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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...
Reflections on a Thursday in London

As the search begins for lost loved ones I recall going through my work yesterday. There was enough to do to not think about the events as they were unfolding. Taking calls, placing calls, locating people, background research, typing messages. It all filled time.

But the scale of it all hit me around lunchtime. That was when I first saw the bomb damage at Tavistock Square on the CNN webiste, which is just a couple of blocks from where I live. I recognised the street by the trees overhanging the road as they are so leafy and bright green. I walk down that street on the weekends on my roundabout way into Covent Garden. It isn't the most attractive part of London. The area is not really anything remarkable about this area at all, but because I live there it is familiar. I had this strong feeling of "That's my neighborhood!". Suddenly the atrocity has a very very localised feel to it.

Then to see the wreck of the red bus, its bright coloured seats and orange grab rails it is again familiar. I recall what it is like to be crammed in on a peak hour bus in central London. It is a typical London experience. And then you see that its frame is twisted and the grab rails are flailing about. You can imagine what it must have been like, but then you can't.

It is interesting however as you think well I never travel THAT way to work as if to reassure yourself that you were never in harms way. It is always entirely possible that you could be doing anything on a morning on your way to work, but you weren't.

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