Two 'Romeo and Juliet's, both alike in dignity

Our friends Mark and Mary invited us to join them at an open-air production of Romeo and Juliet. It was  at Whitwell on Saturday night. 

We were looking forward to it when two days later, our friends Mark and Adri also invited us to an outdoor Romeo and Juliet. It was at Hitchin on Friday night. 

Their daughter Thea had made the scenery and had enjoyed working with a vivacious, inclusive and green theatre company. However, neither Nigel nor I could face two open air productions of the same play back-to-back, so regretfully we turned down the second invitation. 

On Saturday, we went along with Mark and Mary to The Living Theatre, Whitwell's Romeo and Juliet (which as I write is still showing). It was an enchanting venue with fields and woods lit by fairy lights. The acting was excellent, with Juliet and Mercutio particularly strong. The production was beautifully imagined with gorgeous Elizabethan cosumes in striking colours. The performance required the audience to walk through several beautiful twilight settings. The sets used natural wood frames and lengths of fabric very effectively  to create both a ballroom and also a bedroom with balcony. In the background I could hear long-tailed tits and glimpse the edge of a badger sett.

On the train to London next day, I texted Adri, saying we were sorry to have missed Thea's production. Could she please send pics. The photos came through very slowly due to poor signal, but even before they resolved, I recognised the colours of the costumes from last night. This solved the mystery - Whitwell could loosely be described as in the Hitchin area. We had been at Thea's production after all and admired the great scenery she made without even knowing it was hers. 

Which is good as it would have been a terrible shame to miss such a wonderful production.

Photos courtesy of the Osborns

Christopher Nolan's Odyssey

At war within me is always the pedantic Latin grammar teacher versus the creative writer and maker.

This battle came into sharp focus a couple of weeks ago when with my husband and some members of my adult Latin class I went to watch Christopher Nolan's massive film, The Odyssey.  Delightfully we went to see it at our local cinema, also entitled The Odyssey.

I appreciated that the book is of huge length and Nolan had to omit some episodes. I was fine with the American accents. After all, the original was written by Homer, not Chaucer, Shakespeare or Dickens.  

I liked that he tried to shoehorn some meaning about 'breaking Zeus's law' which he reinterpreted as 'do as you would be done by'.

BUT what tickled up the inner pedant in me was where Nolan filmed an episode and left out some bits. Like when Polyphemus the Cyclops asked Odysseus his name and Odysseus replied 'Nobody', so later, when the other Cycopes asked Polyphemus,' Who has hurt you?' he would reply 'Nobody' and they would all shrug and go about their business.

Or when Hermes appears and tells Odysseus about the holy moly herb he would need to defeat Circe.

In each case, they were missing and I wanted to yell, 'You're missing out a good bit.'

Does this mean my inner pedant is triumphing over the artist in me?

Later in the week, I had lunch with a friend and her baby. Apparently, when my friend reads to her tiny girl, she grows indignant when her mother misses a bit. In common with many small children, she always wants the whole well-known tale complete and unaltered.

I feel this vindicates me. It shows that after all, I'm in touch with my inner child, not my inner pedant.

Greenbelt Festival and a bag of poo

Each year we reunite with our tribe at the fabulous Greenbelt festival. This year, our friend Ster saved a space for us and for our friends the Osborns and their group. As they arrived a day late, the space had healed up somewhat, with other campers pressing in from all sides. As we set off into the festival we wondered how the Osborns would squeeze their large family tent in. 

After they arrived, we ran into them on site and they explained. 

'We moved your tent. Not far. Just a few feet.'

What!?!

It's a bit like hearing somebody went in your bedroom when you weren't there, so I swiftly did a mental check. Yes, I had stowed my dirty clothes in a bag. No I hadn't left anything personal lying around. Phew.

Then I remembered a certain bag which we'd left just outside the tent. 

Oh no.

When we got back at night, I checked and the bag was still there. The Osborns had moved it along with the tent. When they returned and joined us for a glass of wine, I felt the need to explain.

'When we arrived, there was sheep poo all over the area, so I used a plastic bag to pick it up. Then I was going to bin it, but Nigel wanted to compost it, but he never got round to it. And that is why there is a big bag of poo just outside our tent.'

'We did note it,' said Mark, 'But we decided not to comment.'

In some ways, I wish I hadn’t explained. For many years the Osborns would have puzzled over the mysterious bag of poo which the Harveys appeared to have brought to a festival with them.

Photo at top of piece courtesy of Mark Osborn.

Photo at bottom, mine.