E for Envelope

The Bee and Port Authority - the week in theatre

2012-01-28T07:50:00.000-08:00

So, back into the swing of it with theatre, even though my week has been insanely busy. First up was a treat because I was a plus one - so I still got the free ticket, but didn't have to work for it. This was The Bee, a fascinating if flawed Japanese play (performed in English) at the Soho Theatre. I was keen to see this because the lead (Kathryn Hunter, playing a man) is a fascinating actor: I saw her play Richard III in an all-female Richard III a few years ago and she was amazing. Here she was equally compelling, even though the play didn't really live up to her talents - still, it certainly stayed with me, so I'd say it was worth seeing.

The Bee

The second show I was reviewing: Port Authority at the Southwark, which is one of my favourite theatres. This three-handler starred Father Ted actor Ardal O'Hanlon (actually quite dishy in real life) and was moving, sweet and funny if again slightly flawed: even at 90 minutes, it dragged a little. Worth a look though for strong performances, beautiful staging and a charming and romantic story...

National Libraries Day

2012-01-28T04:41:00.000-08:00

Although I rarely set foot in a library these days - my book buying addiction sees to that - I love libraries. I also recognise their importance, and think that this present Government's shameful cutting of library funding is both short-sighted and cultural vandalism. Of course, growing up in monied houses with plenty of books and attending well-funded schools they can never understand how, to a child without money to spare, libraries were a thing of wonder and freedom. All of those books - and you could take any of them! For nothing! I was lucky to be brought up in a family that, while not exactly having money to burn, prioritised reading, and attending a school that at least attempted to cope with a child who read every book they had in the building (by - yes - ordering more from the local library!), but only the library could handle my voracious appetites: I have warm memories of my trips there, excited by all that choice, leaving each week with a bundle of books. Speaking to my friends - plenty of whom grew up in similar working class backgrounds, and went to similarly underfunded schools - and so many of them have the same memories, about how libraries allowed us to indulge in a love of reading that has served us well to this day: to deprive another generation of such pleasure and opportunity is a terrible, terrible thing.

So I am fully behind the Literary Gift Company's Library campaign - if you buy one of their 'library bags' they will donate to the National Libraries Day Campaign. Because once these places are gone, they are gone: and that would be a tragedy.

Borges Bag available from the Literary Gift Company

Mug from the Literary Gift Company

(Incidentally, I have bought things from this company, and found them excellent).

Constellations at the Royal Court

2012-01-20T06:05:00.000-08:00

So, this week's theatre was Constellations, a new play at the Royal Court, a theatre which I love (the bar is great for sleb spotting, and the staff are really friendly). A story of a relationship seen through the filter of lots of different possibilities, I thought it was clever and well-acted, if a little slight (it's not often I find myself thinking a play should be longer...) I did come out rather smitten with Rafe Spall, though, who is an actor with serious presence.

Read my full review here.

Rafe Spall and Sally Hawkins in Constellations

Notebook of the week

2012-01-20T06:01:00.000-08:00

I realise I am doing these more than once a week, but I have a LOT of notebooks... this little beauty from Smythson was a Christmas gift a while back, and is featured because it's nearly full now.

Think Pink notebook by Smythson

More dresses from Monsoon

2012-01-20T03:19:00.000-08:00

Mm, so I seem to be shopping again. A short pit stop at Victoria Station last night led me to pick up these little beauties...

This is the Trudie dress...

And this is the Danni...

Both perfect for the office. If I had an office. But, y'know.

The week in theatre

2012-01-14T04:36:00.000-08:00

So, with my horrendous cold finally in abeyance - though I feel guilty complaining, having discovered that Michael Sheen powered through Hamlet with flu (flu!) - I took up the theatre mantle and went back to the reviewing.

On Wednesday, I went to the Soho and saw The Table. Normally a puppetry show would have me running for the hills, but this was surprisingly entertaining, although I liked the first part far more than the last two pieces. Also, only an hour long, which always makes me happy. (Full review here).

Last night I saw the far more serious Execution of Justice at the Southwark Playhouse, a powerful piece on the trial of Dan White, the man who murdered Harvey Milk and the Mayor of San Francisco George Moscone. I enjoyed it, even if I thought it would have benefited from a slightly broader focus. Review here.

Hitting the sales

2012-01-12T03:00:00.000-08:00

So, having been really good and not bought the Marc Jacobs skirt I was after - mainly because I now have the Top Shop copy, but also because it sold out everywhere (making it, of course, now the skirt I MUST HAVE and that would MASSIVELY IMPROVE MY LIFE), I made the mistake of venturing into Liberty yesterday. Oh dear. Not only did they have this gorgeous Vivienne Westwood dress half price, but they also had YSL rings ridiculously reduced - so, um, I bought two. (Rings, not dresses). Since I had been planning to buy one before Christmas, thsis counts as saving money, right? OK, I know it doesn't but hell, they are timeless pieces, and sometimes a girl has to go a little crazy....

Hey, at least I didn't buy any notebooks.

Notebook of the week

2012-01-11T02:45:00.000-08:00

This one was a gift, from the lovely Fi, and is a lined Christian Lacroix notebook from Liberty.

Hamlet at the Young Vic

2012-01-10T06:14:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, it seems like I plan my life a ridiculous amount of time ahead: I regularly book things nearly a year in advance, and then am shocked when the event finally arrives. So it was with Muchael Sheen's Hamlet at the Young Vic: I booked almost as soon as the tickets went on sale (last February!) and have had to tolerate many of my friends and fellow critics seeing the show over the last few months while I have been fretting away waiting for my turn to come around. What if Michael Sheen got sick? Injured? The thought of booking so far in advance and still missing out started to make me fret.

Well, finally - without incident - my turn came, and this past weekend I headed to the Young Vic for what has been one of the most controversial takes on the Dane in many a year. Some people loved it, some hated the so-called 'One Flew over Elsinore' vibe of setting the show in a mental institution. Me, I just wanted to see Michael Sheen on stage, taking a punt that no matter how bad the show was, he would be good value.

In the end, I loved it. I can see why this heavily stylised (and occasionally heavy handed) take on the story might alienate some viewers, but I thought it worked well, and gave the show a freshness and urgency that sometimes it lacks, even if the second half felt far slower than the (much longer) first. The casting was an interestingly non-traditional mix of races and sexes (Horatio and Rosencrantz - or was it Gildenstern? - were both women) which generally worked, and added a nice frisson with the idea that Hamlet's previous relationships with his fellow students hadn't been necessarily platonic. Some of the cast I liked less: while I thought Gertrude as blowsy drunk was a good idea, I wasn't overly taken with Sally Dexter's performance, and Benedict Wong's Laertes was occasionally a tad overwrought for my tastes. Vinette Robinson's Ophelia I really liked - it's a hard role, and here her disintegration was suitably shocking rather than, as it can be, annoyingly fey.

But of course, I put my money on the table for Sheen, and he didn't disappoint. Already one of my favourite actors (both onscreen and off), I thought he was simply incredible. Anguished, passionate, furious and surprisingly funny, you simply couldn't take your eyes off him whenever he was on stage, and he was easily the most compelling Hamlet I have seen in years. There are only a few days left to see this - and only day seats left - but if you can, go get a ticket: you're unlikely to see a better show this year.

When I get that Oscar invite...

2012-01-05T07:59:00.000-08:00

... What? I write. I could totally one day write an Oscar nominated screenplay. Or, y'know, date an Oscar nominated soundman, or something. And on that day, people, I will wear this dress.

It's so shiny...

Sigh.

(Vivienne Westwood Gold Label Dress, Net-a-Porter.)

Notebook of the Week

2012-01-04T02:58:00.000-08:00

So, a new feature, suggested by a friend and fellow notebook lover: my notebook of the week, which will either be one I am using, lusting after, or just one of my collection.

So this little beauty is one I picked up in Chelsea Market when I was in New York. The message on the front says, Writing is a sweet, wonderful reward - Franz Kafka.

2011 in review and what I wish for 2012

2012-01-02T03:26:00.000-08:00

2011 - What a year! It almost feels redundant to say it. So much seems to have happened in the wider world over the last 12 months, you could almost believe the Mayans: 2012 is the end of days, and we're hurtling towards it in a rush of revolution, natural disasters, terrorism, riots and economic meltdown. I almost feel guilty that, against this backdrop - and in a country that feels increasingly like it's unravelling while an unfeeling bunch of unelected elites line the pockets of themselves and their school chums - I have actually had a pretty good year.

It's certainly been a year of big personal changes: in May I resigned from my job to go freelance - a decision that in some lights could be seen as madness in the middle of a recession, but felt like the right thing to do for me and so far, touch wood, has paid off - at the time of writing I have enough clients to keep me going until March, and so far the work I have been doing is generally enjoyable and rewarding - so I hope to see more of that in 2012!

My writing has also gone amazingly well - I'm finally justifying that enormous collection of notebooks! My involvement with theatre magazine Exeunt has not only mean I've seen some great shows, but also met some fascinating people: several of the other writers I would now count as friends, and the last group night out we had was one of the most enjoyable I could remember. A short play of mine was performed by the CP Players in June, a fantastic experience that made me want to get more involved in playwriting, and in October my Body of a Geek Goddess blog was shortlisted for the Cosmopolitan Blog Awards (I didn’t win, but I did get a goody bag, so I went home happy…). I also, excitingly, finished a new book, something I have been meaning to do for years but constantly got sidetracked, and am hoping to get that out in 2012. Perhaps more importantly, I rediscovered joy in my writing this year in a way that I'd lost sight of, and it's that, more than anything, that I hope to carry on into next year.

Personally, life was pretty good too. My romantic life was a bit of a bust - though in fairness I was neglecting it in favour of getting my business going - but I managed to spend quality time with lots of friends this year, and some new friendships were built upon. It was especially good to be able to reconnect with a lot of my Glasgow friends who came to London this year, and to get to stay with my friend Shiv in New York. (Obviously, going to New York wasn't exactly a hardship either). My own good fortune was added to by the fact that a lot of my friends had great things happen this year: new jobs, new books, new exhibitions or shows, new babies, even new kittens, so I felt like there was plenty to celebrate all round (and with two more babies on the way for 2012, hopefully more celebrations to come…)

At home, my home working has made me even fonder of my flat (I bought a new Hoover – I’m becoming scarily domesticated!) and despite the scariness of the summer riots, the response to them - the pulling together of a city to mend its communities - made me realise that for all its flaws, London is a great place to live, and at the minute I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.

So... All in all, 2011 was a pretty good year. Have I made any resolutions for 2012? Not really. So much of the good stuff last year was unplanned and just came from a commitment to being open to new opportunities and new people that I don't want to constrain myself this year. I have some loose goals, of course, but no rigid plans.

I want to keep writing, of course (I'm already working on a sequel to my book!) and get my writing to the widest possible audience. I want to be more patient and kinder, because I think that should always be a goal. I want to support my friends in their endeavours, even when I'm jealous of their success or uncomprehending of their motives - I want to try not to judge or envy anyone else's life choices or path. I want to be more conscious of how I spend my money: supporting local and/or independent businesses, and those organisations whose ethics and ideals match my own: I’ve already started that by buying some commissioned pieces and some cards on Folksy – stuff I’d buy anyway, so why not give my money to indies? (I'm not giving up my Sky subscription, though, sorry – I love Game of Thrones too much…).

I want to see more of my friends, I want to meet and connect with new people, and I could do with some wild romance thrown in, if anyone is offering… I want to travel and try new things; I want to make my flat more of a home now I spend so much time there (and I want to have more people to stay, which at least gives me an incentive to stop the spare room turning into a dumping ground for empty boxes and old suitcases). I'd like to get in shape, less out of vanity (I'm pretty comfortable with how I look) but more to get into the clothes I love that are currently hanging in my wardrobe, mocking me, and to try and shore up some fitness and wellbeing now I'm getting older. I'd like to do something to help in the wider world, too, seeing as, y'know, it seems to be going to hell in a hand basket...

Other than that? I just want to have fun, to be open and loving... And, yeah, if this is the year I finally get to marry Jeffrey Dean Morgan, I'd be fine with that.

What? It could happen.

Here's wishing you and yours all the best for the coming year...

Books of the Year 2011

2011-12-29T04:51:00.000-08:00

Well, those of you who read this blog a lot may recall that one of my resolutions - pretty much the only one I managed to keep - was to read 100 books this year. I hit this sometime in October, so stopped counting after that, but I estimate I managed about 120 in total. So from that pick, here are my awards of the year – do you agree? (Obviously, not all of these came out this year... I'm simply going on when I read them).

The ‘old reliable’ award
Terry Pratchett rarely puts a foot wrong these days, consistently delivering quality novels year on year, mercifully so far unaffected by the cruel affliction of his Alzheimer's, which apparently means that he now has to use speech recognition software to write as he is unable to type, which has to be fairly heartbreaking for a writer. This year's novel Snuff was a classic: as ever picking up on the zeitgeist it could be described as Sam Vimes meets Downton Abbey, with a surprisingly dark 'people' trafficking storyline illustrating once again Pratchett’s humanitarian streak. One of my books of the year.

The ‘truth be told’ award
In an effort to expand my increasingly shonky general knowledge, I read a lot more non-fiction this year, and in doing so found some of the best books I have read in ages. David Simon's massive tome Homicide is a must for all Wire fans (I also just started The Corner, which is well-written but massively depressing); while Helen Castor's She Wolves was a fascinating look at the women who (sort of) ruled England before Elizabeth I. Great Fortune told the story of the building of the Rockefeller Center - and with it, modern New York. On a lighter note I was charmed by Rob Sheffield's look at 80s music, Talking to Girls About Duran Duran, and laughed out loud at Mark Kermode's lament on the state of modern cinema, The Good, the Bad and the Multiplex.

The ‘good to see you again’ award
A good year for this, with Jim Butcher releasing not only the new Harry Dresden book, Ghost Story - which looks set to take the series in a whole new direction - but a collection of Dresden short stories, Side Jobs, as well. Dennis Lehane returned to his detective team Kenzie and Gennaro in a satisfying end to the series, Moonlight Mile (at least it felt like an ending - and was so fitting, I hope it was, much as I shall miss them). Tess Gerristen published a new Rizzoli and Isles book (The Silent Girl) that returned to form after a disappointing outing last year, while my personal guilty pleasure Lee Child (don't judge me!) delivered another solid slab of entertainment with a new Jack Reacher tale, The Affair. Some other long running series were showing signs of running out of steam: Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum books are still enjoyable, but starting to feel a little strained, while Donna Leon's Venice based crime novels are now a bit samey, though still worth a read.

The ‘good to meet you’ award
I love getting my teeth into a new series, so was thrilled to get some great recommendations this year. CJ Sansom's Shardlake series are superior historical crime novels, though the latter ones could do with some pruning – Heartstone was just insanely long. Charlie Huston’s Joe Pitt novels combine the hard boiled noir of Chandler with traditional vampire lore to addictive effect, while Mark Billingham's Thorne novels hooked me so much I read the whole backIist in a fortnight, and made me desperate for the TV show to return. On the YA side, The Hunger Games trilogy was utterly gripping, even if the finale didn't quite live up to my expectations.

The ‘I hate to say this, but…’ award
Oh, I love Ian Rankin, but have to face up to the fact that I only like his Rebus books: I simply can't get away with his other works, despite my best efforts. New creation Malcolm Fox just seems like a pale imitation of his grizzlier predecessor, and though I ploughed through the whole of his newest novel, The Impossible Dead, I couldn't engage at all.

The ‘well done, you guys!’ award
3 of my friends had childrens or YA books out this year: Caroline Green's tale of a possibly haunted fairground Dark Ride, Tess Dali's fantasy Band of Loren and Philip Webb's dystopian future adventure Six Days. So a bit jealous, if I’m honest.

The 'I don't get what the fuss is about' award...
Joint winner here: A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan, and Room by Emma Donoghue: both undeniably clever books that left me cold. I also tried Jo Nesbo and failed to be gripped. Hey ho, you can't please everyone, I suppose.

The 'I totally get what the fuss is about' award
Wolf Hall is absolutely my book of the year, edging just ahead of Homicide due to its magnificently evocative prose, ambitious scope and the fact that it's one of those books that once you've read it, you feel the need to force it on your friends. Roll on the sequel!

So all in all, a great year in books: and the most exciting thing for me, of course, was that I managed to finish a book of my own, which I'm hoping will see daylight in 2012. As my shelves are already groaning with titles to be read next year, it looks like another corker.

Here's to reading!

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-21T02:39:00.000-08:00

Apologies for the lack of blogging, but it's been a very busy month... so I'll just quickly say, have a great Christmas and New Year, and I hope all that you wish for yourself for 2012 comes true.

If only a half-naked Tim in a Santa hat would come down my chimney...

Fantastic foodies - my favourite food blogs

2011-11-28T07:09:00.000-08:00

So, long time readers of this blog will know I'm a big fan of my friend Ms Lemur's food blog, which has a strong emphasis on Asian and South American food, and also includes some great restaurant reviews, and she's started the festive season with a couple of posts on the perfect gifts for foodies, and which books to buy if you want to avoid Nigella/Jamie/Delia.

But I can't recall if I've mentioned two relatively new foodies on the block who both happen to be good friends of mine. My friend Jenn relocated from London to her native California a few years back, and reading her cooking blog Tiny Kitchen Stories makes me miss her cooking almost as much as I miss her company - as a plus, she will almost always tell you how to make a recipe vegetarian or vegan if possible, which is always great, and she also does a nice line in cocktails.

