Shakespeare.” For Cicely, Shakespeare’s words are indispensible channels of expression, and she believes it is by freeing the voice through work on such full, rich and political language that ultimately allows one the freedom to express the inner self.

“Where words prevail not, violence prevails.”                                                                                             –  Spanish Tragedy, Thomas Kyd

Over steaming cups of Lapsang souchong in Cicely’s cosy sitting room, I once again state my desire to accompany her on one of her trips to Brazil, to observe her in action. “Oh, that would be great, darling!” she says, enthusiastically. “But,” she adds ruefully, “You must understand, it is not safe at all.”   

A scene from Nos de Morro's "Two Gentlemen of Verona"

Since 1997, Cicely has conducted workshops with “Nós de Morro” (“We are from the hillside”), a theatre group based in Vidigal, one of the slums (favelas) in the hills that surround the beautiful and opulent city of Rio de Janeiro. It is a place run by drug cartels, replete with guns, gangs, and violence. It is place into which police do not venture except in armoured cars. And, yet, in this place, armed with the works of Shakespeare, Cicely confidently competes with the drug lords for the hearts, minds and souls of the favelados (young people living in the slums). Life is these favelas has been depicted vividly in the brutal, but truthful film City of God (2002). I remember watching that film, and being dumbstruck at the thought of precious Cicely traversing such a place. Indeed, if I’m honest, my heart sinks a little whenever she informs me she’s headed there.

As the world comes to Stratford-upon-Avon this month for start of the World Shakespeare Festival (happening here through October 2012), my thoughts are drawn to the indefatigable Warwickshire woman who champions Shakespeare around the world routinely. Her politics, her honesty, dedication and bravery (though she denies it) are awe-inspiring. She leads by example, wherever her Shakespeare journey takes her - and Shakespeare could not ask for a better messenger.

A Royal visitor

Her Majesty, The Queen's visit to the Royal Shakespeare Company, 

4 March 2011

Schoolchildren awaiting Her Majesty's arrival

Admirers basking in the bright Spring sunshine

A wee royal watcher, on a day she'll always remember

Her Majesty, The Queen, and one very lucky little girl

Isn't she lovely?

Perfect weather, and The Queen was beautiful!!

I was lucky enough to be in a good position to not only get some very decent snaps, but also a personal smile and wave from Her Majesty and Prince Philip.

Fantastic day! 

Happy and Glorious!

Her Majesty, The Queen

The Queen is coming, the Queen is coming!

Her Majesty will be in Stratford-upon-Avon this Friday to officially open the new Royal Shakespeare Theatre. I'll be there alongside my wonderful editor to cover the story for Warwickshire Life!


Whoo-hoo! I'm so excited I can't stand it! I love the Queen.

There are moments...

Michael Boyd, Artistic Director of the Royal Shakespeare Company, in the new auditorium

There are moments that change your lives dramatically, and then there are moments of sheer bliss that reveal: "Ah, yes, girl, you got it right." I had such a moment -- several of them in fact -- last Tuesday.


"I want to go big on the theatre re-opening," my wonderfully commanding editor chirped down the phone. She had secured places for both of us at the Press Preview Day, the day before the new theatre's official opening.


Jane is every inch an editor. She is exactly what one would imagine a "lady editor" to look and be. She is tall (of course, everyone is tall compared to me, but Jane could actually be described as statuesque). She is elegant, and not afraid of bold fashion statements: flawless houndstooth jackets in black and lime green. Her dark hair is cut neatly into soft, flattering bob. She exudes a warmth that is coupled with clarity and shrewdness -- this is a woman who doesn't suffer fools lightly.


When I arrive -- a miniature mod hipster, in a (gorgeous) pair Dolce & Gabbana culottes (Thank you, Ella at Corina Corina in Warwick!), knee-high black patent leather boots, and teal and cream cashmere, turtle jumper, I could see her giving me an unconscious smiling nod of approval. We were quite a team, and we had a super day!


