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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...
Random acts of kindness
  • On the tube on Sunday a woman took her shoes off and was moaning about the blisters they had given her to her partner. Suddenly from across the car a woman appeared with two band-aids and gave them to her. She then returned back to her seat...
  • On Monday a woman ran into the car of F while it was parked on the street. The woman left a note detailing her insurance, registration details and a contact number.
  • Tonight a woman asked me while I was grabbing a bite to eat whether she minded if she smoked. I said "No of course not!" Asking if I minded really constitutes as an apology since so many light up without asking if anybody cared...
So life isn't always bad in the big bad city...

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