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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...
At a Covent Garden ball last night:

Speaker: Ladies and Gentlemen, given the events of Thursday we had contemplated canceling tonight... But given the prevailing mood in London... (the room erupts into cheers).

I went with A to the ball which had a burlesque theme. That basically meant there were lots of tits with tassels, which anybody I think can enjoy. After a vodka and orange and a bottle of cheap white wine (that wasn't so cheap) good times were ensued. During the course of the evening a photograph was taken of me involving two ladies, a whip, a paddle and A. It was nothing like it suggests however... There were also boys in period costume selling bamboo folding fans so I bought one of those. One lady commented that it appeared only the men were using these frilly little fans. Well, it was one of those sort of evenings.

As I was wearing some rough denim and A was wearing leather trousers I did suggest that we could spend the rest of the night in some interesting bars around town, but we decided against this in the end. Besides, neither of us had the moustache (real or otherwise) to carry that look...

After the ball I was going to catch up with M1 and M2 for a drink, but they cancelled. They live near Manor House tube on the Piccadilly line which is now indefinitely closed. A 20 minute journey into central London would now take almost an hour if they caught the bus. I guess the city isn't as easy (or as convenient) to get around as it used to be.

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