Lucky for me, Mrs Gold lives even nearer to me than Ms Lemur, so her tempting tales of cookery in Mrs Gold's Kitchen are well within reach. At the moment the blog has a pleasingly festive feel, so pop over and check it out.

So, surely these plugs will get me a free meal, right?

The week in theatre

2011-11-27T06:41:00.000-08:00

Well, been a busy week – my deadline periods are looming, so I’ve been flat out at work. I’ve also been doing quite a lot of theatre reviewing, so here’s my pick of the week…

Burlesque: a new musical at the Jermyn Street Theatre, which is fun but a little tame for my tastes, and not a lot of actual burlesque in it. Read the full review here.

Matilda: this was an utter joy, a great musical with fantastic performances (Bertie Cavel is a standout) and an amazing set. I couldn’t recommend it highly enough, and it got only my second 5 star review.

Reasons To Be Pretty: alas this was pretty disappointing: the performances were OK, but the story was lackluster and all the characters were unlikeable. Read my review here.

Lovely new shoes

2011-11-25T04:49:00.000-08:00

Ah, I've been so good but yesterday I fell at the shoes hurdle, when I stumbled across these lovely Vivienne Westwood Melissa shoes in Poste Mistress (you can buy these also at Hervia) They come in two shades, so frankly I was impressed I just bought the one pair...

Notebooks - a confession

2011-11-18T09:02:00.000-08:00

So, I saw a photo online of someone's notebook collection, and I thought I'd take my own photo. (I should admit, for the sake of full disclosure, that this isn't all of them: I actually have a couple of drawers filled with used notebooks, or half-used ones, I just couldn't be bothered to go find them all...)

What's the collective noun for notebooks? An insanity?

Quite a lot of notebooks

Lusting after leopardprint

2011-11-17T07:01:00.000-08:00

So, the fact that I am a freelancer and therefore really need to be careful with money now doesn't seem to have impacted my tastes at all. Take, for example, this (ahem) highly practical Marc by Marc Jacobs skirt from Net-A-Porter that I am currently in love with. Yes, yes, it's £400 but look at it! It's lovely. It'll go with... erm, OK, but it's lovely! (There is also a red version, which I love, but can't seem to track down...). Not sure whether to be annoyed or relieved that I didn't find this on my foray to NYC, because I don't think I would have been able to resist it...

Marc by Marc Jacobs skirt at http://www.net-a-porter.com/

Ane Brun, ghosts and exes

2011-11-16T04:36:00.000-08:00

Busy few days lately - had my chum Linda from Postcard of a Painting in town, as she wanted to go and see singer Ane Brun. I'd never heard of her - hardly surprising given I buy 2 CDs a year - but really enjoyed the gig. Brun has a beautiful voice and a pleasing stage presence: she reminded me a little of a Scandinavian Martha Wainwright. Plus seeing the occasional gig where you actually have to stand up (!) makes me feel young. Youngish, anyway.

Linda also being a horror lover, we went to see the Theatre of the Damned production Revenge of the Grand Guignol at the Courtyard. As ever with a portmanteau production, some bits were better than others - I'm not a fan of historical horror, so the two that really got me were the modern ones: a tale of an old man plagued by guilt had me jumping out of my seat, and a story of Skyping gone horribly wrong felt fresh and creepy.

Ex at the Soho Theatre

In total contrast, last night's show, Ex, was light and funny - a modern British musical, it was profanity laden but ultimately sweet, with a talented cast and some really laugh out loud moments: I'd recommend popping along.

Why I won't give up on books

2011-11-07T03:18:00.000-08:00

My friend Caroline wrote this great wee piece about why she is a Kindle convert a while back, and I’ve been meaning to write a response to it for a while, but just haven’t got round to it till now. It’s not that I disagree with it – having become an iPad convert myself, I am a big fan of reading on line – but rather that it doesn’t touch on one of the most important aspects of reading where I am concerned – and that is the social nature of books.

Books, to me, aren’t just for reading: they are for sharing. Perhaps this is because – unlike many book lovers I know – I tend not to hang onto books after I have read them, part of the pleasure I take in a good book is thinking about who I can pass it onto when I am finished with it. (Even those books – like my beloved Pratchett – which I keep in the knowledge I will read them again, I tend to loan to friends to read). Few things give me greater pleasure than being able to press a book I love onto a friend, hoping they will love it to – plus it makes me feel less guilty about the vast amount of money I spend on hardbacks if I know that someone else will get the benefit of my purchase, even if that someone else is only my local charity shop.

Many of the books I have read this year have come ‘pre-loved’: two of my friends had massive clearouts, giving me piles of novels that I otherwise would not have read, and I spend more money than is healthy in the British Heart Foundation bookshop at the end of my street. Having someone whose opinion you trust recommend something to you is a great way of discovering new authors – and I’m much more likely to read them if that recommendation comes with, ‘here’s my copy’ than if someone tells me I should download something, which just gets added to a long list of things I need to remember. Likewise, I’ve discovered some great books while browsing my friends’ shelves, usually when I stay with them – and people are far more likely to let you rifle through their paperbacks than hand you their Kindle or iPad and tell you to help yourself.

It could be argued, of course, that preventing readers getting hold of books for nothing, or for a pittance from a charity shop, is helping authors at a time when the publishing industry is suffering: but I think often the opposite is true. Having borrowed a friend’s copy of a Mark Billingham book, I ended up buying his entire backlist – admittedly some second hand, but plenty from Amazon and Waterstone’s. A similar thing happened with the CJ Sansom Shardlake books – I would never have got into them had I not idly picked up a copy when I was at a friend’s, and I subsequently bought three more of his books. I hate to think of the books I’d have missed out on had I not been introduced to them in hard copy.

Of course I’m not against digital publishing: even if I were, you can’t put the genie back in the bottle (and as an author myself, I like the immediacy and control of digital publishing, especially when so many mainstream publishers are becoming celebrity focused and risk averse). I think the world has room for both, and will ultimately be richer for it. But actual books – physical books – will always have a place in my heart and my home – and I’ll always be the person forcing books on my friends with the breathless imploration “You simply MUST read this”. Because to me, that’s part of the fun.

Turn of the Screw

2011-10-30T04:18:00.000-07:00

Shameless plug time, folks: the lovely director of my short play, Bystanders, is doing a version The Turn of the Screw at Baron's Court theatre in November - it sounds like it'll be great (and the perfect venue for such an atmospheric story) so why not pop along?

Jerusalem and Round-Heeled Woman

2011-10-24T01:57:00.000-07:00

So, a week of some great theatre: on Wednesday I was delighted to see Sharon Gless - better known as Christine Cagney from the iconic show Cagney and Lacey - in A Round-Heeled Woman, a play based on Jane Juska's book about finding romance in later life. Although the play isn't without flaws - it's rather slight, and the subplot about her son is trite and too easily resolved - it's laugh out loud funny, bold and original and Gless is a delight, full of charisma and joy but not afraid to be vulnerable. I would heartily recommend.

Mark Rylance in Jerusalem

On Thursday, I went to see Jerusalem. I missed this the first time around, and had to content myself with all my friends teling me how great it was, and how amazing Mark Rylance's performance was. Luckily, after a Tony award winning run on Broadway, the show has come back to London, and this time I managed to get tickets. And really - you should go see this play. Rylance's performance was described this weekend in the Sunday Times as 'the performance of our lifetime', and while I'm not sure I would go that far, he is astonishing: you wouldn't want to live next door to Johnny 'Rooster' Byron, but you simply can't take your eyes off him. The play is very, very funny - though brutal and full of language you wouldn't want your mum to hear - although it's too long (they could have easily trimmed 20 minutes and one of the intervals), but it's for Rylance that people are going to see it, and I can't imagine anyone being disappointed: this really is a performance people will be talking about in 10 or 20 years time.

Talking to Girls About Duran Duran

2011-10-19T04:31:00.000-07:00

Given my well-documented inability to walk out of a bookshop empty-handed, it should be little surprise to regular readers to know that while I was in the States recently, I bought some books (as well as, um, downloading some books, and borrowing some books - I read a lot when I travel). One of these was this little gem – Talking to Girls About Duran Duran, by music journalist Rob Sheffield.

Talking to Girls About Duran Duran by Rob Sheffield

Really just a collection of essays, each loosely hung on one of the songs from each year in the 80s, this isn’t actually a book about music (though you will find yourself humming a lot); it’s a book about being the only boy in a house of sisters, a book about losing and finding love, about family and finding yourself – and, ok, yes, it’s about 80s music, and haircuts, and the power of Duran Duran.

As a total child of the 80s, I loved it: also, being British only just adds to the fun, since the dominating force of 80s music was British, but here you’re seeing it through an American point of view – it reminded me of those moments in John Hughes films where a Smiths song would come on the soundtrack, and you’d suddenly think, well, the Yanks might think ‘poverty’ includes having your own car, answering machine and endless supply of vintage clothes (yes, Molly Ringwald, I am looking at you); they might have the sunshine and the accents and the fun, but dammit, we have the music. We’re cool! (OK, obviously I was stretching ‘we’ to include myself and Morrissey in the same general vicinity, but so what? And in fairness my very brief period of being a teeny bit cool was in the 80s, so if I could ever make a claim to it, it was then and then only).

It’s a window into a world where MTV was a novelty, where Manchester seemed glamorously ‘other’, where Flock of Seagulls were more than a haircut. It also helps that Sheffield is a tremendously likeable writer, often laugh out loud funny, romantic and not at all afraid of letting the joke be on him.

This isn’t a memorable book - you’d be hard pressed to remember a line of it once you’ve read it – but it is an enjoyable one, and if you lived through the 80s, or even if you’ve ever just loved a John Hughes movie – this is the book for you.

Not another notebook!

2011-10-19T02:33:00.000-07:00

Ah, but I didn't buy this one, it was a present from the lovely Umbereen, my fellow stationery freak, who having shared a hotel room with me is more than aware of my insomnia...

(It's from the Literary Gift Company, btw, if you fancy one yourself...)

Littlebunny on Etsy

2011-10-17T04:49:00.000-07:00

I may have mentioned I was in New York recently - once or twice, right? - and obviously, one of the things I did there was to indulge my love of papercrafts: yes, I came home with a suitcase full of cards and notebooks. Possibly my favourite of these was by Littlebunny, a designer I met at the Brooklyn flea market who does the cutest cards: below are two of my favourite designs (and they are nice quality, too: important for a paper fetishist like me). Aren't they just adorable? Luckily you don't have to go all the way to Brooklyn to buy them (though, y'know, feel free: Brooklyn is really nice) because she has a store on Etsy: http://www.etsy.com/shop/littlebunny

Little bunnies by Littlebunny: http://www.etsy.com/shop/littlebunny

Celebrating racoons by Littlebunny: http://www.etsy.com/shop/littlebunny

Go indulge the cuteness, people.

New York Stories: eating and drinking in NYC

2011-10-16T10:25:00.000-07:00

So, as I may have mentioned, I just got back from NYC. I could bore you with tales of my travels, but since they amount to: shopped, ate, drank, walked, repeat, I won't. But I thought you might like to see a list of some of the places I went and liked, in case you find yourself in the area...

Cafe Lalo, http://www.cafelalo.com/
201 W 83rd Street – my friend U loved this because it’s in one of her favourite movies, You’ve Got Mail. You’ve Got Mail is actually one of my least favourite movies, but even I can see the charm of this cafe, even though it’s a tad cramped and gets very busy (and the uniform the poor waitresses have to wear is the least flattering I have ever seen – nobody deserves white leggings. No wonder there was a ‘help wanted’ sign on the window). If you can cope with the tourists, enjoy a massive selection of breakfast and desserts, and waffles the size of a house: yum!

Cafe Lalo: Photo courtesy of Umbereen Rafiq

Peppe Giallo, http://www.pepegiallo.com/
253 10th Avenue – a nice little Italian with a covered garden, most notable for being one of the few decent places in the immediate area, so worth checking out if you’re in the neighbourhood. Though it didn’t seem a very nice neighbourhood, so don’t make a special trip...

Penelope http://www.penelopenyc.com/
159 Lexington Ave, at 30th Street. A great wee place for brunch (I’m less keen on the daytime evening menu – brunch stops at 12) with a lot of veggie options (though you do need to eat eggs). I always end up going back here a few times when I’m in town because there are always a couple of things I want to eat on the menu. Very generous portions...

The Raines Law Room, 48 West 17th Street http://raineslawroom.com/
Not an easy place to find, as you need the address: the door is unmarked. The ‘we might let you in, we might not’ antics of the doorman are a bit tedious (I’m all for a speakeasy vibe, but don’t make me wait outside: you’re not the only bar in town) but once you’re inside the staff are generally friendly (though we were rather sniffily informed y our waitress – who was bringing drinks to our table – that ‘it’s not table service’ when we asked her to bring water: um, then why are you bringing the drinks to the table?’). The interior is nice although the clientele does veer towards the pretentious, and there’s a garden, and if you do go check out the wallpaper in the toilets – very saucy.

Flatiron Lounge, 37 West 19th Street, http://www.flatironlounge.com/
We actually had quite a disappointing experience here, but I know people who’ve enjoyed it so my advice would be to go early evening (or late) and go through the week, not at a weekend, otherwise the service can be slow and you may not get a table (and for some reason, the greeting area’ is lit like an airport hangar, in stark contrast to the dim vibe of the main place. Still, the cocktails are nice, and they have a whole menu dedicated to non-alcoholic cocktails (being on holiday made me very aware of the need for a non-alcoholic selection).

Death & Co – 433 East 6th Street - http://www.deathandcompany.com/
I really, really liked this place. The same speakeasy vibe as Raines, but without the side order of wankiness: the staff were all an absolute joy (though note: you do need ID to get in). Again, great wine list, great cocktails (including non-alcoholic).

The Crooked Tree: http://www.thecrookedtreenyc.com/
110 St Marks, this creperie was just round the corner from Death & Co. It’s tiny and it doesn’t take bookings, so you’re rather taking your chances on getting in (though in the same street there are plenty of decent bars/cafes, so maybe worth a risk). The wine we had was of very questionable quality, but the crepes were divine.

Ten Degrees: http://www.10degreesbar.com/
121 St Marks - just across the road from the Crooked Tree, a nice little bar that does good cocktails. Nothing worth making a special trip for, but good if you’re in the area.

11 Madison Park – http://www.elevenmadisonpark.com/
11 Madison Ave, we nearly walked past this place, as from the outside it looks like a library. Luckily I can spot a well-stocked bar at 100 paces, and once inside it’s a spacious and very lux bar and (I think) restaurant. Quite pricey, but nice cocktails (including booze-free) and champagne: a good place to go if you want a posh evening out.

Brio http://www.brionyc.com/
786 Lexington Ave at 61st - Decent restaurant in a part of town that is very touristy: we had very nice pasta dishes at very reasonable prices.

Vynl - http://www.vynl-nyc.com/
102 8th Ave @ 15th – I love this diner in Chelsea (I’ve heard the food isn’t great at the Hell’s Kitchen one, but have never been, so couldn’t comment). I think I went about 4 times! The macaroni cheese is great, as are the omelettes. Plus the staff are cute and friendly.

The Way Station, 683 Washington Ave, Prospect Heights – http://waystationbk.blogspot.com/
- a freaking Doctor Who bar, complete with TARDIS. See my post here.

Cornelia Street Cafe, http://corneliastreetcafe.com/
19 Cornelia Street – a great little restaurant in a nice area, this place also hosts performances downstairs, so worth checking out to see what they have lined up if you’re visiting. Try and get a window seat: it’s great just watching the world go by

Mary Ann’s – we went to the Chelsea branch of this Mexican chain (116 8th Ave - Corner 16th St), and though the service wasn’t super efficient (though in fairness is was a busy Friday night), it was friendly and the food was great. And there was a LOT of it. http://maryannsmexican.com/index.htm

Dorian Gray, 205 East 4th Street – nice proper ‘pub’ with a (not too overpowering) literary theme, so that if you get bored you can always see if you can recognise the portraits on the wall. http://doriangraynyc.com/

Zaytoons – another chain, but no worse for that, we had ‘pitzas’ (pitta bread pizzas – nicer than they sound) at the Brooklyn branch in Prospect Heights and it was delicious. Friendly, unpretentious and probably more food than you can eat... 594 Vanderbilt Ave http://zaytoons.com/Pages/Locations.html

2011-10-15T05:39:00.000-07:00

Before I talk about Sleep No More, the Macbeth-based show by Punch Drunk that is currently taking New York by storm, a caveat. I know I am not the target audience for this production. I am not a big fan of non-linear theatre; most ‘immersive’ theatre makes me annoyed (I’m the one paying, and you still want me to do the work?); I don’t particularly enjoy or understand dance-based performance; and I tend to react with borderline militancy to anything that requires me to check in my sense of humour at the door for the sake of Art. So I get, now, that this isn’t the show for me. You might love it – plenty of people, including those I know and whose opinion I respect – did love it. It’s a total sell out – the run has been extended a few times already – and a couple of nights before we went, we met people who enjoyed it so much they were planning to go back. So, if you go with an open mind and comfortable shoes, you might well truly get it. It’s a show that aims to give everyone a unique experience. This is just mine.

