tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88398386987432790172024-03-13T01:46:04.566+00:00friends and happy timesrandom ramblings from the Rector's wifeCassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-23004706053126882002016-06-13T17:10:00.000+01:002016-06-13T17:10:12.747+01:00Brimstone & Treacle: Sewell Barn, Norwich<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_8tAwHDg3OM/V17aNCN684I/AAAAAAAAWyw/r2NQyi-t3aIMBwII3dq3ihw0M5An8sddQCLcB/s1600/DSC_1660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_8tAwHDg3OM/V17aNCN684I/AAAAAAAAWyw/r2NQyi-t3aIMBwII3dq3ihw0M5An8sddQCLcB/s320/DSC_1660.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Powerful, disturbing, thought-provoking... all this and much more. Dennis Potter's <b>Brimstone and Treacle</b> still has the power to shock us to the core, 40 years after its original tv broadcast. The production currently playing at the <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/" target="_blank">Sewell Barn Theatre</a> is strong, brave, effective and superbly presented.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The four actors present a balanced framework - a sturdy four-legged table, if you like - for this challenging evening. The dynamic between each combination of characters is carefully defined while at the same time allowing for the uncertainty that has to exist in the text, the questions that arise - concerning trust and truth and reality - in each story or confrontation.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's not for the faint-hearted. In its film incarnation it has an 'over 18' rating, and understandably so, for the explicit nature of some of the action. However, it has humour and honesty and warmth as well as fear and shock and darkness, and it's the combination of all these elements that makes it such a remarkable play. Moreover, the sure handling by director <a href="https://playhousecreature.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Jen Dewsbury</a> of such challenging subject matter, and by all four actors who are required to inhabit such damaged personae for the evening, make this a remarkable production: brave, demanding and ultimately successful.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">If it's a feel-good, cosy tale you are after, then this is probably not for you. If you are open to thought-provoking subject matter, skilled performances and a strong theatrical experience, don't miss it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><b>Brimstone and Treacle</b> resumes performances on Wednesday 15 June at 7.30 pm, playing until Saturday 18, with a 2.30 matinee on the Saturday. Tickets are available in person or by phone from Prelude Records in Norwich, or online through the Sewell Barn website. <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/booking.html" target="_blank">All booking details can be found on this link.</a></i></span></span>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-10726510852923571972015-07-07T16:19:00.001+01:002015-07-07T16:20:33.391+01:00Sharing the starsOne of my favourite Facebook groups is <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/392153494199070/" target="_blank">Norfolk Countryside Photos</a> - a public group for the sharing of (naturally) images of the beautiful county in which I am fortunate to live.<br />
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Members of the group cover a wide range. Some simply enjoy viewing the work of other people; some contribute snaps from their smart phones; some are 'point-and-shoot' users, some enthusiastic amateur SLR users, and some are professionals. The joy of the group is that wonderful images - and discussions - can come from any of those people.<br />
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A recent thread has touched me very deeply, and with the permission of those who have participated, I'd like to share it here. <b>None of the photographs are mine</b>; they are all contributions from other members.<br />
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On the afternoon of 3 July, a member called Sonya posted the following request.<br />
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<i>I met a lil old lady in hospital last night when I was visiting my little girl</i><br />
<i>The lady has been there for 9 weeks, is not mobile at all and can't see very far either and she was lovely </i><br />
<i>When I left I asked if I could bring her in anything the next day, biscuits, fruit, drink... she said there was nothing she wanted except for me to say "night to the stars for her"</i><br />
<i>I tried to take a photo last night but my iPhone is not good at night so was wondering if anyone had any recent local star photos....googling it feels like cheating but I'd like to take some photos in to show her of our night sky </i><br />
<i>Thank you</i><br />
<i>I meant to add please to this </i><br />
<i>Please</i><br />
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A member called Tracy summed up the feeling of the group:<br />
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<i>I came over all emotional reading this, bless her heart and bless yours for doing this for her, I'm sure some of the wonderful photographers can help you out here xx</i><br />
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Tracy was right. Over the next 24 hours, the contributions poured in from around the group. Here's one of them (from <a href="https://www.facebook.com/EFXPhotography.co.uk" target="_blank">Russell Waite</a>):<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xvCd_15lnz8/VZvhR6v7alI/AAAAAAAAVns/GJKkhJD1HUo/s1600/Russell-Waite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xvCd_15lnz8/VZvhR6v7alI/AAAAAAAAVns/GJKkhJD1HUo/s320/Russell-Waite.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Now <a href="https://plus.google.com/photos/109369092273491183560/albums/6168771708401889281?authkey=CPaJ86-YuKHBVw" target="_blank">click here to view a further selection</a>. The photographers are attributed in each caption. This isn't all of them, either. There were at least as many of these again.<br />
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Sonya thanked the group for all their contributions:<br />
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<i>Oh wow!! Thank guys</i><br />
<i>She'll love them</i><br />
<i>She looks so poorly but she remembers my name and just sits smiling and waving all day </i><br />
<i>Such a happy lady... makes you think </i><br />
<i>But thank you for the pics, I will show her later xxxx</i><br />
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Member Kirsty replied on behalf of us all:<br />
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<i>This is what this group is all about! What an amazing bunch of people you all are, first Sonya for thinking of doing such a lovely thing for this lady, then all you wonderful people for jumping to her need. Your all amazing, each and every one of you, my heart leapt reading this and all the comments and pictures this morning. xxxx</i><br />
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Late on the evening of 4 July - just 36 hours after her original posting - Sonya told us what had happened:<br />
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<i>Update!!</i><br />
<i>I took photos in today on my phone and she couldn't see them so I transferred them to my iPad and showed her on that tonight instead</i><br />
<i><b>She took a deep breath in, drew the cross over her chest, closed her eyes for a bit and when she opened them she had tears in her eyes</b></i><br />
<i>She was so happy and asked me to thank you all </i><br />
<i>So, thank you, you made a lovely lady very very happy</i><br />
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In response to several comments saying how glad we were that Sonya had taken the trouble to do this, Sonya replied:<br />
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<i>It's strange because I don't feel right taking credit for anything because I would hope most people would do the same (def most of the people on here would anyway) and I'd do it for anyone ️</i><br />
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Lots of people might think it was a nice thing to do... the difference is that Sonya went and did it, and that the photographers took the trouble to find and share appropriate photographs.<br />
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<i>I was overwhelmed by the response, and you all made a lady very happy </i><br />
<i>I told her how many people had liked the status or sent their love </i><br />
<i>She was so happy... she kept saying 'to me?'</i><br />
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Yes. To you, anonymous lady in hospital. Even though most of those who have read or contributed to this story will never meet you or know your identity, we send our love to a 'happy lady' who 'sits smiling and waving all day', and who wants nothing more than to say goodnight to the stars.<br />
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<b>The little things mean a lot.</b>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-35357747753196824902015-06-12T17:43:00.000+01:002015-06-12T17:47:52.882+01:00MintSo, if you're already a friend of mine, you'll know this. If you don't, here's the deal: there is a small theatre venue in Norwich, just to the north of the city centre, housed in a converted barn, in the grounds of the Sewell College. It seats a maximum of 100 people on three sides of a stage which is viewed from above the performers. It has a unique and intimate atmosphere, and is ideal for many kinds of theatre, but is especially appropriate for plays where we, the audience, feel that we are eavesdropping - sneaking a peek through the 'fourth wall' - at what goes on 'behind closed doors'.<br />
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The current production - <i>Mint</i>, by Clare Lizzimore - is perfectly suited to this venue. Focusing on the effects of imprisonment, not only on the convicted criminal but also on his family, it brings an extraordinary intensity of insight into the ebb and flow of emotion as the clock ticks relentlessly on. As Alan lives through his sentence, moved between prisons, working out in the gym, walking around his reduced space, reflecting on his life, we are reminded of the happenings in the world (for real) during the late 1990s and into the new century, and kept in touch with the lives of his sisters and his parents. Most importantly, we also see and experience the emotional and practical difficulties of life 'outside' once he has served his time.<br />
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Without wanting to give away any spoilers - you need to see this show for yourself - the cast, crew and director do a truly magnificent job of conveying the frustrations, the fears and the anger that arise from this situation. The evening is also full of humour - some of it dark, some shocking, some simply glorious comic timing. Jen Dewsbury's direction is neat, precise and elegant, unafraid to use silence and the unspoken visual message, and the members of her stellar cast respond beautifully on all levels.<br />
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The family dynamic, with all its flaws and fears, is accurate to the point of pain. Each of the six members of the cast - across a wider-than-usual age range - display a professionalism, maturity and skill that is frankly staggering.<br />
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Glenda and Roger Gardiner - married in real life - head up this dysfunctional family unit in a way that sometimes has us squirming in recognition. Steve Dunn, as the prisoner Alan, maintains an awesome focus and stamina as his character is dragged through many more emotional mills than feels just, and as he paces the floor of his cell, we follow him through the circles of regret, cheerful resignation, despair and explosion. Rebecca Wass, as Alan's sister, shows extraordinary skill in conveying the changes in her own life across the six years of the action of the play (including the birth of her own child). Rachel Godfrey-Bennett, as Alan's younger sister, displays a maturity of performance way beyond her own teenage years, with a development of character and focused stagecraft that I have seen lacking in performers three times her age. And last, but definitely not least, the extraordinary Connie Reid likewise brings conviction, clarity and an innate sense of timing that is normally only achieved after many years on stage. It is especially impressive that the director has worked so beautifully with a wide age range - across something like five decades - to create such a satisfying whole.<br />
