'Wild Tales' by Almodovar

Last week I was taken (not quite at gunpoint) to see a new Argentinian film called 'Wild Tales'. How many Argentinian films have you seen? Yes, exactly.

This film was co-produced by a certain Señor Pedro Almodovar so that was the reason for seeing it. It's like a book of short stories - five or six stories told in order throughout the film with nothing really binding them together. They all have a level of shock value but that's about it, no consistent themes or compelling stories leading from one to another. In a sense they're all about "the individual" except sometimes the individual is sometimes two individuals.

The first story sees a young woman hurrying to check in at the airport and boarding the plane, only to sit beside the music teacher of one of her old boyfriends. The lady in front turns out to be one of his primary school teachers and then, a few rows away, is his former 'best friend' from school. What's going on? O yes, he turns out to be the captain of the plane which seems to flying directly for his parents house and it gets closer and closer as his parents start to cower… and then the opening credits roll!

Another tale is about the urban myth of a city slicker driving in the wild and empty desert when a country bumpkin maniac won't let him overtake on an empty road. He finally manages to overtake and calls him an 'asshole' when he does so. Then one of his tyres gets a puncture… O yes, then the madness ensues and I do mean madness! It's not pleasant and there were some people laughing with the nervousness of it all - it wasn't terribly scary but when the bumpkin lowers his trousers to defacate on the windshield then it's definitely not normal.

Another weird one was the little man fighting corporate power when his car keeps getting towed away for parking violations and he has to keep paying to get it back. Then one time is too much and he resorts to his work skills to get even and make a point. His job? O yes, he's an explosives expert for a demolitions company and he blows up buildings for a job. It was pretty obvious that he'd blow something up at some point but I couldn't guess how the story ended at all - very clever!

The final story (and I haven't mentioned them all since you need some surprises) is set at a wedding reception. What a happy occasion, what could possibly go wrong? You had to ask…

I was pleasantly surprised by the film - it was all terribly amusing where it was meant to be amusing and a bit creepy where it's meant to be creepy. It worked for me and was great fun. I've no idea how long it'll be available on the big but if it comes anywhere near you then I'd happily recommend it - provided you don't mind reading your films...

Tracey Thorn - 'Naked At The Albert Hall' Talk

The other night I was lucky enough to nab tickets to attend a talk with Tracey Thorn about her new book at Waterstones on Piccadilly. It's called 'Naked At The Albert Hall' (an allusion to an episode in her first book when she sang at the Royal Albert Hall as Everything But The Girl).

Tracey's previous book, 'Bedsit Disco Queen' was a great and very easy read so I didn't have any hesitation at getting the latest book. This one is about singing rather than autobiography but, from the readings Tracey did, it'll have her sly humour and wit as she talks about things all of can get even if we might not fully understand the nuances of vocalisations.

I loved her reading about the time she tried hypnotism to get over her stage-fright and just played along with the hypnotist because it would be rude not to. And even going back for the second appointment even after the first one failed. That is just so British and something I can relate to (although I doubt I'd have gone back!).

It was also nice to hear Tracey talk about other singers and, occasionally, their reported problems with singing. She had nothing but praise for Dusty Springfield and, when asked who she'd most want to sing with alive or dead, she named Dusty. But said she'd probably be too shy to be able to do it! She also name-checked Poly Styrene as a great singing hero (which, of course, she is).

It was all over too quickly and then we joined the queue to get the book signed and when it was my turn I showed Tracey the 'Poly Styrene' enamelled badge I always wear. Some things are important.

'Defining Beauty' at the British Museum

Friday night is late opening at the British Museum so what better way to end the week than to go and see a load of statues of naked lads and lasses from ancient times? 'Defining Beauty: the Body in Ancient Greek Art' is one of the big exhibitions on at the British Museum at the moment and it was nicely busy but not over-crowded so you could wander round and gawp at the old statues at your own pace, linger at some and move on from others. For most you can also walk all the way round so you can see them from every angle.

The first thing you see when you go into the first gallery is a big bum facing the door, Aphrodite's bum to be accurate. It's a very nice bum but it is rather a surprise and Aphrodite is glancing back over her shoulder to see who's just walked in. She's the poster girl for the exhibition but in all the posters you see her from the front (as in the poster above).