The McKittrick hotel is located in a fairly unlovely part of town that seems to consist mainly of building sites – we eventually find it, having wandered around looking for somewhere to have a drink, and realising how grateful we are that we decided to plump for the early show: I really wouldn’t want to be in this neighbourhood in the early hours. We booked a time slot for 7.30 so join the queue outside the door – I know, I hate queuing, but this is an Experience, right, so I am willing to put up with it for now.

Inside, however, I am quickly annoyed by the lack of organisation. If you’re insisting people check their bags in, why not tell them that? Instead I sail past the cloakroom queue, only to be sent back there when I try to get past the ticket booth, meaning I have to go back to the cloakroom (though, I notice, they are keen to tell you to keep your wallets out, for the bar). Then I enter a dimly lit bar where a waitress approaches to sell me a glass of champagne – of course I say yes, only to be told seconds later that my party is being called into the hotel and we can’t take drinks in. So why didn’t you tell me that when I shelled out for a drink that my friend and I are now having to neck down at choking speed? It’s not a good sign when you feel hustled before you even get through the door.

For reasons beyond me, my party has been split up, so Shiv and I go first. We are led through pitch darkness to a lift, where our hosts speak in deliberate, mysterious tones, all the better to reinforce our Experience. This is, we are left in no doubt, Serious Art. We are given white masks that we must wear and told that we can’t speak, we can’t ask the black-masked ushers directions, but if it all gets too scary, we can seek solace in the bar. With that we are disgorged into the body of the hotel, ready to be thrilled and terrified.

Or... not. In fairness, whoever has done the decorating has done a magnificent job. Each room is a masterclass in spooky: sometimes we’re in a hotel, sometimes an abandoned mental hospital, a speakeasy bar, a churchyard, or a forest. Having silent, masked figures wandering in the semi-darkness to the accompaniment of loud, dramatic music is amazingly effective, giving the whole thing a surreal and unsettling aspect.

So I wander. And... I wander. Then I wander a bit more. By this stage, I’m getting slightly bored of the spookiness – there are only so many times you can think, my, this set is impressive before it starts to pall, and the mask is making my nose sweat and my make up run. I am reminded of a recent Doctor Who episode where they were trapped in a haunted hotel whose corridors were roamed by a vengeful spirit, but I find myself actively wishing that I’d be accosted by a ghost. Instead, I get a slightly distracted looking nurse, who strides past me, frowning, and vanishes into one of the rooms, where she stands about still looking slightly distracted and frowning, but not doing much else.

Um, OK. I’m suddenly reminded of the only un-ecstatic review I have read of Sleep No More, when someone said that they always felt they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, that they always arrived just as the interesting stuff was ending. As an example of the modern ailment FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) Sleep No More couldn’t be bettered: something has to be happening somewhere, right? Just not to me. I’m meandering around like an extra from a Kubrick film who arrived too late for the orgy. Stumbling around in the dark, lost without direction and convinced that everyone else is having more fun than you are – well, that’s a metaphor for life if ever I’ve seen one.

Eventually, I find someone who is recognisably part of the show: Lady Macbeth hoves into view, rubbing her hands and muttering. I can’t tell if she’s actually reciting lines from the play – her voice is pretty much drowned out by the music – and she is briefly accosted in a passionate embrace by her husband before the pair of them dash off to be dramatic elsewhere, prompting a silent stampede as white-masked observers race after them. Clearly the audience divides neatly into two – those who follow a particular character to see what they will do next, and those who walk around hoping to stumble on something interesting. I choose the latter path because frankly the former scares me: there’s a frantic and almost aggressive nature to their pursuit, and I don’t like the sensation of being a white-faced sheep following the herd. (One of my companions later tells me she tried the former approach for a while, and it involved a lot of running up and down stairs, so I’m quite pleased I stuck with my plan).

So, the show has clearly started: admittedly watching a mad woman mumble, rub her hands and get a bit of a snog isn’t up there with Great Dramatic Moments I Have Experienced, but at least it’s confirmation the whole thing isn’t just a giant joke where people pay to walk around an empty hotel and are all too scared to admit they saw nothing. So I take off on my wandering again. And I wander some more. And a bit more. By now I’m really bored. I recognise as a personal failing that I’m the kind of woman who can’t spend more than 45 minutes in a museum without heading for the gift shop, but if the combined treasures of the British Empire can’t hold my attention for a full hour, then a nice bit of set dressing has no hope.

I do, eventually, find some more action. A tableau of the banquet scene played out in slow motion before me: it’s skilful, but with the action slowed to glacial it’s stripped of the urgency and power that makes the scene. Birnam Wood on the move is more effective, a balletic dance that is genuinely impressive. I see several Macbeths (or at least I assume they are Macbeths), all sitting around looking so tortured that I feel like I’m in the waiting room at an open audition for Hamlet. The only scene that really moves me is one between the Macbeths, a dance of power and seduction and lust that beautifully captures their relationship (and major props to the actress – it takes some guts to strip off when the audience is within touching distance). But the brilliance of this just frustrates me – why am I not seeing this show, instead of having to schlep round a dark hotel hoping for glimpses of interest?

It’s telling that afterwards both Shiv and I said the production had made us desperate to see Macbeth again, as we both came out feeling frustrated. We missed the actual Shakespeare. I had the same problem when I saw the Song of a Goat production of Macbeth: strip away the language, and you strip away much of the beauty. You could of course argue that this is merely a non-verbal translation of the play – and I wager dance enthusiasts would come away beaming – but I missed the words.

The non-linear nature of the play also fostered a profound sense of disconnection. Not having been given time to engage with the characters - to get to know them and their motivations and their desires - their actions and their suffering become meaningless. You can marvel at the performer’s physical prowess (and the performers were all very skilful) but you can’t care about their fate. These are not extracts of Macbeth, they are ghosts – and like ghosts, they cannot touch you. For me, this was the fatal blow: I simply didn’t care. I have seen performances of Macbeth where the death of Macduff’s family drew gasps of horror: here I saw a pregnant and distressed Lady Macduff walk by me, thought, ‘mm, that won’t end well’ and let her go on her way.

Clearly, I was not having the expected Experience. This became abundantly obvious when I sidled up to one of the black-masked ushers who, plainly alarmed at being spoken to, jumped a foot in the air when I asked where the bar was. At first she tried not to answer – I suspect they are only there to stop people falling over the furniture – but relented when she realised I was a woman in desperate need of a drink. “It’s not open till 8.30” she eventually hissed. “You mean I’ve only been in here an hour?” I wailed. Obviously I really was in a Doctor Who episode, because someone was messing with the properties of time.

Defeated, I found a handy chaise longue and slumped down in the hope that one of my party – well, Shiv, if I’m honest, because I knew his reaction would be similar to mine – would stroll past. I found myself being watched warily by another black-masked usher, no doubt wondering why I was slouched in near catatonic boredom while around me white-masked terriers were examining the scenery with an interest bordering on the forensic (my friend L later posits that these were plants meant to get us to be more interactive and I think that’s a probability: who else would be that interested in props?) I started to regret that I wasn’t wearing one of my more dramatic dresses: if I was, I would have been tempted to ditch the mask and pretend I was part of the show. Seeing how long I could have gotten away with that without being rumbled would have at least provided something in the way of entertainment.

After a suitable eternity, convinced it had to be 8.30, I made my way to the bar, and the evening improved immensely – especially when Shiv wandered in moments later, having spent the last 40 minutes doing much the same as I was. (I wasn’t surprised by this: we are king and queen of the bailers. When we lived in the same city, we used to joke we’d seen the first act of every play in London). The bar was a delight: a jazz trio, a throaty voiced torch singer, a sense of decadence and plenty of champagne – why hadn’t we just spent the time in here?

Happily my other friends had a much better experience: in fact, they are in there so long that Shiv is convinced they have already left and are sitting in a bar across the road wondering where the hell we are: he simply can’t believe that they can find enough to keep them busy. L scolds me lightly afterwards that I didn’t give the show a chance (and she at least got some male nudity out of the evening, which proves there is something to be said for perseverance) but while she has a point, I know myself well enough to know that if you’ve lost me, you’ve lost me. If I’m bored and irritated after 45 minutes, you’re not winning me back, so we’re both better off if I leave so that my bad mood doesn’t spoil it for anyone else.

So would I say avoid it? I don’t think I would: clearly, plenty of people loved the show, and one of them might be you. For me, though, I felt cheated: I know all that decorating doesn’t come cheap, but I felt like 75 bucks was an awful lot of money to see not an awful lot. I would have been far happier to see an actual production of Macbeth, perhaps with one floor of the hotel as backdrop. As it was, I felt like I’d just been given a very expensive tour of a slightly haunted house.

Did we miss the orgy?

Mind the Gap by Vivian Pedley

2011-10-02T06:57:00.000-07:00

It's always slightly weird going to see a show by someone you know: not to put too fine a point on it, you're always a bit worried it will be a bit shit, and you'll have to spend a lot of time lying to them afterwards about how much you enjoyed it. (In fact, I currently have a whole stack of books written by friends sitting on my bedside table waiting to be read, held off by the fear that they'll be rubbish or, even worse, better than mine). At least since I have about as much skill as an artist as an octupus with an Etch-a-Sketch, when it's an art show I don't have the worry of professional jealousy thrown into the mix.

But it was still with a touch of trepidation that I headed off to leafy Runnymede to see Mind The Gap, the latest show by an artist I know, Vivian Pedley. (Trepidation made far worse by the fact the clueless taxi driver got lost on the way, and I had to phone the gallery for directions - not the best start to my afternoon). But worth it, because I really, really liked the show. No lying required!

The Runnymede Gallery is a National Trust space, beautifully located on the banks of the Thames, within spitting distance of where the Magna Carta was signed (so, at least, the fact that it sits across the road from the Magna Carta Tearooms would have me believe - geography never was my strong point. Ask the taxi driver). While I'm a big fan of the preservation work of the National Trust, I also like it when they realise this doesn't have to be at odds with contemporary art - Belsay Hall probably being the best example of how exciting the marriage of traditional properties and modern artists can be - and the contrast of contemporary art and classic (once residential) architecture works really nicely here.

It also suited the show. Mind the Gap is a show about time: about the spaces between thought and action, between action and result, about everything that happens when nothing seems to be happening at all. A mixture of paintings and sculpture, it's also a tremendously sensual show, dominated by the figures of dancers and athletes, by the tactile curves of glass. It has a strong sense of both the feminine and the domestic, although neither is overtly stated: it's about flirtations unrealised, thoughts unvocalised: about what doesn't happen as much as what does.

Of the paintings, my favourite is this, one of a series called She Blinked: it's perhaps hard to judge it out of context (and the details don't show up that well in this photo), but I love the lines of the woman here - sensuality and defiance visible in the tilt of a shoulder, the lilt of a hip: time may indeed claim her but she'll go down dancing.

From the series She Blinked, by Vivian Pedley - http://www.vivianpedley.com/

Of the sculptures, my favourite were what I (with my layman's language - what am I, an art critic?) would call the 'bottle scupltures': a series of pieces where Pedley uses found, industrial size bottles to hold other objects: the lost toys of a boy's youth, scrabble tiles of a conversation, the fractured glass of broken dreams. The standout piece of this set is also the hardest to describe, because it sounds so deceptively simple: a tilted glass jar filled with all the text of Lady Chatterley's Lover. On paper, that should be either ridiculously pretentious or completely pointless, but there's something about all those bottled words that haunted me all the way home. (Alas, I'm still struggling to get to grips with the camera on my iPhone, so all of my photos came across as a bit pants. Sorry).

Broken carboy, by Vivian Pedley, http://www.vivienpedley.com/

So, if you fancy a day trip, you could do a lot worse - especially in this weather (we had a picnic by the river bank just outside the gallery, an impossible treat on an October day). The show runs for the whole of October (you can find details here.) If not, I'd say keep an eye out for this show coming to London, because it really is worth your time.

Melting at the Chocolate Factory

2011-09-29T01:52:00.000-07:00

So, I went to see Terrible Advice at the Menier Chocolate Factory. And bailed at the interval. It's always unfair to review a play when it's in preview - and this had the feel of kinks being worked out - but my walkout was less to do with the quality of the play, and more to do with the fact that the theatre was ridiculously, uncomfortably hot.

It seems mind boggling to me that a modern theatre - and for all its cosy quaintness, the Menier pitches itself as a top flight theatre and charges accordingly - can't sort out decent air con. I know this week has been unseasonably hot, but it shouldn't be beyond the ken of any decent theatre manager to, um, I dunno, make sure people aren't so roasting they leave? Judging from the haste with which everyone threw themselves into the fresh air at the interval, we weren't the only ones suffering. (The man sitting in front of me was bald, and throughout the first half his girlfriend kept reaching across to wipe the sweat from his skull. Which was nice for him, less so for me.)

In retrospect, I should have complained: indeed I feel a Strongly Worded Letter coming on, but at the time we were just so fed up we bailed and went to the pub.

And the play? Well, it wasn't terrible, from what I saw, but it wasn't so good that bailing gave me a moment's hesitation. A scathing look at friendships and relationships, it had some great lines, the cast were all relatively engaging (Scott Bakula in particular as the incorrigible bad boy who never grew up and who is faced with increasing diminished choices), though a lack of likeability in any of them meant I didn't really care about the story. I also felt it was overlong, though I got the feeling that is something the are working on in the preview stage, so it will be interesting to see what the reviews are like when the play has settled; personally I would have trimmed a good 20 minutes off the first half, but that may be less to do with the a than with my desperation to be out in the fresh air.

So, Menier: here's my advice, and it isn't too terrible: sort your air con. Or this is one punter who in future will only be booking tickets for shows that happen in winter.

Birthday Joy!

2011-09-28T05:39:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been neglectful I know, but a combination of flat out working - it's hard getting a book finished and a business of the ground, trust me! - and birthday celebrations has kept me busy. Despite a hiccup on my actual birthday - train problems meant my plans got cancelled, so I basically stayed in alone and sulked, I had a grand old time and, as usual, was ridiculously spoiled by my fantastic friends.

Picture from http://www.polishpolice.com/

This beauty was part of my haul: (picture courtesy of Polish Police, so do check out their lovely site, which says bad nail polish is a crime against humanity. I agree!)

Isn't it gorgeous? I do love a bit of Chanel.

In which I have a little rant...

2011-09-17T05:14:00.000-07:00

I suppose I should be long past getting annoyed/depressed by the way women are treated in the media, but the reaction to photos of Christina Hendricks and Sarah Jessica Parker at the premiere for the I Don't Know How She Does It film have got me angry all over again, and for so, so many reasons.

The furore over Hendricks' body is nothing new: she's the poster girl for 'real' curves, after all (conveniently ignoring the fact that as many women look 'naturally' as much like Christina Hendricks as they do Kate Moss - it's just that both women are genetically blessed in different ways) and, in fairness, nobody who turns up at a film premiere in Vivienne Westwod with their boobs hoiked up on display can argue they don't like attention (and good on her, why shouldn't she? If I looked like Christina Hendricks, I'd dress like that all the time - it's not like anyone turns up at a film premier trying not to get noticed). But why does this have to be used against other women? Because I've lost count of how many comments I've seen comparing SJP and Hendricks and declaring one a 'real' woman and one not; one sexy, one not; "why" the acerbic commentators ask, masking bitchiness in feminism, "would you want to look like a skinny bag of bones when you can look like a gloriously fleshy goddess?"

SJP has long been a woman whose appeal is divisive: I know hardly any women who don't get it, or any men who do - and in some ways I think that's why women like her so much. Although they may be routinely confusing her with her most famous character, women see SJP as a fashion and lifestyle icon whose appeal is partly founded on the fact that she dresses the way she does for herself and her friends: men don't get a look in, and we like it that way. In contrast Hendricks' most famous role is the opposite - a woman who uses the effect she has on men to her own advantage. Women have embraced her not because of this less-than-feminist philosophy (though you could of course argue there is something very feminist about using what you have to your advantage in a society that judges you on little else but looks), but because her very appearance proves that women who have curves can have that effect on men, a fact often forgotten by a media that regularly pushes an idea of beauty that is solely judged by dress size. The fact that she seems a clued up, down-to-earth actress simply enhances her appeal.

But still it seems that women can't win, and instead of simply accepting that, hey, you know what, there's more than one way to be beautiful, once again there is a 'right' way and a 'wrong' way to look. SJP is a tiny, tiny woman with a ballet dancer's physique; she could no more aspire to looking like Hendricks than Jarvis Cocker could wake up one morning and decide to be Brad Pitt. And why should she? She looks fantastic here, as she so often does - a woman who knows what suits her, and dresses accordingly. The fact that she doesn't have a massive cleavage doesn't make her any less 'feminine'. (And even if it did, so what? There is plenty of beauty to be had in adrogyny). Can't we look at this photo and go, wow, they both look great* in their own way, rather than judging one against the impossible yardstick of the other? Because it's not just about looks: it's about pigeonholing women, about dictating one 'right' way to be in a way that limits them and confines them, and that's never good news. The sooner we accept the fact there are millions of different ways to be 'sexy' or 'feminine' - and it's an equally valid choice to not want to be considered either - surely the happier we all will be?

*Of course, you might actually think they look crap; I'm not saying you're not entitled to an opinion...