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I'd also mention that Jonathan Adkins' superb set and David Nicholas Green's original music contribute in no small measure to an immensely satisfying package.<br />
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This is not a play to watch if you're after light-hearted, frothy escapism. (You can easily find that on the television.) This is a production that gives food for thought and discussion, that moves and shakes, that provokes and intrigues. It demonstrates that there is room on our local stages for every age. It is worthy of attention and appreciation and a great deal of praise.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sJ4TC4CRVgE/VXsKtNp5MgI/AAAAAAAAVgk/R1wsm6Rg3Fc/s1600/untitled-414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sJ4TC4CRVgE/VXsKtNp5MgI/AAAAAAAAVgk/R1wsm6Rg3Fc/s320/untitled-414.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photograph: Sean Owen of Reflective Arts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i><b>Mint </b>plays until Saturday 13 June, and then again from Wednesday 17 to Saturday 20 June, 7.30 pm each night plus a 2.30 pm matinee on the final Saturday. Tickets are available from Prelude Records in St Giles, Norwich, or <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/booking.html" target="_blank">via the Sewell Barn website</a>.</i>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-54433156255068669892014-11-28T20:24:00.000+00:002014-11-28T20:29:41.910+00:00Unscorched : Sewell Barn, Norwich<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZC7B3siHzgw/VHjXWLowwGI/AAAAAAAAUQU/Sp-ybLOfpIE/s1600/P1130026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZC7B3siHzgw/VHjXWLowwGI/AAAAAAAAUQU/Sp-ybLOfpIE/s1600/P1130026.JPG" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've expressed the view before that my favorite theatrical experiences are often the most surprising. They are the shows that are new, or at least new to me; themed on subject matter that may sound unpromising, or scary, or challenging; evenings that don't necessarily promise a cosy, feelgood, warm-and-fluffy legacy, but what they deliver is of far more value than that. If I want warm-and-fluffy, I'll get a Richard Curtis movie off the DVD shelf, thanks.<br />
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<i>Unscorched </i>doesn't sound like a jolly evening out. Written by local Norwich playwright Luke Owen, it takes us on a journey into the world of 'digital analysis': the characters are involved in investigating websites, photographs and videos, relating to child abuse. It brings home forcefully the strain of such work on the private lives of those whose job it is to investigate such matters, and how it affects their own ability to live, love and continue.<br />
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It's not devoid of humour - far from it. Just as paramedics and other emergency services develop a 'black humour' to keep their sanity when faced with ghastly situations, Owen's writing keeps us facepalming with embarrassed recognition at dating awkwardness, laughing aloud at the diversionary tactics used by the investigators (Buckaroo, anybody?), or smiling with pleasure at successfully tender moments. It makes the effect all the harsher when we are faced with the very real pain and trauma encountered by his characters.<br />
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Not only is this a superb piece of writing (Owen captures a completely natural reality in all his dialogue; he maintains a gripping narrative thread, and he treats an unbearably difficult subject with great sensitivity) but it is performed, set and directed with a precision and skill that took my breath away. Jonathan Adkins' set is a triumph, enabling the shifting focus between scenes to work beautifully - and I shall never look at a post-it note in the same way again. Michelle Montague's direction is unobtrusive, thorough, elegant and focused. Her magnificent cast, without exception, present performances of the greatest integrity. Every one of them turned in a performance that was professional, absorbing and completely convincing. All five actors were magnificent, but I especially want to commend the actor in the 'smallest' role - appearing only in the first scene: Myles Crowder's completely convincing work in that very short time was a masterpiece, and bears out the old saying about small parts and small actors - in no small measure.<br />
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And I'll tell you something else:<i> it was enormously enjoyable</i>. Of course it was dark, shocking, upsetting; with that subject matter, it could barely be anything else. But it was also full of opportunity, skill, hope and tenderness - and, yes, laughter. The show left me feeling as I do when I read a particularly good novel that I (a) am totally absorbed in, to the exclusion of the rest of the world, and (b) absolutely do not want to end.<br />
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If you wish to be intrigued, captivated, moved, convinced and provoked to thought, I would strongly recommend that you do not miss this play. Theatre of this calibre is a gift. Take it.<br />
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<i><b>Unscorched</b> runs from 27-29 Nov and 3-6 Dec at 7.30pm with a m</i><i>atinée on 6 Dec at 2.30pm. Tickets available online, in person or by phone; <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/booking.html" target="_blank">click here for details</a>.</i>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-81582440355106942572014-02-15T15:26:00.000+00:002014-02-15T15:28:53.950+00:00The wrath of the AlmightyBible-bashing is not one of my favourite occupations. In fact, I avoid it at all costs as a rule. However...<br />
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This cartoon appeared on Facebook a couple of weeks ago. In the light of the utterly ridiculous, bigoted, unloving and un-Christian <a href="http://www.churchofengland.org/media-centre/news/2014/02/house-of-bishops-pastoral-guidance-on-same-sex-marriage.aspx" target="_blank">proclamation made by the Bishops of the Church of England</a> today, I made some efforts to find it again as it resonated so much.<br />
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The rain and wind are howling outside as I type this. Ghastly UK winter weather? Yes. Global warming? Quite likely. God's punishment? I don't think so. If there is any direct divine reason for the present appalling conditions, I don't believe it to be God's punishment, it's God's tears for those who ignore the greatest commandments of all:<br />
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"'And you shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.' This is the first commandment. And the second, like it, is this: '<b>You shall love your neighbour as yourself</b>.' There is no other commandment greater than these." Mark 12:30–31<br />
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Do you see anything in there about "except if your neighbour happens to love his own sex"? No, neither do I.Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-68442839739399457892014-01-16T14:35:00.002+00:002014-01-16T14:41:09.529+00:00Local theatre... in great shape<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xrGePeiXT5M/Utfk-gxGsCI/AAAAAAAASZQ/ChDFkanT7rw/s1600/The+Shape+of+Things+web+01+IMG_9006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xrGePeiXT5M/Utfk-gxGsCI/AAAAAAAASZQ/ChDFkanT7rw/s1600/The+Shape+of+Things+web+01+IMG_9006.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Photograph: Michael Stanislaw</i><br />
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The third show in the <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/" target="_blank">Sewell Barn</a>'s 2013-14 season was directed by Luke Owen, a regular performer with the group, and more recently a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/luke.owen.3979" target="_blank">published and performed playwright</a>. (I know he gets uncomfortable with his friends and colleagues banging on proudly about his achievements, but given the undoubted success of <i>Unscorched</i>, it looks as though he's going to have to get used to it.)<br />
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Having shared a stage with Luke, I knew that whatever his production delivered, it would most likely be <i>intentional</i>: precise, professional and focused. My hope was that his choice of play and performers would permit such an aim to be realised; to my delight, it was.<br />
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<i>The Shape of Things</i>, by Neil LaBute, is a contemporary play, dealing with very twenty-first century attitudes.<br />
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<i>"When Adam meets a young art student named Evelyn, his world begins to change. The two fall in love, and keen to impress his new girlfriend Adam begins to alter everything about himself for the better – he works out, he buys new clothes, he stops biting his nails... </i><br />
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<i>But why is Evelyn so eager for him to change? And what is he becoming?"</i><br />
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Having said that: there are shades of Pygmalion here, so perhaps the subject matter resonates far further back than the era of Starbucks, mobile phones and the gym. Maybe that's one of the reasons I liked it so much: real-time relevance rooted in enduring observations of human nature. And it is an excellent script: thought-provoking, funny, sinister, sharply-observed and intelligent.<br />
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The four young actors were perfectly chosen. Any small-cast show has the opportunity for exciting chemistry (or not) to ignite the theatrical experience (or not); in this case, the tuning between performers was perfect. Each displaying far more artistic integrity and professional composure than is entirely fair in those so young, the four wove their characters together, bouncing and merging, arguing and sparking, each confrontation entirely believable. It's actually not possible to comment on individual scenes or characters without giving away key plotlines - which I won't, because I want you to go and see for yourselves - but rest assured that all four performers inhabit their characters with total conviction, interact with love and fear and uncertainty and excitement and despair, and truly live. David Green, Hazel Wilson, Louise Waller and Jack Churchill are all to be very highly commended for such devoted and professional work, both as a team and individually.<br />
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And as for Mr Owen: this was a fine, fine example of a vision created and realised. With Gemma Goodwin's clean and ingenious set, simple movements of blocks to create various environments, swift transformation of light and stage, and careful use of appropriate incidental music, the world of LaBute's 'Midwestern American university' was firmly established on the Barn's versatile stage. With performers who are mature enough to exhibit skillful stagecraft but youthful enough to be entirely flexible about the characters they create, we were not watching David, Hazel, Louise and Jack, but Adam, Evelyn, Jenny and Philip, and we believed it. And with that precise, professional and focused direction I mentioned earlier, the whole creation was brought together as an exceptional work of art: yet another production of which the Sewell Barn Theatre can be very proud.<br />