A day which began with that  blissful "Aha!" feeling as I drove to Stratford in the brisk chill of a late autumn morning. Warwickshire was being Warwickshire in the background, mist was still rising off the dark green fields. A bright, blue November sky was peppered with soft, grey clouds. I thought to myself as I drove, "Yes, yes. This is it. This is the life I imagined!"


I have long been inspired by that wonderful quote from Thoreau: 

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you imagine!"

Living the life 'you imagine' ain't easy. It takes daring, risk, tears and guts, but I think I'm there, and getting there more each day.


Other highlights of the day were: meeting RSC Artistic Director, Michael Boyd, and him acknowledging  my book on the RSC's former studio theatre, The Other Place. This was topped by the opportunity to meet the utterly fantastic, Lady Susie Sainsbury. 


I allowed myself to become a complete groupie when I met Lady Sainsbury. I declared my undying love for Sainsbury's, as my favourite retail outlet. Absolutely true! Love it, love it!

Lady Susie Sainsbury, Deputy Chair of the Royal Shakespeare Company

  

New beginnings at the Royal Shakespeare Company

The year was 1987. I sat perched in one of the top rows of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. Despite the great chasm between “the gods” and the proscenium, I was utterly rapt by the tiny, mesmerizing figures on stage: Juliet Stevenson, Fiona Shaw and Alan Rickman.

The play was As You Like It. The experience of that production, in that theatre, changed my life. My chums and I had come to the RST as part of a university study tour. They left with souvenirs and postcards, I left with the certainty I had found my raison d'etre.

However, even as a loyal RSC devotee, I found the old building dark, pokey and foreboding. I never knew the RSC’s studio theatre, The Other Place, in its original configuration, though I have chronicled its history extensively.

That space placed spectator and actor on equal footing, and in equal levels of comfort and discomfort. Simon Russell Beale recalled The Other Place affectionately as “a shared experience of camping out.” It is little wonder than that the world fell in love with The Swan, when it opened in 1982. Warm, cosy and cheery, it was a space that seemed to embrace you.

Good news then that Michael Boyd and his team have succeeded in retaining aspects of all three Stratford houses in the Company’s new theatre. The new auditorium owes much to both the flaws of the old proscenium stage, and the lessons learned and cherished in The Other Place and The Swan.

In designing the new auditorium and theatre complex, Boyd has, literally and metaphorically, kept a firm grasp of the best of the Company’s stellar past, with an eye to moving forward for the future. For example, the wooden planks of the old stage provide the flooring for the upstairs lobby, so everyone has a chance to tread those famous boards.

Without being “Disney-ified”, the new complex speaks clearly to the next generation of theatre-goers and Shakespeare lovers on their own terms. It is a bright, welcoming and inviting space where visitors are encouraged to encounter Shakespeare in variety of media, and in truly evocative ways – whether one sets foot inside the auditorium, or not.

Throughout the building there are exhibition spaces, creative installations (to which visitors can contribute) and interactive displays, such as “The Insults Chair”, that bring Shakespeare’s language to life in ways that are instantaneous, engaging and hilarious. 

There are at last the much-needed creature comforts that audiences have lamented for decades: lifts, improved toilet facilities, more extensive catering outlets and shared access between the main house and The Swan. There is also wireless internet access available throughout the building, a feature that suggests the Company’s desire for this to become a place where visitors enjoy themselves throughout the day, and not exclusively as a theatre-going space.

With a nod to Brecht, and his philosophy that the mechanics of theatre should always be visible, Boyd has positioned the “load-in” dock through the main lobby so visitors, particularly the young, can see how theatre is made.

The much-debated Tower is truly the icing on the cake. The stunning views it offers are simply breathtaking. The tower, too, is a reclaimed piece of the theatre’s history, a re-imagining of the original tower that was destroyed by fire.