Truth and Reconciliation and a stroll around the Saatchi

2011-09-16T09:09:00.000-07:00

So, a bit of an arty day yesterday. I had a client meeting in the morning (before which I had to calm my mother down: when I told her I was going to meet a potential client I hadn't met before, she went into a panic about me being lured into abandoned houses and kidnapped, only calming down when I explained that, as I was going to the office of a major law firm, that was unlikely to happen. Honestly, I'm have no idea what she thinks I actually do for a living...).

Anyway, since I was travelling in the morning and had theatre in the evening, I was left with that awkward and usually expensive 'not quite enough time to go home, but just a little too much time to hang around' period of time, so I decided to introduce a bit of culture in my life by having a wander round the Saatchi Gallery near Sloane Square. It's a lovely building, and it's free (though I quickly dented the goodwill that generated when I was charged ten quid for a glass of wine in their next door bar - ten quid!) and the people couldn't have been nicer, but it did make me feel old. Mainly because with the exception of an interesting photography exhibition about women in India (with a fascinating sidebar focusing on women in the film industry), nearly all of the exhibits had me wandering around in a state of perplexment, going, 'but it's just a bit of rock. I don't get it.' I always have a fairly mixed reaction to modern art: some I love, much I think is style over substance, but a lot of this I couldn't even locate the style. Ah, well....

Truth and Reconciliation at the Royal Court

I then pottered my way along to the Royal Court where I saw Debbie Tucker Green's Truth and Reconciliation (I realise I am being deliberately contrary in capitalising both her name and the name of the play, but I find this whole ridiculous hipster too-cool-for-capitals thing an enormous bore, and have no intention of indulging it). I liked the play enormously: it was well-acted, very well-suited to the no escaping the intimacy space upstairs in the Royal Court, and although at 70 minutes it could be argued that it was slight, I rather liked the lack of resolution; the fact that none of the victims got the truth or reconciliation they came for felt more real than any pat ending. (Here's a more extensive review - not mine). (On the subject of wilful grammar, I couldn't help noticing that the sign attached to some of the chairs on stage read 'Witnesses family'. The lack of an apostrophe drove me mad all evening. I really am turning into Lynne Truss.)

My new boots

2011-09-14T05:50:00.000-07:00

Every year, around this time, I start the Sisyphean task of finding the perfect pair of boots for winter, knowing that I won't rest until I have them, and also knowing that, when I do find that elusive delight, it will only be temporary, because I usually wear my boots to death in less than a season, and it's a rare winter I don't get through a couple of pairs. So while I am still looking for a nice pair of knee high boots, I am a little in love with these beauties from Fly London, which I purchased with the Amazon vouchers my lovely ex-colleagues got me as a leaving present...

The Wild Bride at the Lyric Hammersmith

2011-09-13T06:50:00.000-07:00

So, last night was press night for the Wild Bride, the latest production from Kneehigh, at the Lyric Hammersmith. I must admit, I loved it: I was smitten with their production of the Red Shoes when I saw it at BAC and this is equally magical - a dark fairytale that also manages to be uplifting and occasionally laugh out loud funny, and with outstandingly good performances.

Kneehigh productions tend not to be 'straight' theatre - they are often a mix of dance, imagery, song and spoken word, which can sound slightly poncey but is anything but: it's earthy and gritty and you find yourself swept along even as you marvel at the physical dexterity of the performers. (Though the bluse-singing devil in last night's production reminded me, disturbingly, of nothing so much as the singing demon from the Buffy musical episode, Once More with Feeling. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, of course, but it did disconcert me).

Read my full review here, but really, go check out the show. It's great.

Puppets and a Georgian play

2011-09-10T03:40:00.000-07:00

It's been another week of theatre for me, though I have to say it couldn't have been more different. Tuesday say me head off to the Barbican to see Handspring Puppet Company's production of Woyzeck on the Highveld, a retelling of the original play set in 1950s Johannesburg. It was a clever, skilful and affecting mix of puppetry, animation and live action, albeit it a little too unfocused for me to be able to recommend it unreservedly. (See full review here).

Last night, however, I went to see The Belle's Stratagem at the Southwark Playhouse - one of my favourite places in London, and one that is sadly under threat by the redevelopment of London Bridge. (To find out how to get involved with saving it, click here).

It was a delightful play - witty, funny and surprisingly modern (so often at these things you have to check your feminism at the door, but here the women are remarkably spirited. You can read my full review here, but I would recommend you getting tickets as fast as you can..

Gifts for book lovers

2011-09-07T08:42:00.000-07:00

I've been to Gifts for a Geek before, and though the site can take a little negotiating sometimes (there are a few too many dead links for my liking) it does offer some fabulously geeky merchandise, including a whole range dedicated to the joy of books. These are two of my favourites, (available on a range of products) though a t-shirt bearing the legend "No, a Thesaurus isn't a giant lizard" just missed the list...

South Pacific and Brighton: a tale of two beaches

2011-08-31T01:23:00.000-07:00

Apologies for the radio silence, but I have spent most of the last week relaxing in Brighton chez Lemur, for a much needed holiday and to spend some quality time with Ms L while her husband was away doing clever film-makery things. Despite weather that can most kindly be described as 'changeable' we had a lovely, relaxing time - I spent most of it with my nose buried in the enormously long new Shardlake book, Heartstone, which was clever and well-written but sooooooooooooo looooooooooooooooong. I am not quite sure why, having decided I was going to try and read 100 books this year, I seem to have perversely tried to cram as many long books in as possible, but I do seem to be doing that.

Before I went beachwards, though, I did manage a trip to see South Pacific, the much anticipated - and very expensive - production that has transferred from New York to the Barbican. It was very good fun; not without the occasional problem (I was particularly put off by the 'comedy Asian' stereotyping of Bloody Mary) but overall a solid and enjoyable show, albeit it not quite worth the stellar prices the Barbican is charging for it, so if you want to go, shop around for cheap seats.

Swept away by Dames at Sea

2011-08-21T04:32:00.000-07:00

So, Friday night saw me head off to one of my favourite theatres in London, the delightful Union Theatre, to see the musical parody Dames at Sea. I must admit, having read some great reviews, my expectations were high - and I wasn't disappointed. It's fast-paced, funny and frothy and cleverly treads that fine line between realising just how silly it is, and giving in wholeheartedly to that silliness, so you get to enjoy the over-the-top performances and corny script with a knowing smile, while still getting blown away by some well-crafted and well-performed songs.

The performances were all a delight - and in a theatre that small there is nowhere to hide, so you can really see that everyone is giving their all. You can read a more in-depth review by my colleague Sam Smith here, but all would say is it's definitely worth your time.

Introducing Miss Rose...

2011-08-18T04:04:00.000-07:00

Now, as you know I am always happy to shamelessly plug my friends' endeavours. So when my lovely friend started up a new blog, Rose to the Occasion, I promised to give her a mention here - and probably would have done so had she been wittering nonsense. So I'm pleased that so far her blog - a gentle meander through all things girly, from theatre to restaurants to make up and more, is actually quite delightful, and a really pleasant read. (She also shares my love for stationery, so that's another point in her favour.). So why not pop over to Rose's world and tell her I said hi? You'll be pleased you did...

Top Girls at the Trafalgar Studios

2011-08-17T04:05:00.000-07:00

So, this week I started self-employment in earnest: something I will be blogging about more, doubtless, as I find my feet (or not) and once it dawns on me that I am not actually on holiday, and have to start earning a living. At the moment it still feels like I am on 'staycation' and I keep feeling like I should be checking my (now non-existent) BlackBerry to see what is happening at work...

Still, one thing I am continuing to do is theatre reviewing, and last night I was lucky enough to score a press night ticket to Top Girls, the transfer of the revival from Chicester. Although bits of it have dated (and it features women acting children's roles, a personal bugbear of mine), it still feels relevant, and the opening scene - where women from history tell their stories over a dinner party - remains one of the most original and clever pieces of theatre I have ever seen. Frankly, if you walked out after the first act, it would still be worth the ticket price alone. Add to that a raft of really strong performances from a lot of actors you are probably familiar with (including Catherine McCormack, Stella 'House of Elliott' Gonet and Suranne Jones, all excellent) and the odd timeliness of reviving a play about, to some extent, Thatcherism in a month that has proved her legacy lives on in our burning high streets, and it's worth trying to get a ticket.

You can read my full review here.

Cirque Invisible and Betrayal

2011-08-07T06:36:00.000-07:00

For another theatre filled week, I really couldn't have chosen two more different shows, could I? I saw Cirque Invisible on Thursday and, although it's really not normally the sort of thing I warm to, I actually really enjoyed it. Even if, like me, you're not a huge fan of non-verbal, non-narrative performance, you can't help but be impressed by the physical virtuosity on display from Victoria Chaplin, and overall the show was great fun. (Plus, it had a giant white rabbit in it, which was very cute). Be warned though - lots of kids in the audience... You can read my full review here.

Betrayal was an altogether more grown up affair (pun intended) and was every bit as good as I hoped it would be. Over the course of a tense 90 minutes Pinter sketches out key moments in infidelity, brought beautifully to life by Kristen Scott Thomas, Douglas Henshall and Ben Miles, all of whom gave wonderfully nuanced performances. I've seen both Henshall and Scott Thomas before on stage, so already knew how impressive they could be, but all three performances here were virtually flawless, and though it's a cruel and somewhat emotionally brutal play, it's definitely worth seeing if you can still get a ticket.

Knock Knock notebooks

2011-08-05T03:59:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm stocking up for my next project, OK? OK? I didn't just buy these super cute Knock Knock notebooks from Foyles on the Southbank because I liked how they looked. Honest I didn't... (You can also buy them from Amazon, but alas only the US site). I'm thinking the second one especially is relevant since I will from now on be working alone...

I really do need to stop, now.

Stationery is the cure for all ills

2011-08-04T09:00:00.000-07:00

Anyone who reads this blog - or knows me at all - will know that two of my favourite things in the world are notebooks and Liberty of London. So you can imagine how delighted I was to get home last night to find, as a combination 'hospitality' gift and 'cheer up' present, a beautiful Liberty notebook sent by last week's houseguests, the Lemurs.

I'm not sure this is an exact copy, but it's near enough that you can tell it truly is a thing of beauty.

Now, for a new project that is worthy of it...

A quick round up

2011-07-31T09:50:00.000-07:00

Apologies for the lack of attention this week, but I've been both busy and stressed (my mum is back in hospital) so I've been feeling a bit unfocused.

On the busy front, I've managed to see a couple of shows: Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered was a charming, if not exactly demanding tribute to Rogers and Hart at the Jermyn Street Theatre, which was a pleasant and enjoyable show (Review here). Th every definition of demanding was the National Theatre's Emperor and Galilean, the never staged Ibsen, which I felt I really should enjoy but, frankly, as it was SO long on a sunny Sunday afternoon after a stressful week, I felt rather justified in bailing after the first half. Bad theatre person!

I also had more foodie experiences than is usual for me, with a trip to both a pop up restaurant and to Brixton Market and Village (you can read my friend Ms Lemur's more thoughtful take on this here).

Oh and I somehow bought a lot of notebooks...

Foodie treats from Brighton and Orange County

2011-07-25T07:58:00.000-07:00

So, as anyone who knows me, or follows this blog regularly, will know, I tend you use Brighton as a bolt hole when feeling like the world is crushing me, and this week, due to various stresses, I was more in need of a break than ever. Luckily, I have good chums in Brighton who are always willing to open their home to me, feed me and let me slob on their sofa - and this Friday was no exception.

So far, so run of the mill - so what's prompted this post? Well, as you may know, my host in Brighton is food blogger extraordinaire Ms Lemur from Lemurs Are Hungry and frankly, I have to share her post about waht she made for dinner on Friday night because it was, simply, unfreakingbelievably tasty. I do love Mexican food anyway (corn and cheese, what's not to love?) but this was so nice that I seriously considered not going home just to snaffle the leftovers. So if you like Mexican food, or are vegetarian, or are planning to cook me dinner anytime soon... here's the super tasty recipe from the site.

Photo reproduced from http://thelemursarehungry.wordpress.com/

While on the subject of food blogging - and vegetarian food blogging at that - you may also wish to check out this great new food blog from a California foodie, Tiny Kitchen Stories. It's tasty recipes and a taste of sunshine, so well worth checking out...

Rufus Wainwright and Frisky and Mannish

2011-07-23T08:41:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a ridiculously busy week for me this week. Tuesday was my long-anticipated trip to the Royal Opera House to see Rufus and Martha Wainwright in concert as part of the House of Rufus week-long run. I must admit, it was a mixed evening - a joy because I was with my friends D&J, who were in town for the occasion, but also not one of the best gigs I've seen the Wainwrights do.

Martha was, as ever, in fine voice (if a frankly odd outfit, that made her look like a California housewife on her way to an aerobics class). The first half of the gig was just her, singing a mix of her own material and some Piaf songs, and was generally successful. The second was more of a mixed bag - some Rufus material, but a number of duets with Martha, and lots of songs in tribute to their late mother - which is all well and good, but when Rufus joked "I'm just fitting my songs in around everything else" the fact is that's what it felt like: to hear only a handful of his own songs left us feeling a little short changed.

Thursday was also a mixed bag. I went to the Times Comedy evening at the lovely Wilton's Music Hall, primarily to see the headliners Frisky and Mannish. They were very good - as was the compere Jarred Christmas and one of the acts, but two of the acts were a bit patchy and clearly trying out pre-Edinburgh material. Still, for £15 you can't really complain, can you, and going to Wilton's is always a joy...

In the Penal Colony at the Young Vic

2011-07-15T06:21:00.000-07:00

So, more theatre last night. I went to see In the Penal Colony, an adaptation of the Franz Kafka play by a Palestinian company. You can probably guess from that it wasn't cheery, but it was a powerful piece of theatre - even if I did think the subtitling should be better (then again, I'm a subtitling geek). It's also very short - only an hour long - and compelling, so I'd recommend. It's on at the Young Vic for quite a short run, so why not pop along?

Read the full review here.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead; Tim Curry is unwell

2011-07-06T02:18:00.000-07:00

So, another night, another theatre trip - yes, this is where I spend all my money. Last night I went to see Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead. I bought tickets because I was keen to see Tim Curry on stage, but alas he backed out due to ill health - and I almost decided not to go for that reason, but in the end I am glad I did.

Fomer History Boys Samuel Barnett and Jamie Parker are reunited as this hapless pair, and they pretty much carry the piece thanks to great chemistry and an appealing way with the play's often convoluted and absurdist script. Replacing Curry, Chris Andrew Mellon is actually pretty good, although it's slightly disconcerting as the role has clearly been redesigned to fit Curry, so there is a bit of a sense that Mellon is playing Curry playing the Actor King, though he does so with great aplomb.

The play's a lot funnier than I remembered it - though perhaps lacking in quite the existential angst and sense of menace it could have - but is well worth a visit. (You can read a full review - not by me, but on the site I review for - here). (Also if you're going - check out the Lastminute.com offers. I got a great reduction on ticket price and was in a great seat, right at the front of the stalls…)

Richard III at the Old Vic

2011-07-04T07:58:00.000-07:00

More theatre this weekend - my much anticipated trip to see Kevin Spacey in Richard III at the Old Vic, directed by his American Beauty director Sam Mendes. On the whole, it lived up to expectations: Spacey was a tad hammy, but that works for the role, and the play was, at 3 and a half hours, slightly longer than the Wars of the Roses themselves, so could have done with a trim, but overall it's a show worth seeing.

The staging is great - beautifully sparse but filled with clever touches, and the supporting cast generally excellent, with Chuk Iwuji’s Buckingham in particular a standout, all Mandelson career politician (the 'reconciliation' scene is especially done) . It wasn't quite up to the Richard in the Tower production I saw earlier this year, but I suspect that won't ever be bested (it's hard to beat the Tower of London as a stage set), but it was a thoroughly top class production, even if it doesn't ever quite reach the greatness it's clear that Spacey aspires to. You can read my full review here.

More theatre...

2011-07-01T05:15:00.000-07:00

Apologies for a quiet week, but I was struck down by a migraine midweek which rather took the shine off things. Still, so far not a bad 'un: on Monday I went to see Hundreds and Thousands at the Soho Theatre, which was slightly disappointing - a dark, clever idea but let down a little by some lazy stereotyping in the writing - and last night I went to see Sondheim's Roadshow at the Menier Chocolate Factory.

I liked this more - it was lively and energetic, although we were in odd seats, and some of the staging could have been better: there were a couple of scenes where characters had face to face chats, and obscured one another - with some small tweaks that could have been avoided. Still, I like the Chocolate Factory and you're certainly close to the action, so if you're a Sondheim fan it's probably worth checking out...

That's before I even get to Richard III this weekend...

Gleek out!

2011-06-27T08:46:00.000-07:00

Apologies for the radio silence, but it's been a busy week: I'm still in the process of wrapping up and old job while trying to set up a new career, working on a book and a play, and also trying to fit in not only a life but a lot of television. But I did manage to squeeze some fun into the weekend, with a jaunt to the O2 - my first, as my VIP tickets to Duran Duran tragically fell through - to see Glee Live.