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As I write this, you have four more chances to witness the creation for yourself. I strongly suggest that you do. Box Office: 01603 697248.Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-38550563971346088302013-12-11T17:55:00.003+00:002013-12-13T09:18:32.330+00:00T-Mobile: a tale of how not to do it.Mobile phones: a necessary evil. Well, actually usually rather useful and enjoyable. I've had one for something like twenty years, and as a geek-queen have always enjoyed making the most of new technology. I keep an eye out for the best deals, ensure I don't need to pay much to upgrade, sell on phones in good condition after such upgrades, and so on. I have two numbers on my account: one each for my husband and myself.<br />
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Back in the summer, one of our phones had its upgrade, and with the shuffling around of handsets in the household, we ended up with a spare, excellent condition, iPhone 4, still locked to T-Mobile. I obviously recognised that it would be easier to sell the phone if it was unlocked. Here's the saga.<br />
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<b>19th July</b>: I phoned, and requested the unlocking code. I was told it would take 20 days. Fine.<br />
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I was on holiday in the summer, and realised at the end of August that I'd heard nothing.<br />
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<b>9th September</b>: I called again. T-Mobile denied all knowledge of the previous call. I was told it would take 20 days.<br />
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<b>18th October</b>: having heard nothing, I called again. This time I had the presence of mind to ask for a name. 'Jenny' on 'x731' listened carefully, told me she would escalate the matter to a 72 hour timeframe, promised faithfully to call me back on Tuesday 22nd October. Are you surprised that I heard nothing?<br />
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<b>28th October</b>: having heard nothing, I spoke to 'Jamie O'Hanlon' and went through the saga again. I was told it would be sorted by Thursday 31st October. And that he would call me.<br />
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<b>1st November</b>: hooray! A text message from T-Mobile! Unfortunately, it informed me that the IMEI number they had was incorrect, so they couldn't complete the process.<br />
<br />
<b>Monday 4th November</b>: I called again. After explaining the whole sorry story (bearing in mind that I was in serious need of the money for the phone at this point) I was told explicitly by the person I spoke to (whose name I sadly didn't get on this occasion) that it would be quicker and easier to go to 'any branch of Carphone Warehouse', and pay a fee to them to unlock it. At this point, we checked the IMEI, which proved to be entirely incorrect on the T-Mobile records, and I gave them the correct one.<br />
<br />
This being the case, well, I figured it would be simpler to sell the phone, as locked to T-Mobile, but letting the purchaser unlock the phone themselves if they needed to do so. (As such, I charged less than I would have done had it been unlocked.) I quickly found a buyer via my contacts on Facebook, arranged to meet, and the sale went through on <b>Wednesday 27th November.</b> The purchaser took the phone off to Carphone Warehouse after meeting me, and also tried T-Mobile. Both told the buyer that the unlocking couldn't be done by them (despite what I'd been explicitly told before).<br />
<br />
<b>29th November</b>: having ascertained that the buyer of my phone, having given me the money in good faith, could not unlock the phone to use it, I called again. I explained in great detail to 'Winnie', and pointed out that I had had no customer service to speak of, no callbacks, no help. She said that she would have the matter escalated and solved within 72 hours (have you heard this before?) To give her her due, she did phone me over the next couple of days - to let me know that she'd made no progress. Eventually, she failed to call me as promised on 6th December...<br />
<br />
<b>6th December</b>: I called again, and went through the whole business with 'Ann-Marie'. She agreed it was unacceptable, and that she would make absolutely sure it went through in 72 hours (what?), and that she would call me back on Saturday 7th to touch base. Are you surprised that I heard nothing?<br />
<br />
<b>9th December</b>: I called again, and went through the whole business yet again with 'Bernard White' (ostensibly on x54652). He promised faithfully that he would call me back on Wednesday 11th December as he was (guess what) ensuring that this was processed manually and 'should be done by the 10th'.<br />
<br />
I am typing this as I wait on 'hold' (nearly 30 minutes so far, and this is on my third attempt this afternoon) to speak to the mysterious Bernard White. I am listening to exceptionally annoying music, and have done for at least 15 minutes of that time, with nobody returning to the call to reassure me that they are trying to put me through.<br />
<br />
<b>The purchaser of my phone still can't use it. I told them what I had been told by T-Mobile about the unlocking process, which proved to be entirely false. I feel a responsibility to my purchaser (unlike T-Mobile). She has so far had the phone for two weeks and has been unable to use it. </b><br />
<br />
Had the phone unlocking happened back in the summer, when this laborious process began, I could have sold it for more money as it would have been ready for any network; it would have been worth more at that stage, too. As it is, I have spent countless, fruitless hours on the phone to an assortment of incompetent idiots, each spinning me a different line; and it's not just me that is involved, but the poor lass who has bought my phone in good faith.<br />
<br />
<b>And still I wait. And wait. And wait.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
PS: as I concluded typing, the call disconnected itself. Today's calls have been (a) a failed attempt to get through, (b) 10 minutes followed by (c) 27 minutes. And no conclusions.<br />
<br />
<b>Update : </b><b>11th December 18:15</b>: after a total of <b>53 minutes on the phone</b>, across three separate calls this evening, I spoke to 'Karl Fitzgerald', who tells me that 'Bernard White' had left the office at 6pm (if my first call had got through to him he would still have been there). 'Bernard' has not left notes on my records for the matter to be escalated as he promised. 'Karl' assures me that he will 'escalate' the matter and he will ensure that 'Bernard' will call me back on Thursday morning.<br />
<br />
Are you going to give me odds on whether I receive a call, never mind an unlocking code?<br />
<br />
<b>Update: 12th December: </b>So, we finally got there. Two phone calls from Bernard and one from Paul (the latter being from the Social Media team), and - just after midday - email confirmation that <b>the phone had been unlocked</b>. (No code required, simply instructions for rebooting the phone.) Email forwarded to purchaser, and a grateful reply from her later in the day - using said phone.<br />
<br />
So what do we learn from this?<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Keep a note of every single call you make and message you send, with all the details. Make sure you know the facts.</li>
<li>If your initial attempt doesn't work, make it public. Blog the story as I have done. Stick to your facts as recorded above.</li>
<li>If you have problems with a mobile phone company, don't bother using the phone to contact them. (Ironic, huh?)</li>
<li>Instead: use social media. Somehow it appears that responses are far better (this isn't the first time I've experienced this: the Twitter and Facebook teams are much more on-the-ball than the call centre versions).</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
It may simply be that the staff of the Social Media team are better at their job. Or maybe it's because the public nature of the complaint makes it rather more important that they perform said job. Call me cynical.<br />
<br />
<b>Final, ironic, PS: 13th December: </b>As I complete typing this blog post, a text has just this minute arrived from TMobile. Is it an apology? An offer of some compensation? No. The text reads:<br />
<br />
<i>Thanks for submitting you request to unlock your phone. Please allow 20 days to receive your email detailing the code and instructions to unlock your phone.</i><br />
<br />
WHAT???Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-37186386179493934702013-10-17T18:28:00.001+01:002013-10-19T00:13:39.113+01:00Festen: a dark celebration<br>
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<br>
I saw this show on its opening night. I'm delighted to report that <a href="http://ramblingrector.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/ive-never-tried-it-so-i-dont-like-it.html" target="_blank">my enthusiastic urging to see it</a> was, in my opinion, wholly justified: it was a startlingly impressive show.<br>
<br>
First, a few comments from other audience members:<br>
<br>
"I would like to publicly congratulate Michelle and the cast and crew of <i>Festen</i>. I saw the production yesterday and I can truly say it is a most engaging and atmospheric performance. The language was at times a bit 'strong' but that was not a problem. I felt involved in the ghastly revelations at what, on the face of it, was a happy dinner party celebration. The audience were all equally enthralled, there was the occasional short sharp intake of breath which convinced me they also were involved with the dysfunctional family. Comments during the interval and after the performance were among the most enthusiastic I have ever heard."<br>
<br>
"Awesome production, loved the Michael Douglas charm of the father, superb acting from every character, a complex set of characters & perspectives brilliantly portrayed. They captured all the emotional tension and loved the 'silent scene' and very clever use of the limited space, thoroughly enjoyable night out and one which will be remembered for a long time."<br>
<br>
"Amazingly successful, engaging production. One audience member said she had seen it at the Theatre Royal a few years ago and our production was just so much more atmospheric!"<br>
<br>
"Just back from seeing Festen... It was just fantastic, it's left me feeling a bit speechless, the actors are utterly professional to the very end, an absolutely tremendous production as always. Thank you for a great evening."<br>
<br>
"Big Congratulations to all the cast of Festen, James Thomson, Jesse Kirkbride and all. A brilliantly directed and expertly written piece of theatre. Challenging and direct with distinct and believable characterisation. A breath of fresh air at The Sewell Barn Theatre."<div><br></div><div>And my favourite review so far, from David Shaw:</div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"What a play!! What a production!! Brave, corrosive, coruscating. I can't remember being so involved in a production. You were there, weren't you? and frequently wishing you weren't. When they sang that song at the end of act one I felt disgusted, dirty and ashamed.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">All the cast were excellent. I particularly liked the maid, her naivety, her freshness, and was so relieved that she gave us a glimmer of hope at the end. Shadows of Casablanca "at least we will have Paris!!" And she was such a contrast to the chef who was malevolently terrific. Faultless, everyone. And I want to be directed by that woman!!"</span></div>
<br>
And from me?<br>
<br>
Well, this is not a light-and-fluffy evening at the theatre. It's dark, emotional and intense. There is strong language, and there are 'adult themes'. But then, if you want light-and-fluffy, there's plenty of chewing-gum entertainment available on the goggle-box.<br>
<br>
Every one of the characters was consistent. No matter how much or how little they had to say or do, they remained steadfastly within their creation, never dropping their alter-ego for a moment. Given that the experience of the cast ranges from a teenager to an octogenarian, this was impressive. Every single one of the actors was focused and impressive, and I could mention every single one by name; but I have to especially commend Terry Cant for the strength, charm and vulnerability of an extraordinarily difficult creation; and Matthew Buck for an intense and passionate performance that, at times, literally took my breath away.<br>