There is a moment, while experiencing this bird’s eye view of Shakespeare’s world, when all the pieces come together quite magically. Shakespeare: the man, his town, his birthplace, his school, his home, his final resting place, his words and works. And, now, he finally has the theatre he deserves.

A funny old day...

In bed, feeling rotten.

We had a barnstorming first weekend at the Music Hall. No surprise that Sunday morning tidy up found most of the cast exhausted, coughing and sneezing.

The old wive's tale is true, once you stop moving that's when the sniffles catch you!

I, too, have finally succumbed to the dreaded 'Dressing Room Lurgie (cold)'.

Sore throat, mild cough, achy, etc...

I've kept myself tucked up in bed all day, hoping to feel better for the busy week ahead.

Tomorrow is the big Press Preview day of the new theatre at the Royal Shakespeare Company. (Another 'Big pearls and cashmere' day, at long last!) I'm delighted to have been invited along to have a nose round the new theatre. I just want to feel better, brighter, etc.

So, my plan was to take it easy today. I cancelled a coffee meeting I had (re)scheduled for this afternoon, and didn't make it to the gym for Aquafit. :(

A bit of surprise then, when the phone rang this afternoon and it was a producer from BBC Radio Coventry & Warwickshire wanting me to come and "talk Shakespeare" on the Mark Powlett show. At first, I thought it was a prank, but then, couldn't think who would do such a thing...

As a lead-up to the opening of the new theatre this week, Mark Powlett wanted to talk about Shakespeare's language and what Shakespeare means today. In a hazy of cough syrup and Ibuprofen, I gathered my thoughts about Shakespeare and prepped for our chat.

It turned out to be a really super conversation. Mark Powlett is a very clever and witty guy. And, I really enjoyed myself. Not least because I was able to do it sat in bed in my pyjamas! It really brightened my day, and lifted my spirits.

The DEB is bringing home a Chinese take away for dinner, so that neither of us will have to cook tonight. We both need a bit of comfort food and sleep.

And, I received a lovely message from the radio show's producer:

"How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world." - Merchant of Venice

Thank you very much for your time Alycia - it was a really enjoyablepiece of radio. Hope you get back to top health quickly! Kindest regards.

I hope so, too!

'The New York Times' is having a Bake Sale

Yesterday, I finally felt like a writer.

Although I’m the author of three works of scholarly non-fiction – for which I occasionally receive royalty cheques/checks in sums that might possibly allow me to purchase a book of postage stamps. (Well, that it is until Royal Mail puts up stamp prices next week!)

I am always somewhat dim-wittedly surprised when these cheques arrive in the post. I open the letters, and say aloud, almost yawning, “Oh, yeah. I wrote that.” 

My nonplussed attitude stems from the fact that these three tomes, although sources of great pride, have -- due to their status as scholarly works (and their exorbitant price-tags) – remained largely unread and unknown.

In fact, it is quite soul-destroying whenever I walk through the Bookstalls in The Courtyard Theatre at the Royal Shakespeare Company and NEVER, EVER see a copy of my book, Studio Shakespeare on their shelves.

My book is the definite history of the RSC’s studio theatre, The Other Place, and biography of its first artist director, Mary Ann “Buzz” Goodbody. I had the honour of being distinguished as the “Buzz Goodbody scholar,” at a memorial event for her in 2006; where I shared the stage on a panel with Patrick Stewart.

I toiled for eight years to produce that work, to commemorate that place and time in the Royal Shakespeare Company’s history. I am told, whenever I pursue the topic with them, that everyone in the Company admires the work, thinks it’s great and invaluable, &etc. – it is their history after all – but regrettably, the book is too expensive for them to keep in stock.

Sad, isn’t it, how things always seem to come down to money at the end of the day?

So, the way I have chosen to cope is to just try and forget about it, and to remain indifferent when it appears that another copy has actually been sold, somewhere in the world.

What a different feeling then, to be a “Columnist” with a regular column in a magazine that people actually read!