It really is a beautiful statue, life-sized and very realistic. Aphrodite is crouching down having a wash, one hand over her left shoulder (you can just see her fingers in the photo opposite) and you can imagine the water dripping down over her body. It's a statue to be enjoyed from all sides and there's a set of four photos below that give you a view from each side. Being able to walk round the statues adds another dimension to the experience, especially when you find a bit of the statue missing that isn't necessarily obvious from the initial view. Thankfully, Aphrodite is all in one piece so that's a good thing!

One of the most famous statues in the exhibition is the discus thrower, the Discobolos (that I want to rename the Discobobulous). It's an image we've all probably seen at some time - it was even used on the poster for the Olympic Games in 1948 in London - but it's different seeing it in the flesh (so to speak).

The notes (always excellent from the British Museum) alongside the statue talk about it being a work of opposites - the tense, outstretched arm contrasting with the relaxed arm, one leg relaxing while the other supports the athlete. That's rather intellectualising it for me. I much prefer to just marvel at the beauty captured from 3,000 years ago and wonder how on earth the sculptor achieved it. Again, you need to walk all round the statue to see it in all it's glory, see the details of the toes, the muscles tensed and relaxed, the curly hair, it's all there.

Some of the statues aren't in the best of repair and some are represented by Roman copies (i.e. only 2,000 rather than the desired 3,000 years plus old). One that really attracted the attention was this headless and largely armless and legless statue of a river god easing out of the river onto the riverbank. One side is full of tense muscles and the other side is relaxed. You can well imagine the sculptor studying the model moving and relaxing to get the musculature just right. How many times, I wonder, did the model (or models) have to struggle to get into the right posture for the sculptor to inspect his body to see the muscles were working and where they were relaxed.

It's a fascinating exhibition with some great works along with lesser works that help to illustrate a development here or an influence there. To show the range of Greek influence after Alexander conquered the world (except Brittania, obv) there's an image of Herakles in a Buddhist tableau and an image of Lord Buddha reflecting the drapery of earlier Greek statues. There is a series of carved heads to show how close the sculptors got to portray reality and a case full of about six small statues of women in various forms of drapery and one lady with a sunhat perched on the top of her head.

There is  also a series of jars and pots of all shapes and sizes with black on red illustrations of famous tales (and some rude ones) - it brought back memories of visiting the Greek Museum in Athens a fews years back and walking through an astonishingly large room filled with hundreds - or possibly thousands - of jars similarly decorated. I like pots!

We were probably in the exhibition for about 1.5 hours but that possibly reflects my slow wandering round and absorbing it. It's well worth seeing. And here is Aphrodite from all sides!

Nepal - How To Donate

Courtesy of The Guardian, there's a very useful article that lists and provides links to all the ways we can donate to help people in Kathmandu and Nepal. The article is here.

I chose to donate to Oxfam since I've been a lifelong supporter (and am a regular giver) but also because I bought a tablecloth from the Oxfam shop in Kathmandu when I was there in the '90s. I went for 'soft goods' on that trip since they were easier to pack and carry.  The tablecloth was bright yellow and has a green Hindu 'knot' design. I still have that tablecloth and it's still bright yellow. I remember the shop as having big windows and being bright and airy, built on the side of a hill and me being the only punter in there at the time. I have fond memories of Kathmandu.

I don't mind which organisation you donate to but please donate. Nepal is a small but very special and beautiful country and the Nepalese people need our help and support at this sad time. It will survive and rebuild but, just now, a helping hand would be welcomed.

Vlaminck at the Atelier Grognard, Paris

Maurice de Vlaminck is an artist I know very little about but I've seen some of his marvellous fauvist paintings at the Courtauld Gallery in London and at Musee D'Orsay in Paris. There was an exhibition of his later works at the Atelier Grognard out in the suburbs of Rueil-Malmaison while I was in Paris recently so out came the map to try and find the gallery. Find it I did, and the nearest rail station which looked miles away… Still, where's there's a way there's a will!

So there we are, trudging down a quiet residential road, posh houses in walled grounds either side and the hot sun of an unseasonably warm and sunny Paris spring beating down. And no signposts or posters in sight. Luckily, my phone includes a map so I know I'm heading in roughy the right direction. And then finally there's a poster! At the end of the residential road, there are a few shops and then turning right, yet more walled in private houses and private roads. Posh indeed. And then there it is, the gallery, looking for all the world like a community art centre anywhere in the world.