<br>
The direction of this complex piece was excellent. Working in the confines of the intimate Sewell Barn, which is both a huge benefit and a potentially tricky limitation, the interaction of characters (sometimes with three scenes superimposed over each other) was kept clear and strong. The brave use of silence and discomfort was deeply affecting and effective. The set was elegant and sophisticated without being intrusive. The use of music - both as performed by the cast and as incidental mood-setting - was haunting and atmospheric.<br>
<br>
If you really cannot bear the use of four-letter words (not gratuitous, although frequent: they are intrinsic to certain characters); or if you would be too deeply disturbed by the powerful portrayal of abusive family relationships, and feel that you would therefore be prevented from appreciating the skill and dramatic intensity, then perhaps this play is not for you. However, if you are willing to suspend preconception and to immerse yourself in a fascinating, powerful and thought-provoking piece of theatre, I strongly recommend that you catch one of the remaining performances. As I've already expressed on Facebook: if either caution or apathy prevents you, it will be Your Serious Loss.<br>
<br>
<i>Festen </i>plays at the Sewell Barn until Saturday 19th October, including a matinee on the Saturday. <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/index.html" target="_blank">Visit the Sewell Barn website for details</a>, and/or call Jarrolds on <a href="tel:01603%20697248" x-apple-data-detectors="true" x-apple-data-detectors-type="telephone" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0">01603 697248</a>.</div>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-2266551668013792612013-10-03T10:44:00.000+01:002013-10-03T10:44:18.397+01:00I've never tried it so I don't like it<img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xs2wMNS79mg/Uk050ewPYDI/AAAAAAAARsQ/XSKp1GFXRMA/s320/P1100267.JPG" /><br />
<br />
There's a splendid quote that I'm rather fond of from the inimitable Lewis Carroll.<br />
<br />
<i>Little girl to nurse: "I'm so glad I don't like asparagus."</i><br />
<i>Nurse: "Why, dear?"</i><br />
<i>Little girl: "Because if I did like it I'd have to eat it - and I can't bear it."</i><br />
<br />
How much does that apply to many of us with new experiences? Specifically, in this case, theatrical experiences. Yes, I know I've been here before (several times): my love of the theatre (from all perspectives: performer, director and audience) means that I believe passionately that 'trying the new' is something that we should all do. But I'm about to bang on about it again.<br />
<br />
I've said a lot of this already in the lead-up to a previous show at the Sewell Barn: <i>Airswimming</i>. <a href="http://ramblingrector.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/not-to-be-missed.html" target="_blank">You can read the post here</a>. This truly magnificent show was a classic example of the comments that I hear, time after time: "<b>I <i>so </i>wish I'd seen that play - I heard it was brilliant</b>." The same was true of the show that followed it (<i>When the Rain Stops Falling</i>). Both shows were stunning experiences, superbly acted and directed, highly challenging, and outside predictable theatrical fare. Neither was Ayckbourn or Shakespeare, or the stage version of some recognisable TV show. In fact, you'd be very unusual if you'd heard of either of them before (I certainly hadn't). But these were evenings that I wouldn't have missed for the world.<br />
<br />
Now, <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/current1.html" target="_blank">the upcoming show at the Sewell Barn</a> is <i>Festen</i>. It's dark, disturbing and powerful. It's not a light-and-frothy farce or a Mills-and-Boon dose of slushiness. There's strong language, there are 'adult themes', and no, it's not suitable for young children. However, I've seen some rehearsals, and can strongly, highly, emphatically recommend it. There are some stunning performances, an extraordinarily well-designed and imaginative set, superb direction.<br />
<br />
"It's not my sort of thing"... how do you know if you haven't tried it? I wouldn't have thought that a tale about two women incarcerated for fifty years in a mental asylum for the crime of having children out of wedlock was 'my sort of thing'. (If you're wondering, my 'sort of thing' is more likely to be a hefty dose of Kander & Ebb, stuff-strutting and fishnets.) Yet I left that theatre having laughed and cried, thought and pondered, discussed and dissected; yes, stimulated. <b>I didn't know what to expect, and I got it</b>.<br />
<br />
"What if I don't like it?" Well, sue me. The worst that can happen is that you feel you have experienced <i>nothing </i>in that two hours or so that has given you an intellectual or emotional workout. Personally, I think that's very unlikely. Don't get me wrong: I don't leave every show I see raving about it (far from it). But I can safely say that, in some forty years of theatregoing, I can count on the fingers of one hand the shows that I really, honestly, seriously disliked on <i>all </i>counts. For 99% of the time, I'll leave full of questions, comments, praise - and, yes, criticism - but very, very seldom unmoved. Even a show that left me, on the whole, underwhelmed will have some performance, some element of direction, some creative idea that has thrilled or interested me. In other words, it is <i>very</i> unlikely to be a completely wasted journey. On the other hand, I see television shows all the time - especially so-called 'talent' shows - that leave me thinking "well, that was two hours of my life I'll never get back".<br />
<br />
As I've said before: do yourself a favour. Try it. You might like it. And even if you don't wholly, unreservedly 'like it', you'll take away something: a new experience, a thought process, an emotion, a challenge.<br />
<br />
And if you do shift yourself to buy a ticket, you'll have done something else: made it more likely that shows like this - and unlike this - will be put on at this unique venue in the future. Because without you, there is no point.<br />
<br />
Box office: <b>01603 697248</b>. Over to you.Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-17750527067604205982013-09-23T20:08:00.000+01:002013-09-23T20:16:22.575+01:00This week - nothing.<img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C9ZS1l3JMAw/UkCP4dMdvsI/AAAAAAAARqA/l_XNvPCIPKw/s320/P1100225.JPG" /><br />
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<br />
Hearing your husband preach each week has its good and bad points. Not, I hasten to add, in respect of his sermons: I know I'm biased, but he remains one of the most good-humoured, intelligent preachers I've ever heard, irrespective of my relationship with him.<br />
<br />
No, I refer to the fact that sometimes (whether intentionally or not) he manages to produce some thought, some soundbite, some observation that goes straight to the heart of whatever it is I happen to be struggling with at the time. This was the case this week. And last week, actually: being a Harvest homily, I have actually heard it two Sundays running. Not that I mind.<br />
<br />
The address began, as so many of his do, with a joke.<br />
<br />
<i>Two old friends bump into each other on the street one day. One of them looks forlorn, almost on the verge of tears. </i><br />
<br />
<i>His friend asks, “What has the world done to you?”</i><br />
<br />
<i>The sad one says “Let me tell you. Three weeks ago an uncle died and left me $50,000.”</i><br />
<br />
<i>“That’s a lot of money!”</i><br />
<br />
<i>“But then two weeks ago a cousin I’d never even met died, and he left me 100,000.”</i><br />
<br />
<i>“Sounds like you’ve been blessed....”</i><br />
<br />
<i>“No, no, you still don’t understand. Last week my great-aunt passed away, and I inherited nearly a quarter of a million!”</i><br />
<br />
<i>“Then – why look so glum?”</i><br />
<br />
<i>“Well, this week – nothing!”</i><br />
<br />
Of course, this then led us into the focus of Harvest Thanksgiving: being deliberately aware of blessings, all good gifts around us, etc., and proactively expressing our gratitude to The Boss - whether by stewardship, hospitality, or a basket of random cooking apples and tinned soup to be donated to a local charity. However, the story took me somewhere slightly different.<br />
<br />
There have been some fairly difficult times recently: for my friends and loved ones, and therefore for me as well. I'm a solver, you see. Anyone who knows me well, especially in a professional context, will recognise this: I like nothing better than a cry for help to which I can respond, making it all better. "Cassie - why doesn't the computer do this?" "Cassie - how do I deal with this pile of stuff?" "Cassie - have you got the music that I need?" However, most of the recent tricky stuff has got me down rather badly - because most of it is of the type that has no solutions. Nothing, niet, nada. I am left floundering, disempowered and helpless.<br />
<br />
My life is usually one that bounces along with a fairly high proportion of good things. So when I find, in one fairly short period, that I'm fighting this lot, it's a bit of a blow. In absolutely <i>no </i>order of seriousness: a badly sprained foot, and hence dropping out of the play I was in; resulting pain stops my regular walks, so I put on weight (always an issue); my father descending ever more rapidly into dementia, and all the ghastly stuff that goes with it for my mother; a colleague's father dies suddenly, another colleague's mother is diagnosed with terminal illness; the freelance earnings take one of their occasional nose-dives, but it's bad timing; three (THREE) of my clients, lovely ladies and in one case a close friend, have serious marital problems; a very dear theatrical colleague has painful and as yet undiagnosed health problems; and so on.<br />
<br />
It's all fairly ghastly, and the nonsense with my foot - hardly earth-shattering news in itself - undermines my usual sense of optimism, leaving me debilitated and depressed.<br />
<br />
And then along comes my husband's little story. In a reluctantly-accepted lightbulb moment, I think: well, if you take 'weeks' and replace them with 'years', or even 'quarters', my life's been a bit like that. Every year, when my husband and I probably bore the collective pants off our friends and relations with <a href="http://christmas.tillett.org.uk/" target="_blank">the ubiquitous Round Robins</a>, there is always so much more to celebrate than to commiserate. Friends, visits, music, food, drink, theatre, food, places, photography, family, work, play, joy - including, within the last two years, my 50th birthday and all its joyful celebrations, and a magnificent four weeks in the USA. Not Pollyanna-style - the good is always interspersed with the bad and the ugly - but on balance, a pretty colourful and fabulous cornucopia.<br />
<br />
And this week - or this period of the last four months or so - nothing. Bad news, ill health, deep sadness in many quarters. And I can't do bugger all about most of them. I can keep doing the stuff I do best - organise, pay bills, be taxi service, be there, make stuff work - but I can't make it <i>better </i>for anybody, including myself.<br />
<br />
Even as I read this back, I think, "well, that's a load of crap. It's not 'nothing' at all. You've had a week with very dear friends and a week in a beautiful place in Wales. You've created a successful concert with some stunningly talented friends." So even that is true: it's never 'nothing'.<br />
<br />
But even if life feels like wading through treacle right now, for the most part - it's just a phase. It's just 'this week'. And joys go on around me. Two other dear friends, after many years and several disappointments, have just produced a beautiful little boy. Another pair of theatrical colleagues, gorgeous people both, have got engaged. Yet another pair celebrated the most inspiring, simple, joyful wedding it's ever been my pleasure to attend. Their stories weave around my own, in their own colour and light, and they celebrate their 'great weeks', and share them with the rest of us. That keeps me going.<br />