And yesterday, said-magazine hosted a fabulous spring luncheon at the Alveston Manor in Stratford-upon-Avon, to celebrate its on-going success, and congratulate its staff and contributors.

When I received my invitation, I danced about the house with glee. I was more excited receiving the invite to the magazine’s posh lunch, than I was about receiving my pay slip!

I jumped into the car, and rushed over to Warwick to see my friend Ella at her fantastic vintage shop, Corina Corina to find something fabulous to wear. Ella kitted me out with a splendid pair of delicious Dolce & Gabana knickerbockers.  (A steal at £55.00)  They made me feel every inch a diva!

I sauntered into yesterday’s lunch feeling fabulous, but also more than a little bit nervous, as I feared I wouldn’t know anyone. I needn’t have worried, as I soon felt right at home, when our wonderful, wonderful Editorix-in-Chief, Jane Sullivan made a beeline to me, to say ‘hello’. (She’s mega.)

Everyone was very enthusiastic about my column; at one point the Publications Director grabbed the forth-coming April issue, and through pales of laughter, started reading out bits of my column to others around the table.

Needless to say, I was flattered beyond belief!

There is a book (on our newly assembled IKEA bookshelves) by George Orwell called “Why I Write”.  I bought that book for the title, and the way it prompted me to contemplate why I write. People write for lots of reasons: for profit, for pleasure, for fame, for fun, and so on.

I will say it was such a great, great pleasure to witness people actively enjoying something that I’d written. Quite a wonderful feeling.

I left that lunch walking on air. As I drove home on the windy road through the tiny hamlet of Loxley, I thought about the funny journey I have had as a writer.  I was giddy, and despite the light splattering of rain, I lowered the windows of the car, and shouted ‘Helllooooo, hellooo!’ to the sheep grazing, not so peacefully, in the lush, green fields beside the road.

I laughed at myself. And recalled an episode from my high school (secondary school) journalism days. I was a staff writer for the school paper, and every year we were given the chance to apply for the various leading, editorial posts on the paper. For years, I’d coveted being Features Editor.

Our newspaper teacher, Mrs. M., was a stickler for precision and organization, she was hard to please to say the least.  The day before she was to make her final decision for editorial posts for the coming year, she scheduled a fundraising “Bake Sale” for the paper. We were all meant to contribute to sale and put in the time selling the edible wares.

Every girl knew this was the last chance to shine before Mrs. M. – to show your undying commitment and dedication to the paper and its survival.

Alas, dear Reader, I am sure you have already guessed my predicament: I forgot. I arrived at school blithely, and brownie-less, as if it were any other day. I was devastated.

My best friend, Noël, found me beside myself in tears, in the restroom.  “C’mon Al,” she cajoled. “I can’t believe you’re seriously upset over the fact that you forgot a stupid bake sale.”

“You don’t understand,” I cried. “I want to be a writer, and I’ve just blown my chances with Mrs. M., I’ll never be more than a staff writer now.”

“Look,” Noël said defiantly. “If she doesn’t pick you for Features editor because you didn’t stay up all night making chocolate chip cookies, than she’s crazy. What’s that got to do with writing anyway? Oh, yeah, I can just see it now, ‘The New York Times is having a Bake Sale.’”

That conversation cheered me immensely, and I still laugh heartily when I think on it now. In the end, I wasn’t selected for Features Editor (absence of brownies aside, it was most likely because I’ve never met a comma that I didn’t like).

However, my ever-defiant friend set me to a task that pushed my writing far more than that editorial position ever would have. Daring me to ‘just write,’ Noël set us both to the challenge of writing a daily short story. 

We’d meet at our lockers, blurry eyed, at 7:55 AM and exchange massive, handwritten bundles.  “You’re going love this one, I was up till 3 AM writing it!” Noël said, shouting back at me, over her shoulder, from the midst of a sea of navy-blue uniforms, as the bell for homeroom rang…

Brilliant, wonderful, writer-ly times.