I must admit, fan of the show that I am, I was a tad worried what it would be like live, but in the end it turned out to be enormous fun - at 90 minutes it didn't exactly outstay its welcome, but it was packed with plenty of favourites and, joy of joys, a whole Warblers routine. Add to that Kurt being cutely overexcited by the whole thing (Colfer bobbing around with an enthusiasm that was super sweet and clearly unfeigned); Lea Michele belting out Firework with, yes, fireworks in the background, and a finale that included a confetti cannon, and I went home with a smile on my face that even being crammed on a hot tube with 100 other Gleeks couldn't remove. Follow this with a prosecco picnic on Clapham Common and it made for a very good day…

Highlights of the show:

The Warblers: Darren Criss will be the next Justin Timberlake, or I will eat the headgear of your choice
Brittany does Britney (so to speak - it wasn't *that* kind of show!): seriously, Heather Morris can move. Suddenly none of the dads minded being there
The encore, especially Kurt and the Glee gals doing the Single Ladies routine
Mercedes and Santana's River Deep Mountain High duet
Cory Montieth singing Jessie's Girl: for no other reason than it brought back my teenage crush on Rick Springfield
The opener - when they started the Don't Stop Believing music, my heart simply leapt
The 'who's that guy? Is he with the show?' reaction my friend Steve got as we left the venue, because he was wearing a handmade, detail perfect Warbler outfit

(These are random girls who wandered past, such was the allure of the Warblers blazer...)

Read my full review here.

Veggie heaven at Vanilla Black

2011-06-21T03:11:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned Vanilla Black on this blog before, but since I was there again last night, I thought I'd take the opportunity to mention it again - because it's a restaurant that deserves high praise.

As a long-term veggie, I can attest to the difficulty of finding anywhere even remotely 'posh' that does decent vegetarian meals. This isn't a massive problem: I prefer hearty over trendy when it comes to my food, so am usually satisfied with a bowl of pasta or a curry, but it can be frustrating. In my last job I was regularly wined and dined at some of the best restaurants in London, and I cam to the conclusion that usually the posher the restaurant, the worse the vegetarian options, and I got so sick of the sight of mushroom risotto that even now I won’t eat at a restaurant that offers that as its one veggie main course.

So if you want to go somewhere a little more upscale and unusual, Vanilla Black is a godsend. For a start, it manages an upscale vibe withotu being extortionately expensive: you can get 3 courses for around £35, and the wine list starts very reasonably, so it's more than possible to have a decent night out for under £50 a head.

The food is endlessly inventive - hell, I took hardcore carnivore and hater of posh food Ms Lemur there once and even she enjoyed it. Last night I had a starter that consisted of a bed of crumbled English feta adorned with slivers of asparagus and courgette (and flowers, which disconcerted my slightly), with a 'salt 'n' vinger gel' (no idea, but it was nice); my delicious main course was a sage and shallot tartin served with wild leaf garlic and heritage potatoes (which were purple - who knew? You have to be willing to be surprised at Vanilla Black). I topped this off with a gorgeous rhubarb and vanilla milk shortbread (even though I don't actually like rhubarb, I still enjoyed it), served with a strawberry and tomato salad, and a lavendar ice cream that was both disconcerting and delicious.

All of this is combined with cheerful and attentive service (with my nut allergy and my companion's garlic allergy, we weren't fun customers, but they couldn't have been more helpful - I even had a nut-free menu to choose from) makes this an enjoyable treat.

Realism at Soho Theatre

2011-06-17T07:28:00.000-07:00

So, another week, more theatre - this time I went to the Soho Theatre for the first time in an absolute age to see Anthony Neilson's Realism. I've seen his work before - a brutal and bare staging of Stitching at the Bush still haunts me to this day - and though this was slightly less emotionally resonant, it is a clever, funny and slick show. Tim Treloar leads a universally strong cast in a fast-paced and unpredictable production with some real laugh out loud moments, a few shocks and possibly the most original staging I've seen in a long time (though be warned, it's not for the easily offended…). I really enjoyed it. And the cat was really, really funny.

Read the full review here.

Gay marriage maybe isn't the end of civilisation

2011-06-17T04:04:00.000-07:00

Anyone who reads this blog will know I am very much in support of LGBT rights, including the right to gay marriage. But I'm also sort of posting this, which I picked up from the Agent M blog (a great blog by a guy who writes for Marvel comics - wouldn't THAT be the best job in the world...), because it made me laugh...

1888 at the Union Theatre

2011-06-12T05:24:00.000-07:00

So, from the sublime to the ridiculous this week: after laughing my socks off at the Tennant/Tate Much Ado About Nothing on Wednesday, I went to see 1888 at the Union Theatre on Friday. And it... er, wasn't very good.

It's always a shame to criticise shows at small theatres, because you feel they need all the support they can get, and the Union is one of my favourite spaces in London - and it's a fantastic place to see a show in, because you really are right slap bang in the middle of the action. But unfortunately 1888 - a musical about Jack the Ripper, which I suppose should have given me pause from the start - is fairly spectacularly misjudged: an uneven script, weak singing, some extremely poor taste songs and a tone that veers widely between farce and horror makes it a muddled and unsatisfying show.

You can read my full review here. Still, um, the bar is really nice...

David Tennant in Much Ado About Nothing

2011-06-09T10:16:00.000-07:00

So, my much-awaited trip to see David Tennant and Catherine Tate in Much Ado About Nothing finally came around this week, so I trooped off to the Wyndham with Ms Lemur yesterday for an afternoon of Shakespeare. I must admit: my hopes were high. I've heard great things about Tennant on stage, and having missed out on Hamlet I was desperately hoping there wouldn't be any back related issues (especially coming in a fortnight where I missed out on Duran Duran, Tim Curry dropped out of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern - just after I bought my ticket - and Matthew Morrison postponed his Brighton gig).

In the end, I needn't have worried: everything went swimmingly and I had probably the best trip to the theatre I have had this year. Tennant is simply a fantastic stage actor - funny, sure of himself, with fantastic timing - he wrang every last laugh from his lines - and capable of switching to serious when need be. Tate was a little less sure of the Shakespeare - she fell back too much on her sketch show habits - but she was nowhere as bad as feared, and was carried along by her amazing chemistry with Tennant, and her willingness to be as slapstick as a man - in fact, one of the things that was really noticeable was that her Beatrice was very masculine, while Tennant's slender grace is bordering on the feminine, which added a nice dynamic that played very well (something that was explicitly brought out in the 'masked ball' fancy dress scene, where they both cross-dress). As if that wasn't enough, the whole thing was set in the 80s, so the costumes were fantastically trashy, and the whole thing just rattled along with one hilarious set piece after another.

Plus, of course, David Tennant in a white naval uniform = freakin hot.

Read my full review here.

My playwriting debut...

2011-06-05T04:30:00.000-07:00

So, it's been a tremendously exciting week this week: normally I spend all my time talking about other people's plays, but this week I have been scrutinising my own, as my short play Bystanders was performed as part of the CP Players New Writing Season. It's been an exhilarating, if nerve wracking, experience...

Obviously, having two books and a considerable chunk of other material published, I'm no stranger to my work being "out there", but it's amazing how different it feels when my writing is only a small part of the creative process. There's something both thrilling and terrifying about having your work filtered through the talents and ideas of others, and seeing something that lived in your head coming to life on stage: things that I thought worked, worked less well, things I hadn't noticed seemed to really impress, and - since I saw the play performed on 4 consecutive nights - these weren't always the same things.

But for me the scariest thing was the lack of control in the end product. Obviously, it's nice to have a safety blanket (if it sucked, not my fault) but I'm used to my writing standing or falling on its own merits - it's terrifying thinking it depends on the actors, the director, the audience reaction, whether the technical things work and the set doesn't fall over... a whole load of things I have no control over at all. So the week has been a tremendous learning curve for me, and one I am enormously grateful to have experienced.

I have also been very lucky: served by a great cast and director (so thank you, Barrie Addenbrooke, Andrew Cleaver, Sharita Oomeer, and Hannah Ivory), a camaraderie of playwrights (Michael Sands and Gareth Strachan) not to mention the truly fabulous stage manager, Raj Wadhera, who not only did a great job, did it with an erring cheerfulness that was good for my frayed nerves. (I was also truly delighted by this enormously throughtful gift, featuring a cover of a book featured in the play that is tailored to my own life...!)

I'm also thankful for the support of my friends, both those who came to see the play, and those who couldn't manage that but sent messages of support. As anyone who reads my sister blog will know, I have rather shamelessly milked the whole experience, and I thank them for not smacking me round the head.

Next stop the West End...

Literary jewellery

2011-05-28T10:10:00.001-07:00

Regular readers will know that I am a huge fan of the Literary Gift Company, and would merrily spend all of my money on their products, were it not for the pesky commitments of rent, food and the like. But I was very tempted by this beautiful hare necklace... except I'll soon be working from home, so accessorising opportunities may be more limited...

Prizes and the promise of the possible

2011-05-27T04:27:00.000-07:00

Last night, I got home to find a box of free dresses on my doorstep. No, I have not yet become such a charity case that people are leaving me discarded clothing: I had won a competition, and these were my prizes. The odd thing is, this isn't that unusual for me.

Any of my friends will tell you that my ability to win competitions is a bit of a running joke. Over the years, my prizes have ranged from the ridiculous (a space hopper) to the sublime (an all expenses weekend in Malmaison, £100 a head brunch at Altitude 360) with many stops in between. I have won books, toiletries, perfume, clothes, tickets to movies and shows, and bizarre promotional merchandise that I really should have saved to sell on eBay. Just last week I won two tickets to the champagne reception of the Tracey Emin show (though, alas, I couldn't go, but I did pass them on to a grateful friend). Whenever I win something, it's guaranteed that someone will say "Oh, I never win anything". And it's almost also guaranteed that, when pressed, I'll find out they buy the occasional lottery ticket and once entered a prize draw in 1997. So… well, that would explain it. As the saying goes, you have to be in it to win it.

Now, I'm not suggesting you suddenly start spending all your money texting competition hotlines (I only ever enter free competitions); and I know many people don't like entering their details online lest they get inundated with junk emails or have their identity stolen (I always use a false birthday, and have a hotmail account set up for all my marketing emails - not that I mind getting them, as they tend to be where I get all my bargains and discounts). But I love doing it, not because I win things… but because, as long as I enter competitions, there is always the possibility that I might.

Everyone likes a nice surprise, and I think there is something slightly intoxicating about the idea that every day there is the possibility that the day will bring a pleasant surprise. It's why I have - and would heartily recommend - having premium bonds. Not because they are a great way of saving (I think I have about £300, hardly a fortune) but because, at no risk to your own money, you buy into the fantasy that one day a big fat life changing cheque will arrive. (So far I have won £150. It doesn't dent the dream...)

If this all sounds tragically deluded, it does have positive side effects. For a start, I've begun entering writing competitions again: I fell out of the habit, having got into thinking "Oh, I'll never win", only to realise that was of course a self-fulfilling prophecy. So now I take the pragmatic view that even making the effort to enter - and occasionally to have to write something specifically for that purpose - is useful in itself, no matter what the results. And, while the results haven't as yet been life changing, they have been pleasant: a story performed at one event, a play being produced for another, with all the enjoyment and contacts that both of those things bring.

It also, hopefully, makes me more generous. Being such a fan of what I call "random giftage" myself - that is, presents for no reason - I often buy people small gifts for no other reason than I see something I think they'll like, to celebrate small victories, or just to cheer them up. Not because I expect them to buy me something back: simply because I want to live in a world of pleasant surprises and I want to do my bit to make that happen.

Of course like anyone else, I like certainty in life. I'm grateful that, for all its faults, ours is a peaceful and prosperous country, where you go to bed at night knowing that you'll still have food and electricity and hot water tomorrow. I want to know I'll still have a roof over my head as much as the next person. And I know that it's possible to get too caught up in what might be, and not appreciate what is: to fall in love with the fantasy of the possible and ignore the benefits of the actual. But I've realised that a big part of the reason I've resigned from my job to go freelance is I crave some level of uncertainty in my life: I like the freelancer life of not quite knowing what - or who - tomorrow will bring, even with all the risks and insecurities that brings. So I'm nervous about the future, but excited by all the unknowns it contains - more excited than I have been in a long time.

And since I have no idea how I'll earn any money yet, a few more competition prizes will come in very handy...

Autumn Leaves and Plays on the Mind

2011-05-27T02:24:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me will know that next week sees the premier of my first play, Bystanders, as part of the CP Theatre New Writing Season. I am, of course, tragically excited about the whole thing, and never more so than last night when I went to see the first two plays in the season, a double bill by playwright Michael Sands.

The plays are performed in rotation, so last night Autumn Leaves went first, followed by Plays on the Mind. Of the two, I much preferred the former, a gentle two hander looking at the relationship between two old friends, with all its twists and turns over the years. This is partly, I admit, because I'm a sucker for stories that deal with second chances - those taken and those missed - and I thought the play did well to capture that sense of longing over squandered opportunities. The actors - exposed in such an intimate venue - tried perhaps too hard to engage with the audience, so didn't quite engage well enough with one another, especially at first - but overall it was a nice piece.

The second I liked slightly less, though conversely because I think it would have benefited from more airtime. The story of a writer in a hospital, where you are never quite sure who is real and who is not, is benefited from deft dialogue but felt slightly cramped - the proliferation of characters reflecting chaos in the writer's unstable mind, but being a tad overwhelming in a very short play in a very small venue. I must admit also I'm always slightly biased against books and plays about writers - I feel we tend to think we're more interesting than the rest of the world finds us - which didn't help, nor did the fact that I developed a bout of hiccups (who gets hiccups? Seriously!) which, as I sat cringing and trying to control, was just a tad distracting to me and probably anyone near me. Still, the cast (and director Andrew Cleaver) created a nice sense of menace and uncertainty, so that even if I saw the end coming it was enjoyable enough getting there.

Overall, though, a very pleasant evening of two engaging plays by a playwright I'd like to see more of. I'm now hoping my own evening goes as well...

The Acid Test

2011-05-24T04:21:00.000-07:00

Went to see the Acid Test last night at the Royal Court - tragically, geek that I am, the most exciting thing to me was seeing Denis Lawson live, thereby continuing my streak of sci fi satrs on stage (he was in Star Wars, for the unbelievers out there).

It was an entertaining enough evening: I liked most of the cast, and playwright Anya Reiss has a rare gift for dialogue, so it was occasionally laugh out loud, although ultimately the play was less than the sum of its parts, with a flat, slightly "so what" ending and less than sympathetic characters (there's only so far I am willing to indulge the whining of posh people, it has to be said).

I would though say it was a masterclass of set design - Paul Wills' set extended out to the stairwell, and was fantastic and intimate (though it's always slightly intimidating to be in the front row - I'm always scared I'll stretch my legs too far and trip someone up, or do something equally embarassing...)

Worth seeing, then, but not killing for a ticket. (Full review here). And one more sci-fi star ticked off the list for me...

Thrill Me lives up to its name

2011-05-19T09:05:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to see Thrill Me, Stephen Dolginoff's musical based on the Leopold and Loeb story, at the Charing Cross Theatre. This isn't a theatre I have been to a lot, but I do like it - it has a lot of old style charm, it's super handy to get to (about a minute away from Embankment and Charing Cross) and the bar has lots of seats, and you know how these things matter to me. It also has a great - and often brave - selection of shows, and this musical about a couple of gay lovers who kill a young boy for kicks would fit squarely into that category.

I did enjoy it though. It managed to be blackly funny while ramping up the tension, without ever expecting you to particularly sympathise with the leads or diminishing the horror of their crime. Jye Frasca and George Maguire were both great (the latter had more than a touch of David Tennant about him - never a bad thing) and their chemistry was compelling and believeable.

Plus it was really short - 90 minutes, no interval, my favourite words in theatre. Given the subject matter, it won't be for everyone, but it you want a sharp, slightly twisted night out, it's worth an hour and a half of your time. Read my full review here.

The homeworker's perfect outfit

2011-05-18T07:36:00.001-07:00

So... I resigned last week, to make an attempt at my long-held dream of being a freelancer, and working from home. This will most likely involve me spending large chunks of my time in PJs. So I could totally justify this dress from Diane Von Furstenberg, right? What do you mean, no?

My favourite London theatres

2011-05-17T03:09:00.000-07:00

As you may have guessed, I'm a leeeeeeeeeeetle bit of a theatre bug. Those of you who follow my spending blog will see that I spend a fairly enormous chunk of my income on theatre, and that's not even taking into account the plays I review for Exeunt.

Obviously, I spend a lot of time in the West End, though I must admit I'm not a massive fan of West End theatres themselves - despite their grandeur, they often have cramped, teeny seats, seriously limited views, and they are, after all, ridiculously bloody expensive. Better value - and usually far better laid out, are the 'next strata' of London Theatres: the National, The Royal Court, the Almeida and the Donmar Warehouse. Though the size of the latter venues means they often seel out quickly (I'd recommend the very affordable membership schemes, if you're a regular attendee), all three have innovative and exciting programmes, comfy seats (what? I'm getting to an age where that matters to me) and are usually pretty affordable. (Though, note to the Almeida: sort your sightlines out. I cannot count the times I've sat in non-restricted viewing seats and not been able to see the action when it moves to part of the stage).

But there are loads of smaller theatres that offer great programmes, and that in these harsh times need public support more than ever. So if you're after a slightly more unsual theatrical experience, here are my faves (I will admit, here, that I am biased towards South of the river - I often pick my theatre based on how easy it is to get home...). All of these are worth a visit, no matter what you're going to see...