<br />
And when, as I trust and know from experience it will, my next 'great week' comes around again, I hope I'll be able to share it with those I love and care for. Meantime, I've got to keep remembering: it's just "this week - nothing". Not "this lifetime".</div>
Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-38093579771378844922013-09-04T21:48:00.000+01:002013-09-04T21:52:01.925+01:00What the pigeon was doingI was asked, a few weeks ago, by a Facebook friend, if I could provide a few photographs as 'writing prompts' for a creative writing challenge created by Word Bohemia. Of course, I was delighted to do so. The challenge began on 1st September, and two of the four images so far have been mine, which gives me an odd sense of vicarious fame.<br />
<br />
Today's was a photo that always amused me - not least because I always wondered what the pigeon was up to when I took it (in a doorway in Norwich, if you were wondering). Now, thanks to the splendid Alan MacFarlane, I know. Completely inspired.<br />
<br />
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<br />
***<br />
<br />
Coool<br />
<br />
… 32, 33, 34 …<br />
<br />
Let’s go there.<br />
Admiralty Arch?<br />
Yeah.<br />
Are you serious?<br />
Yeah, why not?<br />
We spend most of every bloody day on that, that’s why not.<br />
Alright then, what about up there?<br />
On his hat I suppose?<br />
No, don’t be daft. That would be too obvious. Besides it’s lunchtime, there’ll be a queue.<br />
Bloody hell.<br />
What?<br />
Sometimes I wonder what damage all that pecking has done.<br />
It was just a suggestion.<br />
We were up there ten minutes ago, remember? That’s the first place he’ll look.<br />
<br />
… 45, 46, 47, 48 49 …<br />
<br />
We could jump buses for a while.<br />
Too much effort.<br />
National Gallery then?<br />
Western European painting exhibition on. It’ll be packed.<br />
South African Embassy?<br />
Too political.<br />
Charing Cross Monument?<br />
It’s got to be somewhere in the square remember.<br />
St Martins?<br />
They’ve got the nets up. Bob got stuck earlier. Did I tell you about that? Funny story -<br />
Yeah you did. Come on, we need to hurry.<br />
<br />
… 58, 59, 60, 61…<br />
<br />
Right, let’s think…<br />
I know!<br />
What?<br />
Behind one of the lions.<br />
Go on.<br />
We stand out of sight then move round depending on where he is.<br />
Finally a good idea.<br />
Thanks.<br />
But not good enough.<br />
Guh. Why not?<br />
Somebody’s bound to drop crumbs and I’ll get distracted.<br />
Alright then smart arse. Where do you think we should go?<br />
It’s obvious.<br />
Is it?<br />
Yeah.<br />
Let’s hear it then.<br />
<br />
… 73, 74, 75, 76…<br />
<br />
We stand on that window ledge above his head.<br />
That’s dafter than anything I’ve said.<br />
You think so?<br />
Yeah, isn’t it?<br />
Listen, you know what he’s like.<br />
What do you mean?<br />
He always does things first and thinks later, right?<br />
I suppose.<br />
Well, what do you think he’s going to do when he stops counting?<br />
I dunno.<br />
Give me strength … He’ll take off, won’t he? Then he’ll start looking for us.<br />
And we’ll be -<br />
Right there where he won’t think of looking for us. Exactly.<br />
Brilliant!<br />
Let’s get over there.<br />
<br />
(A SHORT WHILE LATER)<br />
<br />
…89, 90, 91, 92, 93 …<br />
<br />
Heh heh.<br />
Shush.<br />
<br />
… 96, 97, 98, 99, 100. Coming ready or not! (flap, flap, flap)<br />
<br />
Brilliant.<br />
<br />
***<br />
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Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-64126001934307052922013-07-28T18:08:00.000+01:002013-07-28T18:15:07.268+01:00Simple giftsWe attended the wedding of two dear friends the other day. To be accurate, it was their celebration day (they'd done the legal bit already), with an <a href="http://www.norfolk-celebrant.co.uk/" target="_blank">Independent Celebrant</a> and their family and friends. The weather was kind; the landscape of rural Norfolk was glorious; the <a href="http://www.thekeeperandthedell.com/" target="_blank">venue</a> was unique and delightful; and the simplicity and joy evident in the event was thought-provoking and life-affirming.<br />
<br />
The refreshments were gloriously stylish. Gin & tonic (served in jam-jars, which were the glasses we used all day); afternoon tea, with vast scones, cream and jam, followed by a tasty prosecco with which to make the toasts; and fish & chips. There was a very affordable pay-bar. The <a href="http://www.dj78.co.uk/" target="_blank">DJ was a unique chap</a> who played early 20th century dance music 78s on windup gramophones. The entertainers were talented friends of the bride & groom. The 'bridesmaids' were dressed in green-and-white cotton, down to the tiniest small person. The literary contributions were from William Shakespeare and Winnie-the-Pooh.<br />
<br />
I haven't posted the photographs to social media yet until I have the approval to do so (or they do it themselves) from the happy couple. However, I did share just one photograph of them as my 'photo of the day' on Facebook.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_BLbGFdGlHQ/UfL7k6t_wsI/AAAAAAAARQA/nWYCSc_Ybk4/s1600/DSC_7563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_BLbGFdGlHQ/UfL7k6t_wsI/AAAAAAAARQA/nWYCSc_Ybk4/s320/DSC_7563.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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A friend of mine (who doesn't know the couple) commented thus:<br />
<br />
"What I love about that wedding photo, Cassie, is the sheer joy and simplicity - it just shows the trappings around a marriage is all just 'stuff'. Love is the important thing..."<br />
<br />
It's so true, and so much of a pleasure to see it. This day wasn't the be-all and the end-all here: my beautiful friends were celebrating their love. It was a summing-up of, and thanksgiving for, what they already have, and a hope and trust for their future, founded not on the expectations of the world or the dictatorship of fashion, but on the glory that is their visible and workable happiness as a family.<br />
<br />
I've created a collage of a few of my favourite non-people images from the day to be going on with. It sums up a day that was completely magical, but knowing that it was also a day where - as my friend put it - love was the important thing.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hKVYjdl7Mms/UfVNzE2Dp0I/AAAAAAAARSc/Lsi9uWBy6DU/s1600/2013-07-Lou-Andy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hKVYjdl7Mms/UfVNzE2Dp0I/AAAAAAAARSc/Lsi9uWBy6DU/s320/2013-07-Lou-Andy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Let me not to the marriage of true minds</i><br />
<i>Admit impediments. Love is not love</i><br />
<i>Which alters when it alteration finds,</i><br />
<i>Or bends with the remover to remove:</i><br />
<i>O no! it is an ever-fixed mark </i><br />
<i>That looks on tempests and is never shaken;</i><br />
<i>It is the star to every wandering bark,</i><br />
<i>Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.</i><br />
<i>Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks </i><br />
<i>Within his bending sickle's compass come: </i><br />
<i>Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, </i><br />
<i>But bears it out even to the edge of doom.</i><br />
<i> If this be error and upon me proved,</i><br />
<i> I never writ, nor no man ever loved.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>William Shakespeare: Sonnet 116</i>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-38882880680259264422013-07-26T12:00:00.000+01:002013-07-26T12:01:07.750+01:00Observing the detailMy last two evenings have been spent watching two very different shows. Each is entirely worthy of your time and interest, and I urge you to see them if you can.<br />
<br />
Both are very small casts (three men in the first, three women and a man in the second). One is very down-to-earth and identifiable, gentle, 'feel-good'; the other is strange, curious, fascinating and unusual.<br />
<br />
The other thing they have in common is that very little either happens or is resolved. I was reminded strongly (and read in the programme of one that the director had made the same observation) of <i>Waiting for Godot</i>, where in the final moments of the play, the characters continue to take as little action as they've done throughout the evening.<br />
<br />
You may love or hate either of them (as plays) for a multitude of reasons, but they are both very special.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q7AmjjrQnGI/UfJWJ8yYmDI/AAAAAAAAQ0w/t8kREjaxeTg/s1600/Heroes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q7AmjjrQnGI/UfJWJ8yYmDI/AAAAAAAAQ0w/t8kREjaxeTg/s320/Heroes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
On Wednesday I saw <i>Heroes, </i>by Gérald Sibleyras and translated by Tom Stoppard, at the Sewell Barn. This small theatre is beautifully appropriate to detailed shows, with the 'goldfish-bowl' effect of the audience being raised above the performers. The set was beautiful and pleasing on the eye; the fourth member of the cast was skillfully created (go and see it to find out more!). Each of the three actors has an acutely-developed sense of comic timing; superb stagecraft; and a well-developed understanding of the relationship between the three old men.<br />
<br />
If pushed to explain the appeal of <i>Heroes</i>, I'd say that it was the British love of creations such as <i>Last of the Summer Wine</i>. Very little happens in those episodes either, and certainly nothing of importance; but the antics, thoughts, wonderings and gentle humour of Foggy, Clegg and Compo earned the love of the British public and retained it for many, many years. This is the delight of <i>Heroes</i>: we have detail, some history, some background, some interaction, some relationship dynamic; but in the end, the piece observes, and does so with delightful humour and sensitive respect for its subjects.<br />
<br />
<i>Heroes </i>has three performances remaining: tonight (Friday 26th), and two performances tomorrow. <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/index.html" target="_blank">Visit the website for more information</a>, and <b>call Jarrolds for tickets on 01603 697248</b>.<br />
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On Thursday it was the turn of the Maddermarket Theatre, and <i>New Electric Ballroom </i>by Enda Walsh. This extraordinary, strange, disturbing creation was a revelation to me. The limited, enclosed world of the sisters who never leave their home, and who continually re-enact a heartbreaking tale of their youth, bewilders and challenges; but once the audience has tuned in to the thought processes of the women, the show takes on a lyrical intensity that I found extraordinarily powerful and affecting.<br />
<br />
Further comparisons: I've mentioned <i>Waiting for Godot</i>, but this show also owed a great deal to <i>Under Milk Wood</i>, with its bizarre, extraordinary population; situations that are identifiable but at the same time alien; language that flows like an unstoppable tide, drawing us deeper into the immovable world that the sisters have created for themselves. I also was reminded of elements of James Joyce's <i>Ulysses</i>, with its deluge of language that creates its own powerful effects in a highly un-naturalistic way.<br />
<br />
The four performers here did a stunning job. Their characters were focused, consistent, troubling, tragic and at times hilarious. The deep heartbreak of Patsy's final speeches was, to me, unutterably painful; the superb timing and integrity exhibited by all of the actors was a masterclass.<br />
<br />
<i>New Electric Ballroom </i>plays each night until Saturday 3rd August (except Sunday); <a href="http://www.maddermarket.co.uk/" target="_blank">visit the website</a> to book tickets online, or call the box office on 01603 620917.<br />
<br />
What strikes me about both shows is that they were created with a strong vision and complete professionalism. If I had to, I would say that I was more fascinated and stimulated by the <i>Ballroom</i>, but more amused by <i>Heroes</i>; but I took away a huge sense of delight in the skills of our local performers and directors in both cases, and am extremely pleased that I got to see them both.<br />