 

 

 

  

Things are looking up!

Things are looking up!

A call from RSC head of education for a mid-December coffee and chat; a request from 'The Annie Othen Show' to be a guest on “The Coffee Club” - a late morning chat show on BBC Radio Coventry; and an job offer for position as a freelance GSCE and A-level Drama Examiner (…welcome to the dark side…), and an evening out tonight with my precious DEB for The Vienna Festival Ballet’s production of “The Nutcracker” in Leamington Spa.

The start of Advent brings much-needed joy!!!

Happy Monday

Gave a lecture this afternoon at the RSC on "Language and Style" in Twelfth Night.

Came home to find a very nice review of my book, Studio Shakespeare: The Royal Shakespeare Company at The Other Place, online at www.playshakespeare.com

Not bad for a Monday.

If You Find Shakespeare Not Here, Seek in The Other Place

Culture vultures

…a marriage of true minds… - Shakepeare, Sonnet #116

It has taken quite a while, but life is slowly getting back to normal, or rather back to what passes for ‘normal’ here in Barford.  I have finally made my way back to the gym, though I have rather resolutely reduced my workout regime.

 My focus these days is on swimming and the steam room. Eva has no regrets about this shift in perspective, as a very happy accident has prompted a halt in her more stenuous athletic pursuits. My change of heart, for the time being, I am unashamed to say, is driven by pure laziness and utter self-indulgence!

The usual suspects were in force upon my return to the gym, all happy to see me, and keen to share gossip, and hear details about my nuptials, honeymoon and etc. I was flattered to find that our wedding was still “the talk” of Barford, and features heavily in the current gossip mill:

“Is it true that when you arrived at the Machado on your wedding night, the stairway, entire room and bed was covered in rose petals?”-  asked Jackie #1.

“I heard that your D.E.B. hired a professional comedian for his Best Man. Is he available for Quiz Nights and other sorts of parties?” -  wondered Jackie # 2.

I could but laugh! The rose petals were true, that my new brother-in-law (a.k.a.,“The Guru”) is a professional comic is not true, though it should be! He was an amazing Best man and deserves every rumour that is flying around about him. His Best Man’s speech was written completely in verse! He’s a genius.

Entertainment does seem to be top of our list these days. The D.E.B and I seem to be dashing about like mad from one cultural engagement to the next. And we quite like it that way. My freelance gig with the Shakespeare Trust has the lovely bonus of the garnering often-hard to come by theatre tickets.

(And sometimes, one or two freebies, like tickets for last weekend’s staged-reading of Shakespeare’s poems, “Venus & Adonis” and “The Rape of Lucrece,” performed by Michael Maloney and the legendary Janet Suzman!)

We have had the good fortune to see most of the current season at the RSC: Julius Caesar and The Winter’s Tale. We are holding out for Trust tickets to see the new As You Like It. Our close proximity to the epicentre of the Shakespeare universe is not something I take lightly. It is a dream come true to live so close to this theatrical mecca. 

Oh, and of course, there is always London... 

London Coliseum

The D.E.B. and I have spent the last two weekends in London, where we saw Jude Law as Hamlet – yes, I know! And, Waiting for Godot with Sir Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart at the Haymarket Theatre.

Yes, Jude Law was GORGEOUS, but more importantly he was FABULOUS as Hamlet. I was pleased to discover that Jude, I feel I can call him that, far from being just a pretty face (!!!), and an excellent screen actor, he is a tremendously talented live performer on stage. For some, this statement may seem obvious, but trust me when I say, not every screen actor can cut it in front of live audience on stage. There are no ‘re-takes’ or ‘do-overs’ in theatre. That is what makes it so magic for those of us who live it and love it.

(I was naughty and took a picture of Jude Law during his curtain call!)

Sadly, Patrick Stewart was out sick when we saw Godot, though his poor understudy did a heroic job standing in. Talk about the worse job in the universe. 