The exhibition is in a large room with sections panelled off to make it more interesting and to separate out the works on display. We have a few early works including a couple of self-portraits with a pipe (I'm assuming Maurice liked a pipe) and a section with some of his vibrant fauvist-inspired works such as 'Restaurant' which normally hangs in Musee D'Orsay. I admit to loving 'Restaurant' and I want to eat there. I'd like a table outside please, beside the orange wall, so I can look at the pink-orange trees and the red grass. I'd sip a nice red while I waited for the surly waiter to serve me my food and drink in the colour along with the wine. Why isn't the world always like this?

These are the paintings I really wanted to see but most of the exhibition was made up of paintings of landscapes, of fields of corn and villages, of woods and trees being blown around. And all with a big sky. I didn't really notice at first but then that's all I saw - lots of skies. I should have got the hint from the exhibition poster, with half the painting being of the sky.

The skies were quite entrancing in their own way. None were the same and none done by rote. All were worked and moulded into being the right sky for that particular picture, occasionally blue but, more often, dangerous shades of grey, a sky that could change from benign to terror in the blink of an eye.

Some skies were violent and turbulent, some seascapes made little difference between the storming waves and the storming clouds but it was always there. The sky is a character in it's own right, not just the bit at the top of the painting that's normally blue.

Some of my favourite paintings were the snow scenes with the lowering grey skies contrasting with the often dirty, trodden snow on the ground. The people in these paintings were always negligible and roughly drawn, a few slashes of the brush and that's it, always bent as they trudged through the snow, almost cowering from the sky. They were all terribly atmospheric, a world Vlaminck has created in which we live in terror of the sky. Having so many of them on the walls together was almost oppressive. He might not have put much effort into painting people but he was a master of depicting the terror of clouds and atmospherics.

After a short sit down to rest, off we started on the trek back to the railway station. By now the afternoon heat was oppressive and a bottle of water wouldn't go amiss but where can you buy a simple thing like a bottle of water? Not in this neighbourhood certainly! It wasn't until we found the station again that we also found the station shop that sold water! What a funny area that was. I wasn't sad to be leaving at all and it was a delight to get a double-decker train back into Paris proper.

But there you go - at least I've seen some Vlaminck paintings I'd probably never have the opportunity to see without that odd trek into the middle of suburban nowhere. And I've learned about skies.

Sonia Delaunay at Tate Modern

I saw posters for an exhibition of Sonia Delaunay's works in Paris when I was there in October 2014 but the exhibition opened the day I left so didn't manage to see it. That exhibition is now in London at the Tate Modern and opened a few days ago so I immediately went along to bask in her colours. I didn't know much about Sonia, although I'd come across her husband before (Robert Delaunay), so here was an opportunity to learn about this fascinating woman and see some of the works that have influenced avant-garde art movements throughout the last century.

As well as being an artists she branched out to design books for the dadaists, designed costumes for Diaghilev and the Ballet Russe, designed fabrics for Liberty and designed clothes for the great and good such as this coat for Gloria Swanson. This makes it such a great exhibition to wander round since you have no idea what might be in the next room.

There are sketches of clothes in her special colours and designs as well as specific examples, including a couple of woollen bathing suits and a parasol. There are shoes, ties, shawls, designs for commercial adverts, a dress and waistcoat and all sorts. In one room there is a big display of three of her fabrics rolling round and round, an interesting way to exhibit her works.

She was, of course, also an artist of great perception and power and, on arriving in Paris in 1906 she was attracted to the Fauves and the first couple of rooms are dedicated to this phase of her work. There were several portraits of 'Philomene' and this was my favourite with it's bright wallpaper behind the sitter. There were also a few portraits of a Finnish girl with a similarly yellow-based face, experimenting with the contrasts of colour on the body and how the eye interpets it.

From these early figurative works Sonia soon ventured down a more abstract route, developing the concept of 'simultanism' with her husband, using contrasting bright colours to bring a new vibrancy and life to painting at a time when other painters were becoming increasingly monochrome.  One of my favourites of her move to abstraction is a painting called 'Bal Bullier', named after a ballroom Sonia used to visit to sketch the dancers during the tango craze in Paris. There are two versions of the painting on display and you can see the shapes of the dancers swirling and strutting across the dance floor. The painting is full of energy and life.