<br />
As I said at the start, you may love or loathe either or both; but if you don't go and find out for yourself, you'll never know, will you?Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-25988644759250436292013-06-16T20:02:00.001+01:002013-06-16T20:02:23.198+01:00When The Rain Stops FallingIt’s been some while since I performed any proactive genealogical research. However, around 15 years ago this eccentric hobby took up a good deal of my time and energy, and I found great satisfaction in being able to assemble, however incompletely, the extraordinary jigsaw that resulted in the person that is me today. There’s a suicidal, alcoholic, wife-beating shoemaker; a city gentleman, estranged from his wife, who died alone in a cinema; a royal lady-in-waiting; umpteen agricultural labourers. All these tiny facts have filtered through, and I know they are still not the whole story.<br />
<br />
The extraordinary <i>When The Rain Stops Falling</i> at the <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/index.html" target="_blank">Sewell Barn Theatre</a> (commonly referred to as WTRSF by the cast and crew) pieces together, in the same addictive and painstaking way, lives across eighty years and two opposite points on our planet. Slowly, without fanfare or sensationalism, each fact slips into place, and finally we understand better (but never completely) who these people are and how they come to be connected. Complex, challenging, truthful and compelling, it takes concentration and commitment, from both audience and performers, beyond almost any other show I’ve ever seen; but the rewards are enormous.<br />
<br />
Ginny Porteous guided her cast through this tense network with a sure hand and a clear vision. The extraordinary rain-themed images and back projections, the insistent two-note guitar refrain, the white furniture and fittings, the beautifully-painted postcards on floors and tables, all made wonderful use of the quirky space that is the Sewell Barn.<br />
<br />
The nine members of the cast all rose to these substantial challenges – mentally leaping around between eras and continents – with aplomb. Every single performance was a masterpiece of integrity and skill, and it therefore feels (as always) disingenuous to isolate individual performances. However, I have to do just that in the case of the two Elizabeths (Jenny Hobson and Jo Parker-Sessions), whose joint intense focus and intelligence were emotionally shattering.<br />
<br />
The play defies classification (tragical-comical-historical-pastoral). There were many laughs, some of recognition; intakes of breath, for shock or heart-sinking realisation; smiles of satisfaction when another piece of the jigsaw dropped into place. Like Airswimming, this is not a show for glib distraction or easy entertainment; it’s far, far more worthwhile than that. To refuse the opportunity to see it on the basis of ‘I’ve never heard of it’ or ‘it’s probably not my sort of thing’ is, to me, akin to insisting on eating nothing but English fish & chips when on holiday in some exotic part of the world.<br />
<br />
When my husband and I returned from seeing the show, we (as usual) browsed around the internet for further information on this play that had had such a profound effect on us. We found an excellent review – <a href="http://www.lct.org/showBlog.htm?id=191" target="_blank">a blog post in a series by Brendan Lemon</a>, focused on the production of this play at the Lincoln Center Theater in New York in early 2010 – which sums up the emotional value: “…the unsentimentality …means EARNED emotion rather than the unearned, easy variety habitually served up by plays and movies and TV shows”. He goes on to say that “It is only sentimental if you think that loss of loved ones is a tra-la-la type of occasion. If you do, then Rain probably wasn't for you. For the rest of us, the production reminded us why we go to the theater.”<br />
<br />
Quite. This is the second production in succession at the Barn that has come into the ‘unusual’, ‘risky’ category of ‘earned emotion’ – and both have moved me deeply, made me think very hard, and proved their worth beyond doubt over the attractions of a night at home in front of the tv. <br />
<br />
Just remember: 3D entertainment has been around for thousands of years. It’s called theatre.<br />
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<img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-chTZSQJSPSk/Ub4K-T0vbuI/AAAAAAAAQlM/b2x5fS0Q-ew/s320/WTRSF.jpg" /><br />Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-33894195023340614582013-06-13T21:28:00.004+01:002013-06-13T21:32:59.348+01:00Cathedrals: des res for peregrine falconsWe are very fond of observing both the wildlife in our own garden and in the surrounding countryside, and it's wonderful to see the increasing interest in such matters through programmes such as the excellent <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/springwatch/" target="_blank">Springwatch</a> (and its sister seasons). The new-ish technology of webcams enables an extraordinary study capability without intrusive disturbance.<br />
<br />
I was delighted, however, when I Googled 'peregrine falcons cathedral' - without saying which cathedral - to discover that it's not just our local, beautiful Norwich cathedral that's home to these beautiful birds. So (more for my own <i>aide memoire</i> than anything else) here are a few of the dedicated sites I've found - where the high cathedral spires are clearly regarded as the penthouses of the bird world.<br />
<br />
First, our local <b>Norwich </b>birds, first seen on the cathedral in 2009:<br />
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<a href="http://www.cathedral.org.uk/visitorinfo/norwich-cathedral-peregrine-falcons-norwich-cathedral-peregrine-falcons.aspx">http://www.cathedral.org.uk/visitorinfo/norwich-cathedral-peregrine-falcons-norwich-cathedral-peregrine-falcons.aspx</a><br />
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The <b>Derby </b>peregrines have been there since 2006:<br />
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<a href="http://derbyperegrines.blogspot.co.uk/">http://derbyperegrines.blogspot.co.uk/</a><br />
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<b>Chichester </b>peregrines are old hands: they've been there since 2001:<br />
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<a href="http://www.chichesterperegrines.co.uk/">http://www.chichesterperegrines.co.uk/</a><br />
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<b>Lincoln </b>since 2007:<br />
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<a href="http://www.visitlincoln.com/blog/peregrine-falcons">http://www.visitlincoln.com/blog/peregrine-falcons</a><br />
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I can't find how long they've been resident in <b>Worcester</b>:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.worcester.gov.uk/peregrine/">http://www.worcester.gov.uk/peregrine/</a><br />
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The birds returned to <b>Salisbury </b>for the first time since 2003 this year:<br />
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<a href="http://www.salisburycathedral.org.uk/news.php?id=739">http://www.salisburycathedral.org.uk/news.php?id=739</a><br />
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There may well be more, but these have come up on an initial search. Many of the above give amazing webcam coverage, which of course will only be active for a short time longer as we're into the fledging season.<br />
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I haven't had the opportunity to attempt photography of these lovely creatures myself, but Gordon Burwood (a first-rate local amateur) has captured some wonderful images. I thoroughly recommend his <a href="https://www.facebook.com/GordonBurwoodPhotography" target="_blank">Facebook page</a> for some excellent work. Here is a beautiful example.<br />
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<br />Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-68687146338130652382013-06-01T14:07:00.002+01:002013-06-01T14:07:42.904+01:00Take a chance on ... the theatreAfter <a href="http://ramblingrector.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/not-to-be-missed.html" target="_blank">my rant a couple of weeks ago</a> about local audiences missing chances to see wonderful theatre, simply because it was outside their comfort zone, I thought it was only fair that I shared my thoughts once I'd actually seen the production. I assure you that it came well up to expectations. The review (which has been published in the appropriate theatre Newsletter) can be found below.<br />
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There is another 'unusual' play - a curious sounding plot, a playwright of whom I've never heard - lined up for the next slot at the Sewell Barn. Once again, it doesn't sound like we're in for a predictable evening. Goody, I say. I wouldn't want it to be.<br />
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So if my review of the glorious <i>Airswimming </i>inspires you to feel a little braver about how you might choose to spend an evening away from the telly-box, for the princely sum of £8, please book soon for the fascinating-sounding <i><a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/" target="_blank">When The Rain Stops Falling</a></i>. Step outside the box. Go on - you might even enjoy it.<br />
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***<br />
<br />
<b><i>Airswimming </i></b>by Charlotte Jones<br />
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Reading the publicity material, this sounded like a challenging show to attend, and so it proved. Consider the situation. Two women are institutionalised in the 1920s for the crime of producing children out of wedlock (even if the child was as a result of rape, it was still considered proof of mental instability). They are erased from family memory, and spend the next fifty years – fifty years – cleaning bathrooms and deprived of the basic human right of freedom. The heart and head go into revolt at the very idea. We know that laughter will be underscored with pain, with fear, with challenges; and we know that we, the audience, will not escape unscathed.<br />
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It was also a technical and artistic challenge. I’ve been fortunate enough to perform in shows of all cast sizes, and each has their different dynamic, pressures and rewards. I’ve never been in a two-hander, though, and appreciate just how intense that pressure must be for all sorts of reasons. There is no distraction for the audience, no letup in the goldfish-bowl scrutiny (always the case at the Barn in any case), no room for error.<br />
<br />
So Mandy Kiley and Kirsty Hobson, and their director Carita Liljendal, began this show with a huge challenge before them. A relatively bare set, plain institutional costumes, and just them. Two women, a challenging and difficult script, and nowhere to hide. In less accomplished hands, this could have been a painful experience: but it was a triumph on all levels.<br />
<br />
Both actresses displayed consistency, integrity and a deep understanding of their characters; neither was guilty of over- or under-acting (both too easy a trap to fall into), maintaining the level of convincingly natural stagecraft (insofar as it’s possible to be ‘natural’ about such an unnatural situation), histrionics being completely believable as emanating from the characters rather than from the actresses. Whether whispering childishly or shouting furiously, every word was audible and comprehensible; and their physical changes as they aged were strikingly well-observed. Carita’s direction was clear and sympathetic, her concepts carried through consistently and stylishly, with exquisite use of movement, shadow puppetry and a glorious simplicity of staging and musical enhancement. Like the extraordinary beauty of the shadows of the developing foetus that opened the show, this was a creation of precise and sensitive beauty.<br />
<br />
