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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...
Its hot up here...

Well today I lived a little bit of London history. It was the hottest day on record. I was out of town for most of the pleasure but I did manage to sweat it out on an un-airconditioned connex train on the way back from Broadstairs. Only the hot dusty breeze coming through some of the windows could make it somewhat more of a cooler experience. It took two hours the train ride but for me it was all new and exciting I just kept watching the scenery whiz by on the train.

As for the rest of the time this weekend. I managed to travel to this castle for my first weekend. I think I can be forgiven for again forgetting where it was, but it was near Viking Beach which was voted the best beach in the EU... Well it was very pretty and very English but it still was more amusing this weekend seeing all those pink brits roasting themselves. When I could get away with it (and even sometimes when I couldn't) I just had to take a few happy snaps of the whole experience...

Phew, hold everything Skye has emailed me and told me yet again that I had gone to Kingsgate Castle in Broadstairs which is part of Kent shire...

The weekend was also the weekend of a folk festival which meant that this quaint little village was a little more quaint and intimate than usual. There were hundreds of thousands of people there to savour the artless craft and the sun and the sand and the slight waves.

It was nice to see that folk means crap the world over, but Skye her dad and I managed to go for fish and chips at the Charles Dickens Tavern. I would have to say it was the best of fish and chips and it was the worst of fish and chips... and I did until Skye started hitting me as she thought that was a real dull joke. She is probably right but I think there is nothing like a few cheap laughs.

I did enjoy the fish and chips. Serving it with peas was a nice touch and it made me realise that I wasn't in Australia anymore. I was by the sea in Britain!

At the castle which was built as servants quarters and stables before Australia was even colonised I managed to savour the view of the white chalky cliffs. The castle was a hotel until just after the war when it was divided into separate flats. One of the occupants of the flat invited us over Saturday night to watch the sunset over the hills while having a foine white whoine and some cheese and crackers. It was a very sophistimicated way to spend a Saturday night.

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