From there she moved further into abstraction, focusing on geometric shapes, particularly circles in magical colours.

She contrasts colours and shapes to give them a vibrancy, make them resonate against and with each other and they're wonderful mandalas to gaze into and see the colours bubble and glow. Her art theories extended into trying to make them sing, to represent music with shapes and colours and she began her 'Rhythm' series of paintings.

I can't help but feel her forays into design and the applied arts helped her to develop her work, adding beauty to everyday life. That's partly what art's all about and Sonia's brings added depth. The swirling colours of her fabrics and magazine covers must have helped her to see ever more clearly where she wanted to go. What happens when the fabric falls just like this and the colours sit together…?

After the Second World War Sonia started using darker colours and is noted as saying that her great achievement was to discover black as an expressive colour in its own right. Who but a great artist would say something like that? The colours of her works are deeper and richer, more striking and just as gorgeous. Her 1969 painting called 'Syncopated Rhythm, known as The Black Snake' illustrates this perfectly and represents three phases of her artistic development from right to left. It really is quite marvellous in the flesh.

Sonia died in 1979 at the age of 94. She was born in the Ukraine and grew up in St Petersburg before moving to Paris in 1906 to train as an artist and what a life she must have seen. And kept painting and designing. A true artist. She is one of only two living artists to be exhibited at the Louvre and was awarded the Legion D'Honour. I learned so much by seeing this exhibition and there is so much more to learn. I have found a new hero and I need to learn more about her.

'From Giotto to Caravaggio' at the Musee Jacquemart-Andre, Paris

When in Paris a visit to the Musee Jacquemart-Andre is almost mandatory. I went there to see the marvellous exhibition about Fra Angelico a few years ago (indeed, that exhibition was the sole reason for going to Paris) and, last year, the exhibition about Peregrino (Rapheal's master).  A visit to the cafe is also mandatory for delicious cakes (my favourite is a raspberry and cream cake with a macaroon base and topping - yum!).

This time it was an early evening visit (since the museum stays open late on Mondays) to see the latest exhibition, 'From Giotto to Caravaggio'. The exhibition is based around the theories and collection of Roberto Longhi, a collector and art historian and many of the exhibits come from his collection. The focus is on Caravaggio and his many followers and imitators who played with the dramatic light and shade and almost theatricality of his subjects that are central features of his work.

As well as the 'Boy Bitten By A Lizard' in the poster for the exhibition, the other main painting by Caravaggio was 'The Crowning with Thorns', a dramatic painting of the thorns being forced onto Christ's head, too thorny for the guards to touch so they ease it on with sticks. This painting was then followed by a room of similar paintings, all with the crown of thorns and sticks, all dramatically lit and all very derivative if you've seen the Caravaggio.

The depiction of the crowning looks painful - as it must have been - but I had difficulty in seeing Christ in that painting. He was 33 when he died and that face is of a man who is definitely in his 50s. The trials of his last days couldn't make him age so quickly so I wonder what the artist was trying to say by making him look so old. And yes, the aged face is also copied in the other paintings.

The essays in light and shade by the followers of Caravaggio were all very well but the highlights of the exhibition for me weren't those of the 16th and 17th Centuries, but rather the beauties of the 14th Century.

As everyone knows, Giotto invented art and it's always a thrill to see his paintings. I've never been to Sienna to see his chapels but I have seen the two small chapels he painted in Santa Croce in Florence and they take the breath away. Such marvels and colour, such simple storytelling yet so powerful. There are two paintings by Giotto in this exhibition, St John the Evangelist and St Laurence and this is St John (which was my favourite). There were angels above both paintings and the one above St John almost looked bored - c'mon, get on with it, he's almost saying. I liked his wings.

Giotto's St John could almost have been a real person, drawn from a model with a baldy head and a great two-pronged beard. There's probably a thesis in there somewhere, but when did artists start depicting saints with bald heads? It's the attention to the 'real' as well as the artistic license. On closer inspection you can see the wrinkles around John's eyes, bringing yet more realism to the painting. By comparison, St Laurence is more theoretical and less based in the reality of what a man looks like, but John is marvellous. Both paintings are dated as 1320.