Wilton's Music Hall: the oldest remaining music hall in London, this beautiful - if now sadly crumbling building - is worth going to for the venue alone. Add the fact that it has a charming little bar which serves decent food, and it stages a great mix of shows (including transfers of the Union's all-male Gilbert & Sullivan triumphs, Pirates of Penzance and Iolanthe recently), as well as occasional talks and comedy acts, and it really is worth ponying up some cash for. Just be careful on those uneven stone floors...

Union Theatre: and speaking of the Union, this small Southwark theatre is a joy. Friendly staff, an intimate venue and an always interesting and creative programme, it's worth checking out.

Southwark Playhouse: Even though I have a somewhat hit and miss relationship with the shows I've seen there (ranging from very good to the bloody awful) I'd still heartily recommend the Southwark. Set in old railway arches near London Bridge Station, it often has to incorporate the noise of the trains thundering by into its shows. It hosts a great mix of shows, regularly featuring Belt Up Theatre productions, and the shabby chic bar is one of the friendliest in London - as well as being *very* cheap for that part of town...

Jermyn Street Theatre: now, I love this tiny wee gem, set in the heart of the West End (about a minute from the giant Waterstone's) but a word of warning to the tall: get an aisle or a front row seat, because the legroom is tiny - and as you have to go across the stage to get to the toilet, make sure you go before the show starts. But that aside, it's an intimate venue that stages a varied mix of work (including the currently much-talked about Imogen Stubbs vehicle Little Eyolf).

Above The Stag: Another intimate venue, this one above this gay (but very woman-friendly) pub in Victoria. I hear it's under threat due to funding, which is a real shame. A gay-friendly, often outrageous programme (including a musical based on Silence of the Lambs, and an all-male version of Dangerous Liaisons) makes this worth a trip - and if that doesn't entice you, Su Pollard is a regular. Also hosts regular cabaret.

Theatre Royal Stratford East: OK, well out of my usual stomping ground, but went there to see Clarke Peters (of the Wire fame) in a revival of his show 5 Guys Named Moe, and I'm glad I did. A proper old-style theatre that attracts a friendly, very mixed crowd (no West End stuffiness here!) - and has some of the nicest house staff I've ever come across - this is a touch of the West End at a fraction of the price.

Battersea Arts Centre (BAC): this is a lovely venue, that feels like a real cultural hub. The last thing I saw there was an amazing production of Kneehigh's The Red Shoes, which spilled from the stage throughout the whole building - and that's the kind of immersive theatre that this place specialises in. As a plus, it has a lovely bar.

Menier Chocolate Factory: it says much for this venue that I still like it even though I had to sit through the truly dire Aspects of Love there. But it is a venue it's worth getting to know: lots of its shows transfer to the much pricier West End, and it has built a particulalry strong reputation for musicals. Plus, the restaurant is supposed to be very good.

So next time you fancy a show, why not try one of these? And let me know any I've missed...

(Image: the Jermyn Street Theatre).

Fings Ain't Wot They Used T'Be

2011-05-16T06:50:00.000-07:00

So, I was at the theatre on Friday to see the painfully titled (to a grammar pedant like me) Fings Ain't Wot They Used T'Be. I have to say that while I enjoyed it, I didn't love it - it's dated quite badly, and though the cast were great, the material was in places sketchy. (Read full review here.)

But as ever I love going to The Union, so would encourage you to go: it's a great wee venue, you're right at the heart of the action, and loads of its shows transfer so by getting in early you're seeing stuff that you will probably have to pay twice as much for further down the line...

Halfway to 100: my top books of the year so far

2011-05-14T03:40:00.001-07:00

So, one of my New Year's resolutions was - for no reason but the hell of it - to read 100 books this year. I'm pretty pleased with myself as I have already passed the halfway mark (though it's taking me so long to read The Historian, I may be stuck on it till Christmas…) so of my haul, what's been the best so far?

Homicide, David Simon
I'm a huge fan of the Wire, as readers of my sister blog will note, so it's probably not surprising that I loved this non-fiction book by Wire co-creator, David Simon. Gripping, well-written and fascinating, this was a monster of a book that I could barely put down. The fact that there are characters and scenes that I recognised from the show was an added bonus. (Read fuller review here).

Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel Continuing my theme of making my own life difficult by choosing to read enormous books, this was nonetheless another mighty tome that I raced through simply because I couldn't put it down. Not just one of the best books I've read this year, but one of the best books I have read ever, this offers a fresh and visceral take on Thomas Cromwell and grips you from the first to last page.

Moonlight Mile, Denis Lehane I was pretty much always going to love this, the latest in the Kenzie and Gennaro books, unless Lehane did something awful, which he didn't. A satisfying if fast read, bringing Lehane's trademark sardonic soul to a fairly run of the mill crime story. (Read fuller review here).

Dissolution, CJ Sansom Not just this book, really, more the series, which is one of my discoveries of the year: getting back to Thomas Cromwell, this series of Tudor set historical novels is a rich delight, and Shardlake is now one of my favourite fictional 'detectives' (even though he's a lawyer).

The Hunger Games, Suzanne CollinsAgain, the series rather than just the first book, although they do suffering slightly diminishing returns as you read on. Brutal and clever - if occasionally frustrating - this young adult book set in a dystopian future is now being made into a movie, but do read the books first if you can. (Read fuller review here).

Now back to the Historian...

10 Best Eats in Brighton

2011-05-09T12:36:00.000-07:00

Ok, I'm thrilled about this - my first guest blogger is none other than the amazing Ms Lemur from fantastic food blog Lemurs Are Hungry. So of course I got this fantastic foodie to share with you, my lovely readers, her tips for where to eat in Brighton. Am I good to you, or what?

10 Fantastic Places to Eat in Brighton

Thrifty Gal asked me to do a guest post, since she’s really not the gal to ask if you’re looking for a place to eat. Mind you, she is the person to ask whether a restaurant is staffed with such incompetents that they’ll poison their customers repeatedly, which is actually quite good to know. But still, aside from being a culinary canary in a coalmine, her expertise lies elsewhere. I, on the other hand, enjoy sniffing out interesting food. The strapline on my blog is ‘in search of deliciousness from Malaysia to Mexico’ and aside from cooking I spend a fair amount of my time hunting down authentic, cheap, and delicious places to eat in my adopted hometown of Brighton. These are ten of my favourites: check them out next time you’re down to enjoy the beach…

1. Lucky Star: This Sichuan restaurant looks uninspiring from the outside, but I really think it’s the best restaurant in Brighton right now. The chef and owner are both from Sichuan and they combine regional standards like beef in chili oil or twice cooked pork with an array of dishes I guarantee you won’t have tried before. Chewy noodles made from green bean starch, pressed tofu with fresh chilies, and kelp salad are summery, light and flavourful, and there’s lots for vegetarians to enjoy. (Ask for the specials menu if they don’t give you it automatically – there’s a bog-standard Chinese menu they often give to non-East Asians.) 101 Trafalgar St, Brighton

2. Rasa: The Brighton branch of Das Sreedharan’s Keralan mini-chain, Rasa Brighton is a welcome addition to the city’s Indian food scene. As in the London branches, the best value is the prix fixe feast, where you are served vast numbers of little dishes including mutton in green masala, coconut vegetable thoran, and buttery parathas. Be sure to order the pickles and chutneys as a starter. 2-3 Little East Street, Brighton

3. Moonstone: You don’t see a lot of Sri Lankan restaurants, and Hove’s Moonstone is worth trekking a little bit beyond Church Road’s main restaurant drag. Its complexly spiced curries include meat, fish, and a wide range of vegetables and dals, all served with the addictive rice flour pancakes called string hoppers. For dessert, try wattalapan, a dangerously good coconut treacle pudding. 208 Church Road, Hove

4. Sussex Yeoman: Right by the station, the Sussex Yeoman is a nice spot if you’re arriving or leaving by train. But this gastropub is more than just convenient; it serves inventive and top quality pub food for lunch and dinner. You can have traditional sausage and mash (made with locally made organic sausages of course) but it also offers great fresh pastas and fish dishes. 7 Guildford Road, Brighton

5. Sam’s: Just off the seafront in Kemptown, Sam’s is my favourite place to take visitors for a nice meal in a casual bistro setting. It has the friendly and relaxed atmosphere of a good local restaurant, and the food emphasises local produce and new British classics. Sussex lamb and fish dishes are espeically good, and the sticky toffee pudding is to die for. There’s a branch in Seven Dials too. 1 Paston Place, Brighton

6. Sukhothai Palace: Brighton has a lot of good Thai food without having any that is really great. Mair Kim’s in Hove is excellent but only does takeout. Bangkok Express on London Road does a fantastic som tam but only has a few sit-in tables. If you’re in the centre of town, though, Sukhothai Palace is a cut above the competition. Haw mok curry with whole fish wrapped in banana leaf is delicious, and the temple market style hot and sour pad thai is a neat twist on a familiar dish. 62 Middle St, Brighton

7. E-kagen: You could easily miss E-kagen if you didn’t know it was there. It’s upstairs from the Yum Yum Asian grocery on busy Sydney St and perfectly placed for lunch after a hard morning’s shopping in the North Laine. The noodle bowls are a highlight, especially the soba noodles with tempura. The gingery fried tofu is wonderful too. 22-23 Sydney Street, Brighton

8. Istanbul BBQ: This place looks like a cheapo kebab takeout, and it definitely isn’t the place to go for atmosphere, but head to the tables in back and you’ll notice the big charcoal grill that gives Istanbul BBQ its name. The meat dishes are delicious: try the Iskender kebab, which layers smoky BBQ lamb over slices of grilled bread, all covered in tomato sauce and yoghurt. 125 Western Road, Brighton

9: Bill’s: Now that they’ve opened a Covent Garden branch, Londoners will be able to experience Bill’s without coming down to Sussex, but this Brighton institution remains the place for brunch in town. From fried breakfasts (with a cracking vegetarian version) to tarts, salads, smoothies and cakes, Bill’s packs in crowds for simple and tasty fare with an emphasis on local produce. The airy, warehouse-like space is surrounded by beautiful jars of preserves and imported goodies, as well as fresh fruit and vegetables for sale. 100 North Road, Brighton

10. Café 33: Also close to the station, Café 33 is a hip little space serving excellent coffee, Italian sandwiches and home-made cakes. The orange poppy seed cake is amazing and the international staff are super friendly. It’s small, though, so go early.33 Trafalgar St, Brighton

Image of beach, caption: Photo: David Hawood, licensed for reuse under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 license.

Brighton and books

2011-05-01T04:09:00.000-07:00

So, apologies for the radio silence but truth is I haven't been up to much. As those of you who follow my spending blog will know, I've spent the bank holiday puttering around in Brighton, catsitting for the Lemurs, and haven't really done much this weekend but read. I have read a ton this week, though: 7 books and counting! Partly because I got completely hooked on the Hunger Games trilogy, then hastily devoured a couple of Richard Wiseman books, so I've spent the time buried in books.

I did manage to do some writing: still working on my own book, and did an article on Glee for Exeunt, but other than that it's been gloriously lazy. If by lazy you mean taking such long walks by the sea I think my legs will fall off, of course...

Cakes for Sendai - fundraising for Japan

2011-04-27T11:08:00.000-07:00

The recent earthquake in Japan was, of course, shocking for everyone, and my personal worry was focused on my friends who live there, and the Japanese colleagues I used to work with, and their friends and families. (Luckily, no one I know was lost, or lost anyone, thank goodness). So when my ex-colleagues and friends at the translation company I used to work at said they were holding a fundraiser for Sendai, the home region of one of the translators, I was happy enough to pitch in, even if this amounted to little more than buying some raffle tickets, as I was unable to attend the event. I must admit I thought it was a lovely gesture, and expected them to raise a few hundred pounds.

But no: they don't do things by half at VSI. They raised over £5,000, a truly impressive amount, and what was more impressive still, the translator Risa went to deliver it by hand! (This photo is of Risa with the Deputy Mayor of the Miyagi Prefecture.) Cakes for Sendai is Risa's blog of her trip to volunteer in her devastated homeland, all the more moving because of Risa's very matter-of-fact style. I'd urge you to check it out. It certainly made me feel a little humbled.

Godspell and Vaudevillains

2011-04-21T11:22:00.000-07:00

So, apologies for lack of posting: again, life just seems to speed away with me, and I have several projects on the go that I'm trying to tie up, so time is tight. Plus, I'm trying really, really hard not to shop, so I feel my subjects are limited. Though if anyone wants to send me dresses or stationery so I can blog about them, do feel free.

Did manage a couple of theatre reviews this week, though. The first was for Godspell at the Union - which I admit I wasn't massively looking forward to, what with being an athiest with zero tolerance for hippy musicals, n'all, but it was actually a surprisingly enjoyable night. This was helped no end by the fact that the guy who played Jesus (Billy Cullum) was not only hot, but distinctly reminiscent of Jonathan Groff, so there was eye candy aplenty (in fairness, he was also very good, not just nice to look at - bringing a nice mix of sensuality and otherworldliness to the role). Sure, some of the parables make you want to throw things at the stage (not even a hot Jesus can get away with the 'if your right eye offends you, pluck it out' line, or make the story of the fatted calf anything but a story about a waster with an over-indulgent dad). But it was actually a good night out, so if you get a chance, pop along. (Full review here).

Following that was Vaudevillains, which is on at the Charing Cross Theatre (the one tucked away under the arches on Villier Street). I knew nothing about this in advance, but as a tale of 'murder and music hall' it sounded fun, which it proved to be: quite lightweight (you'd be hard pressed to remember much of it once it's over) but beautifully styled, blackly comic and pleasingly short (you all know my favourite words when it comes to theatre are 90 minutes, no interval). Again, you wouldn't mug an old lady for a ticket, but it's worth an hour and a half of your time. Read the full review here.

Lost: short story

2011-04-16T05:33:00.000-07:00

So, following on from my previous post, thought you might actually like to read the story from last night's Are You Sitting Comfortably. As I said, the theme of the evening was Lost, so I wrote this both with a view to what it would sound like read out loud (rather than on paper) but also as a fun way of seeing how many references I could get into it: how many different types of "Lost" I could talk about. How many can you spot?

Lost

“So the theme of the evening is ‘lost’”, she said. She was sitting at table in a pub in Soho Square, a pen held in one hand, a phone in the other.

“Lost how?” asked her best friend, at the other end of the phone.

“I don’t know. They didn’t say. Lost. Just... lost, I suppose.”

“And now you’re lost for words?” She heard the smile in her friend’s voice, and grunted in begrudging acknowledgement, forgetting she couldn’t see the face she was pulling.

“Ha bloody ha.”

“Well, OK, we’ll talk about it when I get there.” There was a slightly embarrassed pause. “I might be a few minutes late, I think I took the wrong exit from the tube and none of this looks familiar. I’m not really sure where I am...”

She was surprised by her boyfriend’s untypical enthusiasm.

“Lost?” he grinned at her, delighted to be asked. “I can totally help with that!”

“Really?” “Yeah, of course. I have a great theory about how they got off the island, what the reunion really meant, the smoke monster, the polar bear...”

She looked at him blankly. Was he even speaking English? “What?”

“Lost. Sci-fi, sort of, mystery, massive hit, lots of famous people in Hawaii...”

“Oh... right. No. Not that Lost.” He pulled a face.“In which case I’m losing interest. Boom boom!”

She elbowed him, lightly, wondering why she was dating a man who signposted his own jokes. She thought for a moment of that first boy she loved, the one who got away. He had told her he loved her then broken her heart with his denim blue eyes and his cheekbones and the strange, pale marble planes of his chest, so sparsely disrupted by hair that was so white it was translucent. She felt sure that he at least would comprehend her dilemma, listen properly to her question, because no matter how much he had hurt her, he had at least always understood her; but the boy, of course, was no longer there.

“The theme is lost. What does lost mean to you?” she absently asked her sister, then realised, too late, that her words were as knives and she wished she could stab herself instead. Her sister’s face closed as her hands, unconsciously, strayed to the belly that only weeks ago had been rounded and breathing with life, but now lay dead and flattened beneath her trembling fingers.

Her father, too, answered her question with his hands, but his was a more light-hearted regret as he stroked his bald pate with an affectionate gesture for the hair that had once grown there, and ducked her question with a rueful grin.

“The theme of the evening is lost,” she muttered, as she wandered around her bedroom, lifting books and papers and scattered clothes as she looked for the notebook where she kept her ideas, the sketches and poems and words that came to her when she switched her mind away from the world. But the notebook, like the ideas, eluded her. Distracted, searching, she didn’t hear the phone, then couldn’t find the damn phone, only picking it up as the caller finally rang off. Then the doorbell rang as well, but this at least she could find in time.

“Can we interest you in the word of Jesus Christ?” Oh, for God’s sake.

Well, she chided herself, they must think so. “No, you can’t. I don’t believe in Jesus Christ.”

The figures in dark suits looked at her with open pity. “It can save you from an eternity in the flames.”

“Honestly, I’m more interested in being saved from the next five minutes,” she snapped, uncharacteristically rude, and went back into the house.

A missed call – her brother – and she felt almost relief. She was in no mood for his dilemmas, his tales of debauchery and drama with his delinquent friends, who drank and partied and never grew up, and always needed a loan or a lift or a favour or a place to stay or, that one grim time, an alibi. She sighed and checked her voicemail but as ever, no message – did the boy even speak? – and consoled herself that if it was urgent the text would come soon enough. She went to resume her task, but, distracted, had forgotten what she was doing. Senility come early, she scolded herself with a frown, and went to console herself with tea.