Sir Ian and 'the Understudy'

Can you imagine? The poor guy is going on stage KNOWING that no one in the audience wants him to be there! Apart from maybe his mother…

In addition to seeing theatre, the D.E.B. and I recently found ourselves roped into doing theatre. Our beloved actress-friend, Sally, asked me to assist her in developing a one-woman show about The Countess of Warwick.

Sally is such a sweetheart, and so when she asked for my help as a writer and stage director, I could not say “No.” Even though, I would like to think that my days of “voluntary artistic endeavours” and doing art for love instead of money, are long over.  So, I did the only sensible thing a girl could do, I roped the D.E.B. into providing the music for the play. 

Sally, as "Darling Daisy"

Our show, “Darling Daisy: Reflections of the Countess of Warwick” was a labour of love all-round. There were no creature comforts, very little outside support, and we were wholly at the mercy of English weather. But, if I’m honest, it was quite enjoyable.

There is something about the theatre that is magic. When the people involved come to it with sincerity, conviction and professionalism, no matter the circumstances, the magic does happen.

Sally has acted her way around the globe, and watching her perform is always a gift. She did a reading at our wedding, and that too, was a remarkable moment that I will always cherish.

We first saw Sally performing in a charity pantomime in Leamington Spa this past Christmas. She was “The Wicked Witch,” and she was great! Her performance was the icing on the cake for me, and it was my first-ever English “panto” experience.

I loved how the actors and audience interacted with one another: hissing and booing the wicked characters, cheering and supporting the goodies; warning the goodies of the dangers befalling them, i.e., “Look out, she’s behind you!”

There was also singing and dancing, which the audience was invited to join in. It was like no other theatre I have ever seen. It is interesting to me that somehow, we Americans have lost—did we ever have?—the panto tradition.

The D.E.B. & I have also supported the work of a local, semi-professional theatre company in Leamington Spa called The Loft. We saw their recent production of Hobson’s Choice, which as it turns out was directed by an old acquaintance of mine. (The Theatre world is so small, you can’t afford to talk about anyone!)

Leamington Spa seems to have become quite a hub for us just lately. We saw the film The Reader at The Royal Spa Centre – that was an adventure. The night we went to see The Reader, we got to Leamington very early, and decided to take a stroll through the Jephson Gardens. (Leamington Spa’s answer to Central Park.)

The Jephson Gardens were so beautiful and romantic, the D.E.B. and I lost track of the time, and then…We got locked in! In the end, after failing to find an accessible escape route, we had to climb very carefully over the iron-wrought fence. We giggled all the way back to the cinema like a pair of naughty school-kids.

I have no doubt said before how much I utterly adore my D.E.B., but I just need to state it here again.  Perhaps, there is some girl out there, who (like me not so long ago) who’s on the brink of giving up, thinking she’ll never find Mr. Right-For-Her. To her, and for her, I have this to say: Don’t give up! He’s out there! And he’ll be worth the wait!

Many moons ago, in my life before I found my D.E.B., I was in a relationship with a very un-D.E.B. who once admonished me with the following advice:

“Look,” he said, “what you want doesn’t exist. You are never going to find someone who really appreciates you, understands what you do, sees things the way you do, likes the same things you like, and so on. That just doesn’t happen.” Basically, the subtext of that tirade was this: Take what you can get, this is as good as it gets. Period.

How utterly wrong he was! (And how foolish I was to have believed him for so long.)

On our wedding day, my Darling English Boy stood before our assembled family and friends and as part of his speech, recited (from memory) the following lines from As You Like It:

“No sooner had [we] met but we looked, no sooner looked but [we] loved, no sooner loved but [we] sighed, no sooner sighed but [we] asked one another the reason, no sooner the reason but [we] sought the remedy; and in these degrees have [we] made a pair of stairs to marriage, which [we] will climb.”

This, my friends, is a 'marriage of true minds.'