Another favourite was by Masaccio and painted a few years later, a beautiful small Virgin & Child. It's much smaller than the Giottos, maybe about 12 inches tall and framed and the blue of Mary's shawl is incredibly vivid and attracted me from across the room.  It's a very calming painting and I can well believe it was used to aid quiet contemplation and meditation and it's almost like Mary is playing with the baby in her arms. The gold background with the imprint of haloes is reflected in the hem of Mary's shawl and you can easily see the folds and drapes in the material, an innovation back then. It really is quite lovely.

I've seen Masaccio's great frescoes at Santa Maria del Carmine in Florence and they are magnificent. There's also another version of the Virgin & Child in the National Gallery in London, surrounded by angels, but I think I prefer this version. It's simple and gentle and lovely to look at.

The exhibition ends with three large three-quarter length portraits of saints by Jusepe de Ribera and one of these I actively disliked - Saint Bartholemew wielding a knife and a flayed skin. What's that all about? Clearly I need to read up on the saints but this wizened, cruel old man isn't someone I ever want to know too much about. I don't like this painting despite the expert rendering and realism of the subject. I much prefer the painting of the young St Thomas with his staff, interestingly in profile holding his billowing cape. He looks slightly weather-beaten and unwashed and is very believable.

So there you have it, my latest trip to Jacquemart-Andre and, like the Musee Marmottan Monet, it also has an excellent book and gift-shop to pop into on the way out. Until next time...

'Gypsy' at the Savoy Theatre

Last years' season at Chichester included three great musicals - 'Amadeus' (with Rupert Everett), 'Guys and Dolls' (with Sophie Thompson) and 'Gypsy' (with Imelda Staunton). The only production to transfer to London is 'Gypsy' which has just opened for a limited season at the Savoy Theatre on the Strand. Imelda still leads the cast (and has pride of place on the poster) but Herbie is now played by Peter Davison rather than Kevin Whateley. I have to report that Dr Who can do many things but either he had a terribly sore throat or he can't sing (I suspect the latter, but Herbie doesn't need to sing so that's ok).

It's the same production as in Chichester (and I blogged here) but on a smaller scale since the Savoy doesn't have the vast expanse of stage as Chichester. No less energy in the performances, of course, despite having done the matinee that afternoon. You'd never have guessed.

As you probably know, it's the tale of a stage-mother who is tirelessly driven to make her daughter June a star, the star she wanted to be herself but the moment passed her by. We see the same old, tired act again and again as the children grow up and move from town to town and vaudeville theatre to theatre. And then they have their big break with a shot at Broadway but the theatre only wants June, not the rest of the act or the mother and they turn it down. Then June runs off with one of the dancers after getting secretly married and setting up their own act. So Mama Rose turns her attention to her older daughter, Louise, to make her the star instead of June.

They end up in a burlesque theatre with strippers and that's where Gypsy Rose Lee is born when Rose insists Louise (played by Lara Pulver) does the strip when the booked stripper is arrested since it means she will bow out of the business as a star. A hesitant Louise does the strip by simply removing a glove and then goes on to become the star her mother always wanted, as the most highly pay stripper in the business. Without Rose. And that leads to Rose's eventual breakdown on stage with her name in lights and the crowd on its feet applauding the latest and greatest star in Mama Rose. But it's all fantasy and she walks off to a party with her newly reconciled daughter, walking into the lights off-stage. Phew! What a roller coaster that fully deserved the standing ovation at the end.

It's a great production of a great show and is a perfect showcase for Imelda Staunton, particularly her big songs that close both halves - 'Everything's Coming Up Roses' and 'Rose's Turn'. Imelda captures the fire and passion of ambition and blasts it out at the audience in an astonishing performance that reveals so much of her character, of the pain of being in the background and trying to push forward to reach her dreams. She won't give up on her dreams despite losing the man she loves and her daughters along the way. A portrait in tenacity.

If you can, go and see this show and see Imelda's career-defining performance. It's only on for a couple of months so book tickets now. Anita Dobson and Brian May enjoyed it too - they were sitting along the row from us and I bet Brian was itching to get out his guitar and join in with a solo.

'Play Mas' at The Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond

A few weeks ago we went to see the revival of a play from the 1970s by Mustapha Matura at the Orange Tree Theatre in Richmond, 'Play Mas' about events before and after the liberation of Trinidad from Empire in the 1960s. Well, freedom from the British Empire to be swallowed by the American empire. Apparently this was it's first revival since the '70s which seems odd but its politics of big business and money are still as current today as they ever were.