The script is not easy to tune into at first; the chronological chopping-and-changing is tricky, given that only the actresses’ voices and words are able to indicate the change from, say, the 1920s to the 1950s. However, once the audience has ‘tuned in’ to this oddity, we became alert to references to entertainers and news items of the day which helped us to keep track of the passage of time – in much the same way as, of course, the women themselves struggled to do. It was painful to witness Dora’s distress when she realised that she was no longer able to tell what year it was, and we realised that the script had effectively done the same to us.<br />
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We left the theatre, in many cases, in floods of tears. In the final scene, when we realise that the women are finally being released much too late - when they have experienced far too many years of confinement to be able to gain happiness from ‘liberty’ – the words “I think they’re putting us in council accommodation” and “I don’t know that I can be bothered” were a knife in the gut when we’d spent the last two hours mentally waving placards for their freedom.<br />
<br />
I wrote a blog posting after the first night of this show had attracted a sadly small (though very enthusiastic) audience, expressing my disappointment at the inability of the local theatregoing public to take the risk of going to see an unconventional and/or unfamiliar show. I was relieved and delighted to find that the show was well worth taking such a stand over, and indeed exceeded my expectations. However, that’s not really the point. As I said at the start of this review, this looked on paper to be (and indeed was) a challenging evening: not likely to be a relaxing, feel-good, take-me-away-from-all-this experience. It promised, and delivered, challenge and difficulty and indignation and tears and food for thought. And not enough people chose to share in such a banquet: the theatre should have been full to capacity every night.<br />
<br />
Maybe non-attenders don’t want to be challenged. Maybe they want to attend the theatre only when they know exactly what’s going to happen, like picking up a well-worn novel from the bookshelf which you could recite by heart. But if that’s the case, I feel great sadness for what they are missing. The theatre is there to make us feel happy, of course (and this show did that as well, in spades); it’s there for bellylaughs and familiarity and beautiful sets and glorious lighting effects. But these are experiences that relate to life “as we know it, Jim”. To ignore the other stories, what’s happening outside our own little box, the off-beat, the quirky, the unusual, is to view life only in primary colours, ignoring the rest of the spectrum.<br />
<br />
Miss Kitson and Miss Baker were real women. They were denied the human experiences of choice and variety: they were confined within an asylum for fifty years, never again to have the option to taste and try, to listen and learn, to question and to understand – although they did an amazing job with what was in their own heads. If we, who have our freedom, don’t take the chance to experience life, and theatre, of this calibre, we dishonour the memories of those who never had, or have, the choice.<br />
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<img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oRljK9M9rKI/Uanx1S8tciI/AAAAAAAAQLk/R9ZoMFPeQ48/s320/curtain-call.jpg" /><br />
<br />Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-82460847782389235212013-05-10T10:13:00.002+01:002013-10-03T10:08:02.391+01:00Not to be missed<a href="http://www.patrickwatsonphotography.co.uk/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M8wAcN06zQs/UYy3camRh5I/AAAAAAAAPlg/guYymF5xOFo/s1600/airswimming008.jpeg" /></a><br />
<br />
Last night, a new show opened at the <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org.uk/index.html" target="_blank">Sewell Barn Theatre</a>. It's called <i>Airswimming</i>, by Charlotte Jones.<br />
<br />
The show's description says: "Based on a true story, <i>Airswimming </i>is stark, moving and entertaining. Persephone and Dora - placed in a hospital for the criminally insane in the 1920s for bearing illegitimate children and not released until the 1970s - create an extraordinary comic world. They day-dream, sing, plan their escape and most of all air swim. This is a highly visual, poetic and touching production of hope and friendship."<br />
<br />
The audience last night was small. The Barn isn't a large venue - it holds 100 people at its fullest - providing a unique intimate theatrical experience. But even this small theatre was far too underpopulated for a superb show.<br />
<br />
The Sewell Barn puts on eight shows a year, a wide range of large and small casts, classic and modern texts, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, funny ha-ha and funny peculiar. The standards are high, the dedication of cast and crew immense. The word 'amateur' does not have any derogatory connotations here: rather, in the sense of its literal translation, it's theatre that is performed for love.<br />
<br />
I perform, I direct, I attend shows. I have a family and responsibilities and my own business. I know how hard it can be to take time in a busy schedule (I'll be going to see <i>Airswimming </i>myself next Wednesday - it's the only performance out of the eight that I'm able to attend). But I do feel strongly that people are missing such a lot.<br />
<br />
There was another two-hander on offer in Norwich just last week: <i>Duet for One</i> at the Maddermarket. Much to my personal sorrow, I wasn't able to attend this at all (which is unusual - I manage to see most shows at both of these venues). The comments that I read were universally positive, praising highly the direction and the performance. Yet audiences for this show, too, were extremely poor.<br />
<br />
Why don't people come to shows like this? Will they only attend when they recognise the name of the author? When it's an old chestnut of a farce, or a familiar Shakespeare? Will they only go to the theatre when, in short, they know what they're going to get? Frankly, in some forty years of performing and theatregoing, I can honestly say that the more unusual and obscure the show, the more likely I am to emerge entertained, challenged, weak with laughter or preoccupied with thought. Although it's a sweeping statement, I can truthfully say that the more 'predictable' a show, the more ho-hum my experience is likely to be.<br />
<br />
The tickets are not expensive (£8). There is plenty of free parking. These are real people, not figures on a screen.<br />
<br />
Here are some of the reviews so far from those who did see it last night.<br />
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"I want to say a massive thank you to the extremely talented Carita Liljendal for creating such a moving and incredible interpretation of one of my favourite plays, Airswimming. You would be stupid to miss this Sewell Barn production! The acting is superb, and the direction spot on. But Carita, the only problem with the whole play..... you made me cry BIG TIME!"<br />
<br />
"Well, much as expected, Airswimming was just amazing. Some of the best acting I've seen at the barn, a great script, superb direction... just an all-round fantastic show."<br />
<br />
"The reason that I love theatre so much is the constant possibility of surprise and this production is full of them. Again that creative pressure cooker of talent, the Sewell Barn Theatre, grabs an audience by the heart and mind dragging them into another world. Leaving them forlorn in the depths of sadness or lifting them to the heights of comedy and almost helpless with laughter. <br />
<br />
<div>
In this small theatre, that somehow felt even more constricted than usual, perhaps due to the starkly impressive set, played out the tale of these two women deprived of their freedom. This intense focus on the acting talents of Kirsty and Mandy would have instantly revealed even tiny flaws in their performances. There were none. It is also such pleasure in watching the seemingly effortless ease with with they create, switch and hold such strong characters. But even more there is such a special chemistry between the pair that is pure magic to watch. The director also creates a special ambience with the use of images, music and sound that provides the perfect background, highlighting the actions of these already intensely engaging characters.</div>
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<br />
There is so much more going on in this very rich play but I won't spoil the surprise. Enjoy!"</div>
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One final note. I'm a self-confessed geek. I love my computer, my iPhone, my social media (I'm not actually that sold on the television). But it doesn't - never can - measure up to that little thing called Reality. Being there. Seeing other human beings.</div>
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I shared an image on Facebook the other day, which made me laugh. But very wryly.</div>
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If I've convinced you, visit or telephone Jarrolds (<b>01603 697248</b>) to book your seat NOW. Airswimming plays for seven more performances. Do yourself a favour and experience one of them. Try it. You might like it.</div>
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And if you don't, well, sue me.</div>
Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-72225109945502313692011-08-30T22:32:00.005+01:002011-08-30T22:45:20.240+01:00I don't want to forget this postThe beautiful Tania Kindersley's writing and photographs mean a lot to me: they present me with laughter, thoughts profound and thoughts lightweight, intelligence, bravery and beauty - and some of the loveliest photographs (mostly of her superb Scottish surroundings, and the irresistible dog) I've ever seen.<div>
<br /></div><div><a href="http://taniakindersley.blogspot.com/2011/08/little-bit-of-ramble.html">This post</a> - a quiet reflection on the nature of self-revelation to a group of strangers - sums up much that I love when I check in to her blog. Best of all, it contains one of my favourite photographs of The Pigeon (the wonderful hound).</div><div>
<br /></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jfPC0LYDwow/Tl1Y2r1ApDI/AAAAAAAAJPk/tH7WZTPfOME/s1600/pigeon.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jfPC0LYDwow/Tl1Y2r1ApDI/AAAAAAAAJPk/tH7WZTPfOME/s320/pigeon.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646767204293714994" style="cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 320px; " /></a>
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<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Photo: Tania Kindersley, August 1911</span></div><div>
<br /></div><div>Tania, I hope you don't mind me borrowing this photo: it's for the purely selfish reason that I don't want to lose track of it again.</div>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-2047738759905570012011-08-25T14:33:00.004+01:002011-08-25T14:38:35.771+01:00Lighting a candle... needs a stand!<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X-_fIsAJ81A/TlZQF4h7dTI/AAAAAAAAJOw/glPnxwhij2I/s1600/candles.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 190px; height: 190px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X-_fIsAJ81A/TlZQF4h7dTI/AAAAAAAAJOw/glPnxwhij2I/s320/candles.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644787244959757618" /></a>
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<br /></div><div>Can you help us?</div><div>
<br /></div>Great Witchingham parish church (one of the six working churches in the <a href="http://www.wensumgroup.org.uk">Wensum Group of Churches</a> that my husband is Rector of) is wanting to install something at/on which visitors may light candles and leave prayer requests. Before progressing this any further and investing in something new, we though we'd ask around - just in case anyone knows of such a thing going begging? We've asked the Redundant Furnishings Officer in Norwich Diocese and he can't help us.<div>
<br /></div><div>If you can help, please visit the Contact page of the website above.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Thank you!
