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The brown word: Death on the Throne @gatehouselondon

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We’re warned at the start of the show with an upbeat number that this is not the usual sort of musical. And it turns out to be just that. But with boundless enthusiasm and energy from its two leads, who deploy a range of voices and breathtaking energy to create a series of voices for puppet characters, a bedtime story becomes a silly oddball tale about four souls stuck in purgatory. With puppets. And various toilet humour references. It’s currently playing at Upstairs At The Gatehouse . The piece starts as a bedtime story. Daddy (Mark Underwood) is about to read a bedtime story for Louise (Sarah Louise Hughes). But her stomach felt funny, and soon, she went to the bathroom. Then, for reasons that seem to only make sense in the confines of the show, they start telling the story of four people who died in unfortunate circumstances in the bathroom. Depicted as puppets, they’re stuck in purgatory as St Peter doesn’t have enough space for each of them in the afterlife. And so begins a puppe...

Bar bitches...

Saturday night we checked out the latest new bar in Soho - Profile - which is a real venue for the online Gaydar brand. The venue certainly has had a bit of money thrown in it and there is loads of orange decor and mirrors. Alas it was too popular on Saturday night and with the odd bar layouts it took forever to get a drink. Maybe it was all the minor celebrities there that caused all the fuss... I am not sure who they were but I was informed they were lurking about amongst the rest of the non-entities...

Anyway a novel thing about the bar (apart from the free internet access) is a text messaging system where you can send text messages to a series of screens across the venue. Apparently irony is lacking with whoever approves these messages. My text "Ad is a cocksucker" was not posted on the grounds that it was rude and offensive. A couple celebrating their civil partnership engagement and looking for a spit roast in a local hotel did however make the grade. Well maybe they were looking for one Soho's finest rotisseries... Who can tell these days?

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