“The theme is lost,” she told her mother, who smiled at her with the patience of one used to having a question repeated. Patiently, and louder, she did so.

“What do you mean by lost?” her mother asked, her voice frayed by age.

“Just... lost. I’m not quite sure.”

“Perhaps you could draw a maze?”

“Lost. Not the TV show.”

She had caught up with her brother, his hangover fresh, his attention torn between her and his X-box, where a pixellated battle raged on his screen. She watched, dismayed, as he mowed down civilians with a grimace of glee.

“What do you mean?”

“Lost. Lost! Just... lost!”

He turned to her, blessing her with his full attention for the briefest of seconds. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about... oh, hell! They killed me!”He turned back to the screen with a howl of dismay as his life was wiped out in a flash.

“The theme is... lost,” she repeated, staring at herself. And she wondered why she had been asking everyone but the only one who could answer. Smiling, she picked up her pen and her notebook, finally sure she would find her own way.

Down the rabbit hole with White Rabbit

2011-04-16T04:21:00.000-07:00

So, as part of my resolutions to do more writing this year, I have been putting myself out there more - so to speak - and the results have actually been pretty great, as with last night's jaunt to the Are You Sitting Comfortably? evening run by White Rabbit.

The idea is a great one: storytelling for grown-ups. And it's fantastically well executed. The atmosphere was very Mad Hatter's teaparty - we all sat around at tables strewn with cards and keys and china cups full of sweeties labelled Eat Me, listening to the personable and charming White Rabbit performers read out stories. The stories - some by the White Rabbit team (including founders Gareth Brierly and Bernadette Russell, both good writers) some submitted by writers such as me, were all based around a theme (last night's was Lost). The packed out crowd was a pleasingly eclectic mix - writers and their friends (they don't use your work unless you can attend); plus East end trendies mixing with the straight from work crowd in a jovial and friendly atmosphere. The stories were well-written and well-read, and there were plenty of breaks, with raffles and competitions, so there was no mid-evening sag. Plus the entry price includes chip butties - proper chip butties with fat chips and white bread, I was in heaven - and it's amazing how much a round a chip butties can create a bonding experience among an audience...

So overall, a hugely entertaining evening, and for a writer it's always great to see your stuff read out (the relief when someone laughs at a bit you hoped was funny is enormous), and as a lover of stories it's great to see them performed in such an engaging setting. So, if you're in London or Brighton, where the evenings are run, I'd recommend you going along. Hurry, they book up fast.

C'mon, you know I had you at "chip butties"...

A shoe called... Alan?

2011-04-13T13:48:00.000-07:00

I have posted before about the sheer oddness of Kurt Geiger's naming policy. I mean, really, shoes names Accurate, Asterix and Slip (the latter would be fatal for me, I fear.) And really, who calls a high heeled sandal... Alan?

KG, give me a call. For a reasonable fee, I can come up with a whole load of better names...

Saturday in sunny London

2011-04-10T01:42:00.000-07:00

So, fun-packed day in the sun yesterday with Linda from Postcard of a Painting. As well as my trip to Liberty Stationery Room (ah, joy...) we had a very pleasant potter round Covent Garden in the sunshine, and admirably managed not to buy even more notebooks...

So, lubricated by a glass of prosecco at Detroit - I know, it's odd to go drinking in a basement on a sunny day, but it was handy and by then my feet were really sore - we headed off for food and theatre. Our evening meal was, alas, a bit of a disappointment. We'd booked Kitchen Italia - the fairly new restaurant that has opened in the site of the Bunker, next door to the Donmar. I can't say I would go back.

Part of it is the idea: it's basically Wagamama with Italian food. But while I'm happy to accept that idea of noodles as fast food, I'm less keen on that with pasta - isn't that sort of against the whole concept of Italian food? And the food itself wasn't great - vast portions of pasta with the lightest possible smattering of other ingredients (I had a mushroom dish which contained about 3 mushrooms, and Linda's pasta genovese was ridiculously light on both green beans and potatoes). Also - and maybe this was just the night we were there - they really need to sort out their toilets, because the whole area smelled like a back alley at chucking out time, which is a worry when you're eating at 7pm. On the plus side, the service was friendly, and the manager did actually seem quite shocked when, as we were leaving, we gently pointed out we were less than thrilled with the experience, so maybe it's teething problems and they'll sort them out. I don't imagine I'll go back to check though...

So then onto Ghost Stories. You can read my fuller review here, but in short, I enjoyed it without loving it. It was clever and good fun, and did have some genuinely creepy moments and some shocks, but it never quite achieved that 'OMG I'm so scared!' feeling that I was hoping it would deliver. Not a bad night out if you can score reasonably priced tickets - and it's short, and you know how I love short - but I wouldn't drag you screaming.

New look, same old me

2011-04-10T01:32:00.001-07:00

Well, first of all, you may notice a new name and look for the blog. This is mainly because I can't pretend even to myself that this blog is about saving money - as those of you who read my shopping diary will attest, that ship has well and truly sailed. So what to do? I didn't want to scrap the blog and start from scratch: I've put a lot of work and a lot of love into it, I know a lot of people still read it, and it means a lot to me. But clearly, while I may be offering a good example on how not to be thrifty, the existing title was no longer working. (Though the URL is). So what to call it? I'm hopeless at snappy names at the best of times. I feel like (geek reference ahoy) the Terry Pratchett character Leonard of Quirm*, good at coming up with ideas and hopeless at titling them. So what's this blog about? Just... stuff, mainly. Dresses, shoes, theatre, notebooks... just stuff. So why the current moniker? Well, it reflects my obsession with stationery (it's a reminder of how to spell it to stop people mis-spelling it as 'stationary') but it also doesn't mean anything, so hopefully is broad enough to encompass everything. Or I may get bored and change it again in a week. I have a prosecco hangover and it's 9.30 on a Sunday morning, it's quite possible I'm not thinking straight... Anyway, I hope you like it, and I hope you keep reading. And I hope it helps you next time you want to spell the word... *Only dimmer but hopefully better looking

Liberty Stationery Room - my new favourite place

2011-04-10T01:09:00.001-07:00

Well, we knew it would happen, didn't we? From the moment Liberty, my favourite department store, opened a Stationery Room, we knew that I was a little bit doomed. As it was, I got out of it surprisingly lightly...

Yesterday was, of course, a fairly full on day. My chum Linda from Postcard of a Painting (fellow stationery lover) was in town, so we decided to have a potter round in the sunshine before heading off to the theatre. Of course, our first stop had to be Liberty...

It was love at first site. Situated on the ground floor of the shop - so there's no escaping it - the Stationery Room is a thing of utter beauty. They've pitched it exceptionally well - though they do sell plenty of notebooks for the price that some people would pay for a handbag, there are also plenty of affordable items (including the Archie Grand books I was blogging about the other day). They also have a beautiful range of cards and notelets. Honestly, I could have bought the whole shop.

As it was, I was relatively restrained. OK, I said relatively... I simply had to buy the Vivienne Westwood Union Jack notebook that I have been lusting after for ages (and having filled my other Vivienne Westwood notebook with a first draft of my new book, I deserve it, don't I? Don't I?) Then I saw some great birthday cards. Then some nice notecards. (Well, a polite woman always has nice notecards in the house. So many thank you letters to write!) Then a present for a friend. Then my credit card melted...

But I didn't buy the cracked gold notebook that I really, really loved... (at £46 it's a bit steep even for me, though I have promised to it myself to celebrate the next big writery thing I achieve... so, er, little help with that, anyone?) So I actually feel quite restrained...

It is, I know, a ridiculous obsession. I'm already looking forward to being mocked mercilessly at work on Monday. But all I can say is with a stash of pretty paper in that iconic purple bag, I was very, very happy...

Iolanthe and the White Rabbit

2011-04-07T06:32:00.000-07:00

Those of you who read my shopping blog will know I've been having a bit of a hellish week (without, actually, ever really being able to identify why…I guess some weeks are just like that). But there have been high spots. One was my jaunt to see the all-male production of Iolanthe at Wilton's Music Hall. I've talked about Wilton's before - it's a lovely venue, packed with charm, and it really does put some great shows on. This was no exception, a fun and fresh take on a show I wasn't at all familiar with. Plus, looking at lots of pretty boys is never a hardship, nor is the chance to make fun of politicians.

The second highspot was news that one of my stories has been selected for the next Are You Sitting Comfortably evening by White Rabbit Company. These events are aimed at bringing the fun back into storytelling: actors (in, I think, period costume) read the stories, and there are drinks and cakes, which of course got me interested. The event is next Friday and I think it'll be an entertaining evening and am thrilled to be taking part.

A week of theatre

2011-04-02T10:38:00.000-07:00

Well, I realise I have been super neglectful of late but I really have just been ridiculously busy: I feel like my life has been hijacked by a younger woman with more stamina and more money than me. I seriously need some time off. Possibly in a commune. But hey ho, not this week. This week has been very much about the theatre: on Thursday I attended the first readthrough for my short play, which is being staged by Chelsea Players Theatre Group as part of its new writing season at the end of May/start of June (do go along - details are here). I'm not very cool so it was super exciting to see my words being read out by actual actors: I'm getting quite excited by the whole thing now...

Also in the realms of exciting theatre, I went to see Richard III performed at the Tower of London. I'm a huge fan of the play and a huge fan of site-specific theatre, so this was a real treat for me: and as a history buff, going to the Tower itself was a real thrill (shamefully, I have never been). You can read my review here, but it was a bold and exciting production and I hope more companies do it in future...

In which I assess my holiday

2011-03-27T09:05:00.000-07:00

So, my holiday is coming to a close, and it's been a mixed week. I've been catsitting for Ms Lemur in Brighton, which is always a joy, and this week has had great weather, too. Even better, while these are usually fairly solitary occasions, this time I managed to meet up with a couple of chums, making the re-entry into the real world slightly less daunting - normally I come back from these trips feeling almost agrophobic, having spent a week talking to no one but the cat. So why mixed? Well, I clearly needed a holiday a *lot* more than I thought - I wilted with exhaustion the moment I arrived, and have spent a big chunk of every day, when not walking by the sea or sitting around in cafes, fast asleep on the sofa. This meant that the plans I had for the week, which included a load of writing on several projects I have on the go, didn't really progress. Which of course means I have to work on them on my own time again, which just makes me more knackered, with a pile of frustration added on top. I'm trying not to beat myself up about it - mainly because I don't have the energy to spare - but I'm realising I need to seriously rein in my social activities in April and May and concentrate on getting at least one of my projects finished and out the door. Plus as anyone who's been following my spending blog will confirm, I really need to start saving some money... Hey ho. Why aren't things ever easy?

I seem to have bought some shoes

2011-03-25T04:17:00.001-07:00

The main problem with being on holiday, is that I seem to think I'm rich... so when I wandered into cute indie shop Jello in Brighton I couldn't resist these Melissa and Melissa Anglomania flats (I bought the red ones, btw).

OOps.

Stationery tote bag

2011-03-24T10:38:00.000-07:00

I just posted on one of my other blogs about this super cool seller Sapling Press on Etsy, but this seems more suited to this site (or I should have sent it to Postcard of a Painting...)

My new dresses

2011-03-24T05:49:00.001-07:00

So, of course, being on holiday, I shopped... but hey, one was in the sale and I had a voucher. Honest. And at least I didn't buy any notebooks...

Finally, a holiday

2011-03-23T11:22:00.000-07:00

I am, thank goodness, finally on holiday - I feel like I've been running on empty the last few weeks, trying to cram too much into too little time and feeling more than a little burned out, so mercifully I am not ensconced in my friends' house in Brighton, cat-sitting, reading trashy mags and generally vegging out. Only this time I brought my own notebooks, in an attempt not to spend a fortune on a stash I don't need while I'm here. What do you reckon?

8 Women fails to impress

2011-03-19T22:41:00.000-07:00

So, more theatre this week: Friday saw me at the Southwark Playhouse to see a new translation of 8 Women. I really like the Southwark - it's a great space and a ballsy little theatre that puts on some really original stuff - but alas this was not one of its best. I found the play too camp, not funny or tense enough, and the staging was frustrating - I was sat at one end of the stage so often couldn't see much of what was going on. (Seriously - this is a huge bugbear of mine: surely if you're putting on a play, you should sit in various seats around the theatre to make sure people can actually see the actors? The Almeida is a particular sinner in this respect: it regularly places chairs/sofas so far upstage they are invisible to the circle seats, so you spend half the play risking your neck leaning over the balcony so you can tell what's going on.) Pah.

Anyway, you can read my review here. If I were you I'd go see Theatre Uncut at the same theatre instead...

Archie Grand - Notebooks I Met and Liked

2011-03-17T06:02:00.000-07:00

I stumbled across the Archie Grand range of notebooks at the National Theatre Shop reecently, where the only thing that stopped me buying them was the fact that I was running late (not, alas, the fact that I already own too many notebooks). Described on his website as 'notebooks for the friend and foe' it's a cute idea, basically running on the "... I met and liked" theme (eg, Actors I met and Liked, Londoners I met and Liked - this one available from Liberty - or, for the particularly adventurous, Wives I Have Had and Liked - though one rather wonders what the sales figures are for Bankers I Met and Liked).

The website shop is a little hinky to use - it negotiated me away from things that were supposedly in stock - but worth checking out, or get yourself along to the National...

(I posted this one for my academic chum, Ms Lemur, as I thought it would amuse...)

25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee

2011-03-12T13:31:00.000-08:00

So, another weekend, more theatre: this time I went to an afternoon matinee of the 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, a light-hearted musical that seems an uncharacteristically lightweight choice for the usually serious Donmar, but was actually a fun filled afternoon.

In a show that ran ever so slightly long at 2 hours without interval, we follow the trials and tribulations of a bunch of young spellers, all of whom have very different reasons for being there. While none of the songs are memorable, they are all energetically delivered and there are plenty of laugh out loud moments, together with some real suspence. The cast (including the League of Gentlemen's Steve Pembleton) are engaging, making up for occasionally weak voices with verve to spare. Props too to those members of the audience who took part, too, and often managed to get their own laughs.

One word of warning: there were quite a lot of kids in the audience, but the humour is occasionally racy (you might leave having to explain to your children what an erection is and why that man was singing about his). But that aside, this is a jaunty, fun and undemanding play at a fraction of the cost of a West End musical, so well worth giving it a go.

Tracey goes shopping

2011-03-12T11:26:00.000-08:00

So, I bought some shoes. And some notebooks. OK, a lot of notebooks. And some Wonder Woman mascara. And some other MAC make up. And some more notebooks.

Maybe I should stay away from Covent Garden?

In a Forest Dark and Deep

2011-03-06T03:11:00.001-08:00

Well, another busy week and a lot of theatre, again. On Thursday I saw the 10 year anniversary production of the Red Shoes - an exhilarating, moving show that I really enjoyed and would heartily recommend. The evening was nearly traumatic though - I narrowly averted pretentiousness disaster by realising, just before I left the office, that I was actually wearing shiny red shoes, thus would have looked like an attention seeking twonk had I actually showed up at the theatre in them. Luckily, I had sensible boots to hand...

Saturday was the new Neil LaBute, In a Forest Dark and Deep, a two-hander starring Matthew Fox (from Lost) and Olivia Williams (the Sixth Sense - but who, bizarrely, I have spent the last two weeks referring to as Olivia Wilde... I just went on IMDB and was really, really confused.).

I must admit that, despite hating his films and thinking his plays are generally quite flawed, I do like LaBute: he writes sharp, acerbic dialogue in intriguing set ups, albeit often where the idea is better than the execution and his stories can be a bit tick-the-issues and heavy on the 'oh, look at me, aren't I shocking!' (I spent much of this play waiting for the incestuous bit - because you know LaBute can't write a play about siblings without some hidden incest/child abuse/physical abuse/rape issues arising - and I wasn't disappointed).

His characters tend to be horrible, and this play was no exception: a self-absorbed and sanctimonious former wildchild tuned respectable and her redneck, moralistic, possibly violent brother assemble to clear out the house of one of the former's students and, of course, Dark Secrets Are Revealed.

But the pleasure of LaBute is that, knowing it's all going to Go Horribly Wrong never quite prepares you for quite how it will disintegrate, and it's always fun to watch. The chemistry between the two leads was utterly believable as they veered between argument and affection, and if Fox overdid it slightly on the strutting about, he brought an untamed masculinity to the piece that added a real sense of danger and unpredictability to the piece. True, too often LaBute likes his characters to say things just to shock, but the dialogue - all traps and snares set up for the unwary - is always a pleasure to listen to. Though it's notable that you always get a sense of the author behind the screens, congratulating himself on recognising that this is how real people speak, and how he's not afraid to tell it like it is - a stance every bit as patronising and irritating as that of the characters whose pomposity he regularly seeks to puncture. This is backed up by his love of playing really loud rock music before and after curtain: this isn't stuck up old theatre, he's saying, this is vibrant and young and relevant! But it often feels like simply trying too hard. Yeah, yeah, yeah, granddad, we believe it, you're still hip.

So, overall, an interesting and enjoyable 90 minutes - it won't stick with you as soon as you've left the theatre, and it's a 'go if you can' rather than a 'mug an old lady for a ticket' number, but if you get a chance to see it, give it a whirl.