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<br /></div></div>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-63017448233764055302011-06-29T14:32:00.004+01:002011-06-29T14:37:35.033+01:00The Merry Wives of Windsor<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0R2VjO2YcNI/TgsqkPa7vKI/AAAAAAAAIjA/9MnwmujIgTs/s1600/Merry-Wives-poster-web.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0R2VjO2YcNI/TgsqkPa7vKI/AAAAAAAAIjA/9MnwmujIgTs/s320/Merry-Wives-poster-web.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623635361805352098" /></a><br /><br /><div>My next theatrical outing takes place at the Sewell Barn Theatre, beginning on 14th July. <a href="http://www.sewellbarn.org/">Click here for details and booking information</a>.<div><br /></div><div>As the information in the publicity says: "Falstaff, Shakespeare's 'fat knight', tries to court two married women at the same time. The resulting mayhem gives us one of Shakespeare's most enduring and well-loved comedies. This early demonstration of 'Girl Power', although set within the sixteenth century confines of Windsor, strikes a surprisingly modern note and reminds us that hunan nature does not change wherever or whenever it is portrayed."</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm having a whale of a time playing one of the two Merry Wives (Mistress Page); with my fellow Wife, Chris Yorke as Mistress Forde, we have enormous fun stitching up Falstaff (Terry Dabbs), hiding him in baskets of laundry, dressing him as an old woman, and generally making the most of his enslavement to his... well... desires.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hope to see you there!</div></div>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-13843292050423176032011-06-28T21:51:00.001+01:002011-06-28T21:51:50.911+01:00A rehearsal for The Merry Wives of Windsor<iframe frameborder="0" src="http://photosynth.net/embed.aspx?cid=7c09eefe-b354-42ef-9bf3-41230c7ea1ec&delayLoad=true&slideShowPlaying=false" width="500" height="300"></iframe>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-54042106912478960392011-06-05T17:22:00.009+01:002011-06-05T18:29:32.580+01:00A warped view of beautyInteresting to see how old stories do the rounds again - helped by new technology.<div><br /></div><div>I reposted a superb photograph (the second of the two shown below) this morning. The caption was: "This was an ad made by bodyshop. But Barbie INC. found out about it and now it’s banned. Repost if you think this ad deserves to be seen."</div><div><br /></div><div>I wondered whether this was for real. I found that <i>some</i> elements of the story were correct - not in 2011, but thirteen years ago.</div><div><br /></div><div>When this story first hit the news 'way back in 1998, neither Facebook nor Twitter existed. It's been picked up again, and is presently doing the rounds as though it were happening today - helped by the fact that a posting can be round the globe in seconds in 2011.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, it certainly doesn't change the valuable lesson to be learned. A quick Google of the phrase "bodyshop Barbie" brought me to the full story on various sites, most helpfully that of <a href="http://www.anitaroddick.com/">Anita Roddick</a>, the founder of BodyShop (<a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6988343.stm">who passed away in 2007</a>). Visiting her website and then searching for the term Barbie brings up several blog posts that mention the circumstances. As Anita's 2002 posting puts it:</div><div><br /></div><div><div>"Thankfully, it seems Mattel has begun to lose in its never-ending campaign to silence those who would criticize their precious Barbie doll, that freakish, anorexic, highly sensitive plastic doll. The Danish pop band Aqua was the most recent target of Mattel's chilling legal assaults. The band's 1997 song "Barbie Girl" depicted the ubiquitous doll as a bimbo and a party girl. But a US court has found that Barbie can in fact be parodied publicly, even if it hurts her little PVC feelings. "</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Here are the two images I've found that were used in this campaign.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jS6hKwbH8gk/TeuvtHLXWmI/AAAAAAAAIZk/BZI7nZuV0C4/s1600/barbie2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jS6hKwbH8gk/TeuvtHLXWmI/AAAAAAAAIZk/BZI7nZuV0C4/s320/barbie2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614774550003145314" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 225px; " /></a></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jS6hKwbH8gk/TeuvtHLXWmI/AAAAAAAAIZk/BZI7nZuV0C4/s1600/barbie2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1qT3_QhDSSk/Teuvsujn2kI/AAAAAAAAIZc/J6rnkQO3O8s/s1600/barbie1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1qT3_QhDSSk/Teuvsujn2kI/AAAAAAAAIZc/J6rnkQO3O8s/s320/barbie1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614774543394003522" style="cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, and while I'm here: this reminded me of <a href="http://youtu.be/iYhCn0jf46U">an excellent video</a> that was used as a campaign by Dove in 2006.</div><div><br /></div><div>The question is: will we ever truly learn the lessons we should have learned back in 1998? One hopes so. The person who alerted me to this image, this morning, was my friend <a href="http://www.clairebunton.co.uk/">Claire Bunton</a>, who is an image consultant and who has created a six-part course called Fabulous You, designed to help us to understand body type, work with it instead of against it, and celebrate the beauty of real people rather than plastic dolls. With the help of people like Claire, let's hope we can reverse this trend - for the sake of us all.</div><div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>One final comment. A friend on facebook has said that he finds it hard to believe that Mattel actually got the advertisement banned (especially as the advert doesn't mention Barbie's name at all), and that it's easier to understand that the song (which actually mentions the name) might have been banned. Either way, it's an interesting discussion. I suspect - reading Roddick's blog again - that the truth of the matter is that Mattel didn't actually get it banned, but attempted to ("They sent us a cease-and-desist order saying that our generously proportioned plastic doll was making Barbie look bad."). The only other evidence of a 'ban' appears to be when, again on Roddick's website:</div><div><br /></div><div>"in Hong Kong, posters of Ruby were banned on the Mass Transit Railway because authorities said she would offend passengers. (Granted, Ruby often appeared without clothes on, but like Barbie, she had no nipples or pubic hair.) Of course, the much more seriously offensive images of silicone-enhanced blondes in other ads were permitted to stay on the trains."</div><div><br /></div><div>It's also useful to note - 13 years on from the original - that stories fly round the internet at an incredible speed, and of course, are therefore rather prone to games of Chinese Whispers.<br /><br />Of course, whatever the origins - it was a brilliant campaign with a very valid point behind it, and Mattel didn't like it!</div>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-79494181032702995172011-05-06T16:18:00.002+01:002011-05-06T16:21:38.878+01:00Lilac<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CQHmejjNIJw/TcQRvjo3T3I/AAAAAAAAH_c/yidYRnXW7OY/s1600/DSC_4130.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CQHmejjNIJw/TcQRvjo3T3I/AAAAAAAAH_c/yidYRnXW7OY/s400/DSC_4130.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603623345073901426" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://taniakindersley.blogspot.com/2011/05/requiem.html">For Tania</a>: especially today.</div>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-80498150632460242422011-05-04T12:24:00.004+01:002011-05-04T12:30:12.000+01:00SOS! Village fete music required...<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rtv9R6M-xMk/TcE4pXAYzhI/AAAAAAAAH0k/Y0gGPdjs4ao/s1600/Spring-Frolic.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 190px; height: 190px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rtv9R6M-xMk/TcE4pXAYzhI/AAAAAAAAH0k/Y0gGPdjs4ao/s400/Spring-Frolic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602821694627040786" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>Our village (Weston Longville) is holding a Spring Frolic this coming Saturday as a fund-raiser for our large group of tiny local churches. (<a href="http://www.wensumgroup.org.uk/events/2011-05-Spring-Frolic.htm">Click here for more details</a>.) We've stalls, tombola, bouncy castle, face painting, cakes... all the ingredients of a good old-fashioned village get-together.</div><div><br /></div><div>But no music.</div><div><br /></div>At the last minute, our musicians have dropped out. Music really makes the afternoon - the band we had last year created a great atmosphere - and we're desperate for a replacement. It doesn't have to be a full scale band, just anyone who can perform some kind of amplified live music and is happy to be background for our visitors as they wander, chat, buy and eat? A couple of half-hour spots would be wonderful.<div><br /></div><div>As it's a fundraiser, we're afraid there's no money involved: just kudos and our undying gratitude.</div><div><br /></div><div>Can anybody help? If so, please email me urgently: cassie@tillett.org.uk. Thank you!</div>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8839838698743279017.post-84095966065369173412011-05-03T12:45:00.003+01:002011-05-03T13:15:12.063+01:00The pain of lossThis is turning into a reflective day.<div><br /></div><div>It was an uncharacteristically glorious and sunny bank holiday weekend (and the sky remains halcyon as I write this). The seemingly endless sequence of days off (not that they tend to mean much if one is self-employed, but we were at least on holiday at the time); a triumphant Royal PR exercise, with the British doing the pageantry as only they know how; locally to me, Norwich FC make their way into premier league.</div><div><br /></div><div>Some might include the death of a murderer in this list of 'reasons to be cheerful'. I don't. <a href="http://ramblingrector.blogspot.com/2011/05/one-hoax-that-i-can-live-with.html">I've already written about that this morning</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am, however, brought up short by the death and illness that's been brought to my notice in the last couple of days. I know none of these people personally, but they are all dear to friends of mine.</div><div><br /></div><div>I arrived home from our post-Easter holiday to be told, within the last 48 hours, of</div><div><ul><li>... the death, one year ago tomorrow, of the daughter of a family-history contact. It was her forty-fifth birthday; she died of Sudden Death in Epilepsy; she left two children, aged 8 and 10.</li><li>... the death, just last week, of the daughter-in-law of a friend from my local drama group. She was 37; she had a sudden brain aneurism; she leaves three children, the oldest of whom is five years old.</li><li>... the illness of a dear friend of an old school-friend of mine, who has phoned and asked for my prayers for him: he is seldom conscious now, and had effectively to be woken up to be told that he was dying.</li></ul><div>These are the events that leave us all shaken and afraid, indignant and searching for reasons, dumb and desperate for words. Our prayers and thoughts and wishes seem insufficient, but in the end, they are all we have in the tool-kit. Beyond that, all we can do is to give even greater thanks for our own lives, and for those things that make us happy: for sunshine, for an English spring, for opportunity and inspiration and courage, for friends and happy times while we have them.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>For these people, and all who care for them and their families, please direct your prayers - or your positive thoughts, if you prefer - to their comfort; and to our own rejoicing in the time we have and the facilities we can use to the best of our ability.</div><div><br /></div><div>And for my favourite reflection on our time on earth, no matter how long or short, please have a look at <a href="http://ramblingrector.blogspot.com/2011/04/how-long-is-mans-life-finally.html">a posting I made a few days ago</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mHlsn-EV6Rs/Tb_xtoXVblI/AAAAAAAAHvQ/TWMJCB-4ilM/s1600/DSC_4039.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mHlsn-EV6Rs/Tb_xtoXVblI/AAAAAAAAHvQ/TWMJCB-4ilM/s320/DSC_4039.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602462227703885394" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></a><br /></div>Cassiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07531093715654362821noreply@blogger.com0