It starts out in an Indian tailors' workroom with the tailor and the family servant bantering about making a suit and films, while the tailor's off-stage mother needs to borrow the servant lad for odd tasks. It takes a while to get going and gradually the political overtones start emerging of class and race and the ridiculousness of the one white character appearing all sweaty and exhausted from just walking from his car to the tailor's workroom. And then there's the political rally that the servant lad wants to go to but is forbidden by his employer and subsequently fired. That was a long scene that was pleasant enough but didn't seem to go anywhere until you make the connections in the penultimate scene.

Next we have the 'Mas' or 'masquerade' of the title, with various people visiting the tailors' workroom in costume and character as part of the Trinidad carnival. Firstly the servant lad returns in military fatigues and carrying a rifle threatening to kill the tailor and his mother, totally convincing until he broke out laughing, swigs some rum and leaves in high spirits. But that's too much for the tailors' mother and she dies off-stage of a heart attack. That makes the next few has characters even more surreal as it's never entirely clear who's playing who - the doctor, the priest, the undertakers. This was a throughly engaging and enjoyable part of the play and Victor Romero Evans was great as the witchy-doctor character, servant of the underworld wanting a few pennies.

The second half kicks off a few years later with the former servant now serving as the chief of police under the new regime with his social climbing wife, rich friends and new entrepreneurs trying to influence what happens and his wanting to ensure that America will invest in the newly safe and trouble-free nation that's being created. He tries to enlist the tailor to be a spy while telling him about being wined and dined in New York and going to see international films (films - or flims - keep cropping up). Mas is banned that year to ensure no civil disturbances but he's eventually persuaded to reinstate it and give an amnesty to the anti-American groups so that can join in. At his Mas party in his office over-looking the city square all his rich friends come dressed to the nines as the army takes on the rebel groups celebrating and his plan comes together as the lights go down.

It was such an odd ending that it wasn't immediately clear that is was the end and then the clapping started. Seun Shote was excellent as the servant/police chief moving quite easily from the shambling servant lad in cut-off trousers to the be-suited police chief. I also liked Victor Romero-Evans as the indebted spiv, the witchy-doctor and the thrusting entrepreneur in the final scenes. It was well produced on the tiny stage, made even smaller by the audience members in the front rows sitting with their legs stuck out.

So that's two trips to the Orange Tree in the first months of 2015. That suggests there may well be more during the year if the quality of works stays at this high standard.

'A View From The Bridge' at Wyndham's Theatre

A powerful new production of 'A View From The Bridge' is on at Wyndham's at the moment, transferred from the Young Vic. Mark Strong has just won best actor in the Olivier Awards for this play, so that tells you all you need to know.

It\s a painful, slow play, gradually developing its themes and telling its story, slowly getting more complicated and murky as truths start to emerge. The tension starts to mount early on as the small family becomes more dysfunctional and the young girl who I originally thought was meant to be about 12 turns out to be more like 18 but kept a child by an over-bearing father figure who doesn't know what he's doing. That's Eddie, the Mark Strong character. But we can see it.

When two cousins arrive from Italy as illegal immigrants Eddie takes against the younger cousin who is blond, likes singing and dancing and can even sew. He can't express what he feels, can only say that he's 'different', that he's 'wrong' whereas what he means is that he thinks he's gay. Or, more accurately, that he's a threat to his relationship with his adopted daughter. His frustration at not being able to express his thoughts and feelings is almost painful to watch and experience. And just ratchets up the tension.

To get rid of the threat of the cousin Eddie reports them to immigration and starts his downfall as he's now shunned by neighbours and friends alike. He wants his name back but can't see that it's his own fault that he's lost it. His daughter and the blond cousin plan to marry but the other cousin can't forgive Eddie since he's now lost his means of making money to send back to his starving family. He attacks Eddie with a knife and the family and friends try to pull them apart as a rain of blood starts as the people form a pyramid of humanity drenched in blood. And the pyramid collapses…

And I don't know what happens next in the last minute of the play since a woman in front of me chose that moment to switch on her mobile phone to check for messages. I mentioned that here but by the time she switched off her phone the final lines had been said and the lights went out. At the peak of all that tension and I miss it because of a selfish woman who thinks she can do as she likes.

I thought about going back to see the play again so I could see it all the way through but don't think I could take all that tension and frustration again. So this is a rather frustrating end to a blog...