Christina Hendricks for Vivienne Westwood

2011-03-02T09:55:00.000-08:00

Seriously, I don't think I could love Vivienne Westwood any more than I do at the moment. Have you seen these pictures in Grazia of Christina Hendricks decked out in her jewellery? I think I am a little bit in love. (My God, wouldn't you kill to look like that?) Also, how much do I want that necklace? And that dress. And that face. And that figure...*

*And she got to kiss Nathan Fillion in Firefly. Some women have all the luck...

Libraries: Where Shhh Happens

2011-02-28T11:25:00.000-08:00

Given that the current Government seems intent on destroying our libraries (and our health service, and our welfare state, and our schools...) this t-shirt by the Literary Gift Company might soon be a museum piece. If the Government don't sell off the museums. So enjoy it while you can...

The Children's Hour

2011-02-27T03:50:00.000-08:00

So, my theatre campaign continues unabated, with this week’s trip being to the sell out run of The Children’s Hour, starring Keira Knightley and Elizabeth Moss. I’m afraid I don’t have time to write a proper review – my schedule continues to be insane – but I’d say it was enjoyable without being amazing.

The cast were solid: I’m not a fan of Knightley on screen but on stage she’s fine, if not outstanding, and admirably willing to discard the Hollywood trappings to frump up for the role. Moss and Ellen Burstyn were, I have to say, the main draws for me, and I appreciated their performances without being blown away by either. Partly I think this was due to the play, which feels dated in its ideas and occasionally clunky in its execution: I could have done without a lot of the schoolgirl chatter and most of the characters irritated me so much I found myself unmoved by their various plights.

Still, if you can score a ticket, it’s worth seeing, and it’s good to see another serious drama thrive on the West End stage: all props to Knightley for returning so soon, and for managing to get the kind of people into a show who wouldn’t otherwise go (I was sitting in front of two teens who had clearly never set foot in a theatre before, and who came out having enjoyed it – that’s the kind of convert the theatre needs).

Making a statement

2011-02-26T01:52:00.001-08:00

Today’s Saturday Times magazine has an interesting piece about statement skirts, which pleased me. I always like it when I’m ahead of the curve – or, let’s be honest here, have hung onto a trend so long that it has gone through being fashionable, to unfashionable, to back again – and this is a look I have been loving for a while.

On the face of it, it’s not the best look for girls like me: if I’m parsing body parts, I’m far happier with the top than the bottom, and generally live by the maxim that a bit of cleavage can distract from a lot of sins. So why go for a trend that forces you to play down the upper half of your body – and make no mistake, this look only really works with a very plain and not-that-revealing top – and draw attention to the bottom? Especially as, by their nature, statement skirts tend to add inches to those areas where most women are already well supplied.

Part of the appeal for me is the drama of it: I’ve said many times I’m a fan of over-the-top styles – in an ideal world I’d spend my life dressing like Dita von Teese (because, of course, in an ideal world, I’d also have the figure of Dita von Teese) – but it’s hard to get away with that and hold down an actual day job. Whereas a statement skirt is a bit of stealth drama: from the waist up you’re all business, from the waist down you are swathed in swoops and folds of fabric but... but... you can still get away with it at the office. (OK, for some of the bolder statement skirts, this may depend on the kind of office...). Personally, I’m currently in love with my McQ skirt, which is so structured it virtually has a train (I have already learned to be careful not to get tangled on door handles, as I have an extra six inches of fabric behind me) and my perennial favourite, a Vivienne Westwood number that adds about 6 inches to my hips but an unmistakable sashay to my stride. And the best part is, they are both in sober, dark fabrics so I can wear them to work. It’s an adaptable look when it comes to footwear, too – you can dress up with great shoes, or dress down with flat boots (or even ballet pumps, if you go for a skirt with decent volume – ballet pumps with a fitted skirt makes you look like your proper shoes are hurting your feet and you’re having a rest).

One of the main complaints against these kinds of skirts is that they don’t work for a social life spent sitting down (which, let’s face it, at our age, is how most of us spend our evenings) – in that you might look fantastic standing, but seated – with only the plain top half on display – you look dull. But that is easily addressed: a statement necklace or earrings livens up the look – and besides, isn’t there something delicious about having the capacity to surprise someone just by standing up? I once got chatted up on a train by a man who looked at me in total shock when I stood up to go to the cafe, revealing that under my plain black top I was wearing a shock of pink and black mesh skirts. “Wow, I think I’m going to have to completely re-evaluate how I was thinking of you,” he said, which is either really flattering or insulting, but certainly amusing.

If you fancy this look, there are plenty of places to get it: Vivienne Westwood is the mistress, but there are more affordable options out there: All Saints can always be relied upon for clever draping, Reiss for a more office friendly cut (though I do find Reiss overpriced for what you get) or, as the Mad Men inspired midi look takes off, the high street has caught on big time: Top Shop and River Island in particular have nice pieces. So why not give it a go?

Frankenstein: a monstrous play

2011-02-17T22:40:00.000-08:00

It should have been the hot ticket of the season: Johnny Lee Miller and man of the moment Benedict Cumberbatch directed by Oscar winner Danny Boyle in the epic tale of man and monster Frankenstein. Instead, it turned out to be a monstrous evening for all the wrong reasons.

I had my doubts about the play from the off: following an admirably dramatic opener, with the monster – tonight, Jonny Lee Miller, who alternates the role with Cumberbatch – emerges from its womb like home to stagger and moan, naked, into the world. Then... keep staggering. And moaning. We were treated to what seemed like a good 5 minutes of him running around the stage learning to walk and move, which lost its appeal 30 seconds after your curiosity about what Jonny Lee Miller looks like naked has worn off. Enter Benedict Cumberbatch for a quick, ‘Oh no, What have I done!’ before he disappears off for much of the first half of the play (there is no interval – possibly because they are aware half the audience would leg it at that stage, but the play is clearly divided into halves). This, fatally, leaves the field open for the monster.

Now, I’m sorry – I’m sorry, I really am – but it’s almost impossible to stage a text that has been as much parodied as Frankenstein without it having to escape the long shadow of what came after it, and the whole section where the monster learns to be human, and educated only – oh, no, cruel world! – to be cast aside for his ugliness was just a little bit too Young Frankenstein for me to take seriously, and the play never really recovers from this. As Ms Lemur, my companion for the evening, stated, it makes you remember that the bits in the book about the monster are the really, really bad bits.

The action picks up somewhat when Cumberbatch returns: he’s a hugely charismatic actor and one born to wear a frock coat, and out one relief of the evening was that he was the one playing Frankenstein that evening, as if he’d been playing the monster I feel the night would have been a total loss for us both. His confrontation with the monster and his own alienation from the human world were well played, and there were moments of real horror – the monster’s rape and murder of his maker’s wife a particular ‘highlight’ – but all too quickly it descended into melodrama.

It’s a shame because the play has clearly had both talent, money and care thrown at it – the sets and effects are great (though the lightning didn’t do my migraine any good, I can’t blame them for that) and the performances are as good as they could be given the paucity of playwright Nick Dear’s material. But despite the standing ovations from some in the crowd (Lemur and I looked at each other and went, were we at the same play?), this feels like a massively wasted opportunity. It could have been a chance to do something fresh and original with themes that has never been more relevant; instead, it feels like a leaden rehash of stale ideas.

Save water drink champagne

2011-02-13T10:23:00.000-08:00

I recently received a catalogue for Notonthehighstreet.com, and while their stuff can sometimes veer towards the twee for me, I am converted both by the fact that they do a lot of nice notebooks (which you can get personalised!) but by the fact their stuff does evoke a certain joie de vivre, a damn the recession and have pretty things mentality. Which might be how we got into the recession, but hey...

Anyway, if I ever cooked - which of course I don't - I would buy this Save Water Drink Champagne apron. Or the Save Water Drink Wine teatowel, if I ever dried dishes. Which of course I don't.

V for Victory: Valentine's Day

2011-02-12T06:44:00.000-08:00

With Valentine’s Day looming, you’re expecting this to be a ‘what to do as a single girl on V-Day’ post, right? Um, not so much. This only occurred to me when making plans for Monday and belatedly realising it might not be that easy to get a restaurant booking because it was February 14. I think I’ve finally reached the stage where I genuinely, positively do not give a damn about being single any more.

Partly, this is realism: being bothered about being single wasn’t getting me any dates, so not being bothered can’t exactly damage my batting average. Maybe it’s because I’m finally, after nearly 10 years of flat-sharing, with various success, living alone and loving it. Maybe it’s because I have just been so busy this year that, on those rare occasions I’m actually in my house, I’m so grateful to have my own space, the thought of giving that up doesn’t seem at all appealing. Maybe I’m just old...

I was thinking about this the other day, and about how your criteria for a relationship changes as you age. In my twenties, I veered between going for skinny intellectuals or funny men and going for bad boys with tattoos and a history – you have to be a considerable bad boy to already have a history in your early 20s, but hell, I was dedicated, so I managed to find them. The world seemed one long party I could pull from, so why settle down? In my 30s, solvency and (relative) sobriety appealed, and as all my friends started getting married, I must admit I was starting to feel left out. Fast forward to my 40s, and the main thing I envy about those of my friends who have good relationships – an increasingly rare coin – is that they have someone who can set up broadband, programme an iPod or fix a broken toilet seat. So, basically, if I paid a handyman or a computer geek for an afternoon, I could have what I wanted out of a marriage.

Then there is the fact that my criteria for what I want in a man has changed so dramatically. For one, most of the men I find attractive don’t actually exist, which is a slight drawback, and two, my tastes have shifted so far that I’m not sure even I know what they are these days. Sure, I’m still a sucker for a well turned forearm and a nice bit of ink, but the other day I realised that one of my main priorities in a man was that he be... cheerful. I know. I know. It’s hardly the rock great romances are hewn from, is it? But honestly – I met someone I thought was quite cute the other day, only after 5 minutes to change my mind to, I think not, simply because he seemed like such bloody hard work. I’m not saying I want some manic Pollyanna-man, but someone who has abandoned the too-cool-for-school pose that really doesn’t work after 30 and manages to be reasonably chipper on a day to day basis is a must.

I’m not sure how permanent this shift is, of course. I’m not saying I won’t ever cry at a romcom again (then again, I cry at Glee and the Vampire Diaries, and anything about the First World War, so perhaps that’s not an accurate measure – and the last romcom I watched didn’t make me want to be in love, it made me want to have Sandra Bullock’s hair colourist). I’m not saying I don’t ever want to date again – because I do. I’d quite like to have sex again while my boobs still look OK when I’m naked, for a start. But I’m just... not that bothered. So, erm, Happy Valentine’s Day...

(Obviously, none of the above applies if I ever meet Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Then again, he always seems quite cheery to me... not in this picture, obviously. Though in fairness, he's dead in this picture, which will cramp anyone's style.)

My week in theatre

2011-02-10T20:33:00.001-08:00

Lordy: what an insane week I have had. Having told myself faithfully at the start of the year I was going to try and instigate a 3 nights out a week maximum rule, as usual I then find it simply impossible to fit all the things I want to do and all the people I want to see into my calendar. (Though, having just confirmed my trip to New York later this year, I'm going to have to start being stricter about this in order to put together some spending money...)

Still, while I might be knackered I've had a fun week: three nights of theatre on the trot for the new theatre website I am reviewing for, Exeunt - Vernon God Little, which, while flawed was frenetic, funny and filthy; By Jeeves, which was far more entertaining than I thought it would be (though it was delayed due to technical difficulties - and they were giving out mulled wine on the way in - so I was quite squiffy even by the start); and Company - the revival of the Sondheim classic at the Southwark. If I tell you I also wrote a book review for the site too at the weekend - of Ruth Leon's entertaining Sound of Musicals - you can see I have been pretty flat out...

Top that all off with champagne at Searcys at St Pancras and, well, I'm just glad I have a quiet weekend planned!

My new skirt

2011-02-10T05:22:00.000-08:00

As anyone who follows my new 2011 spending blog will know, my attempts to be frugal with clothes have so far this year been... patchy, so say the least. Even those who normally encourage me with a 'what the hell, go for it!' have taken to going, 'Well, you have bought a lot of things lately'. So maybe I do need to stop. Right after this lovely McQ skirt in the Coggles sale, of course...

I just can't (self-)help myself

2011-02-06T03:41:00.000-08:00

As those of you who follow my blog know, one of my New Year’s resolutions was to read more, and to keep track of what I read. While this provides me with the type of pleasure a geek always gets from lists, it has also convinced me that this is one list I will never make public. Why? Because it reveals to the world my deep love of self-help books.

I know, I know, call me Bridget, but I just can’t help myself. Show me a slender tome by a smug American promising to change my life in a couple of hours, and I’m hooked. I have read not only The Secret, but its follow up, The Power (and spent a very enjoyable afternoon watching the DVD); Paul McKenna has so far failed to make me thin, rich or more confident; I have Felt the Fear and done it anyway, I have learned how to be both a Surrendered Wife and a Surrendered Single. (As you can tell, the fact that a book has no possible application to my life in no way prevents me from reading it). I know The Rules (and The Rules for Married Women, which contains my favourite advice ever: that after being married, you shouldn’t wear too much make up – men don’t like it, the poor loves – and you can limit yourself to two coats of mascara. How much make up do these women normally wear?) I have read books that are clearly and utterly tosh (Cosmic Ordering: which is basically summed up as ‘ask the universe and you’ll get what you want – repeated for nigh on 200 pages. By the end I was asking the universe for it to please end). I have also read books that are actually enormous fun: I’d recommend He’s Just Not That Into You even if it’s advice is completely irrelevant to your life simply because it’s hugely entertaining (I’m way past the age when I need to be told a man is bad news if he’s only interested in turning up drunk at my house for sex – I am unfortunately also way past the age when that would ever happen).

I recognise that these books are in the main tosh at best, insidious at worst: the Law of Attraction, especially, is problematic to anyone with too many brain cells. By painting themselves into the corner of ‘EVERYTHING that happens to you, you created and can therefore change’ rather than espousing the more realistic but infinitely less marketable, “Shit happens, and you’re stuck with that, but there are things you can do to improve the hand you’ve been dealt in life,” you create a philosophy where babies are born disabled because of “soul choices”, Aids comes from just not liking yourself enough, and, presumably, six million Jews died in the Holocaust because they weren’t thinking enough happy thoughts. This also gives rise to a smug cultural imperialism not seen since the days of Empires proper: you were born in California rather than Rwanda because you are in some way morally superior: hey, you made the right choices even before you were born; that person has cancer because clearly they brought it on themselves; if only those Haitians would get their act together, they wouldn’t have to worry about all that earthquake nonsense.

I’m not saying you can’t get something from these books: I’ve rarely read one without coming away with at least one useful nugget, though I recognise that’s the kind of hit rate you’d also get from a bag of fortune cookies. I genuinely believe that it’s better to look on the bright side; that positive thinking and expectations can be a good thing - and that even a cynic like me can find these useful skills to learn: negativity can be paralysing and stop you from taking action, so can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. And we’ve all known people who were so consistently miserable despite what was happening in their lives - good or bad - that we want to slap them then never see them again – again, that negativity becomes a vicious circle.

Likewise, being grateful for what you have, and being open to getting more can actually improve your life, rather than carrying around internalised ‘I’ll never manage that/that’s not for the likes of me’ baggage that can trip you up before you even start looking for that dream job/great relationship/payrise. But as Barbara Ehrenreich rightly points out in her book Smile or Die: How Positive Thinking Fooled America & the World, too much faith in ‘it’ll all work out alright’ is behind some of the worst disasters this millennium, from the invasion of Iraq to the financial crisis. And anyone who has ever worked with or taught a Gen Y youth, educated in a climate of non-competitive sports and abundant employment, will have witnessed the often painful conflict between the ‘but I’m worth it’ mentality and the reality that unlimited self-belief is rarely a replacement for hard work and application, and that sometimes, no matter how much you believe in yourself, or even how hard you work, other people are just better or luckier. Plus, in the UK, being relentlessly upbeat makes people think you are either insane or too stupid to understand what’s really going on in the world; also, as many a British friendship has been solidified moaning about work in the pub, you’d probably have no mates.

Still, to me, slef-help books remain a guilty pleasure; I immerse myself in them the same way I would a trashy romance or crime novel. I know love doesn’t always turn out well, I know that the bad guys don’t always get caught – equally I know there’s more to solving life’s problems than being a bit more chipper. But for a couple of hours, it's a fantasy I'm happy to entertain.

Even better, I just discovered the Guardian psychologist Oliver Burkeman just published a book called Help: How to Become Slightly Happier and Get a Bit More Done, which seems to completely reflect my attitude to the self-help industry. Naturally, I just bought it...

And to sum up, one of my favourite Terry Pratchett quotes, from the Wee Free Men: "If you trust in yourself, and believe in your dreams and follow your star... you'll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy."

More lusting after Dame Viv

2011-02-05T13:04:00.001-08:00

Seriously, I am developing a major obsession with this season's Vivienne Westwood. I just wish Net-a-Porter would stop sending me emails full of beautiful things I can't afford. I mean, if I had the money I'd totally buy this sequinned corset. Because *of course* I live the kind of life where I could wear it...

(Alas, I can totally think of opportunities to wear this lovely leopard print number, just not £600 worth of reasons...)

Hey ho. At least I have my notebook. And my shoes. And my skirts. Oh, wait...