The House Husband

This afternoon marked another Shakespearean afternoon in the company of Weasels. Actually, it was with some Weasels and a few others, given that half the Weasels were unable to attend. Still, the regulars were there (Lorna, Darren, John, Bev and I). We were joined by Lindy (who really should be a Weasel by this time), Tottie (who raced over from an actor’s union meeting to be with us), Esther, Amanda and Matt.

The groundlings at the Globe

Today we watched Much Ado About Nothing, a play that Kenneth Brannagh filmed very successfully in 1993. So well, in fact, that every Beatrice will have to measure up to Emma Thompson and every Benedick to Ken, as far as I’m concerned, anyway. Actually I mentioned this to Lindy and Tottie just as it was starting and they agreed, saying I’d ruined it for mentioning it though.

As usual, the Globe staging was very minimal. This always works very well but, given they perform different plays in rep and need to strike the set after every performance, it’s an absolute boon. It was also very full. In keeping with our previous performance, one of the audience members in the pit was taken ill and had to be hauled out during the performance. It amazes me that people will gladly stand up for hours watching Shakespeare. Still, it’s all part of the atmosphere for us in the boxes.

Elizabethan band

The play itself is one of Bill’s comedies and it has some very funny bits. Sadly, a lot of the humour is lost if you don’t understand Elizabethan metaphor. For instance, one of the central issues is a woman’s inconstancy, alluded to by the regular mention of the horns of cattle; the horns being symbolic of cuckoldry. This would be lost on the vast majority of the audience.

Even so, the humour, on the whole, worked very well, though sometimes a bit forced. I guess it’s a question of getting a laugh no matter what, which is fine but hardly clever.

I have read reviews that state the direction was very good. I can’t agree based on the performance I saw. Most of the play was directed forwards, as if the director had forgotten this wasn’t a proscenium arch space. This meant that we didn’t see a whole lot of the interaction between the characters, which is a shame, particularly given the relationship between Beatrice and Benedick.

Performance-wise, I thought Beatrice (Eve Best who plays Dr O’Hara in Nurse Jackie and Wallis Simpson in The King’s Speech) was excellent. She had a great energy on stage and her comic timing was spot on. She actually seemed to understand what she was saying the entire time she was speaking. Don’t get me wrong. Most of the time the actors know the sense of the words but they quite often are unable to convey the meaning to the audience who may be
ignorant of the play.

There was a rather odd decision to have Benedick without a beard in the first half of the play. Given the speech that Beatrice makes about men with beards and boys with no beards and then the subsequent scene where Benedick has cut himself shaving because he has shaved his beard off, this surprised me.

The biggest problem with Much Ado is why Don John decides to break up the relationship between Hero and Claudio. The audience is left wondering why he’s such a horrid person given there’s no reason or excuse for his behaviour. In fact, Keanu Reeves, when he played Don John in the film was awarded the worst supporting actor razza because he was so wooden. I have read where poor Keanu was confused because he could find no reason for his actions in the play. Very understandable for a method actor.

Some explanation can be found in Don John’s background. He is the bastard brother of Don Pedro, a jolly sort of fellow, up for a jape or two. Pedro likes Claudio and helps him win Hero. He also helps conspire to get Beatrice and Benedick together. Don John appears (all in black and Scottish in this version, which meant we called him Jock McBastard) and decides to make mischief. Which he does by faking a liaison between Hero and a drunk mate of his. The thing is, it’s not Hero but Claudio sees them in a window at midnight and is convinced she has been unfaithful.

We then have an awful scene in the church, as they are about to be married, where Claudio accuses her of being unfaithful and throws her from him. Don Pedro immediately takes Claudio’s side and they decide to leave as soon as possible. Being Shakespeare, Hero is then instructed to pretend she is dead.

But this is all by the by. Don John has recently been estranged from his half brother, Pedro and, up until a short while ago, they didn’t like or trust each other. Why then does Pedro suddenly believe John and not Hero, who screams her innocence? Why didn’t Shakespeare create a reason for it? It would have been easy enough done. Don John feels hard done by because his brother has everything and he has nothing and so he exacts a sort of revenge on someone his brother loves in order to make everyone else as unhappy as he is. That’s pretty simple. But no, he doesn’t. Don John is a bastard and miserable with it. He just does it…for no reason, he just does. I think this is a weak way of creating a bit of drama in a very light hearted comedy. Particularly for the sake of a rhyming couplet or two.

Another annoying point is the fact that the woman who pretends to be Hero is, in fact, her maidservant, Margaret. Why doesn’t she come forward? Esther made the point that perhaps this was one in the eye for the aristocracy. Perhaps, but if so, it’s very subtle and Margaret is quite happy to romp and frolic with everyone for the rest of the play.

Still, for all that, it was very enjoyable and we laughed lustfully throughout and were the last ones out of the theatre as usual.

Of course, a Weasel visit to the Globe would not be complete without visiting a few pubs and sampling their wares. Unusually we didn’t roam around miles of streets looking for pubs that don’t actually exist but rather went to two pubs on southbank, either side of Blackfriar’s Bridge. We weren’t that keen on the Poacher but rather liked the variety on offer at the Doggett. This is a pub I have been to with Stevie. mainly because it opens earlier than any others on the southbank. The Doggett also won praise after John told us all what the name meant.

Lorna & Darren at the Doggett

It is named after the Doggett’s Coat and Badge, which is the prize for and the name of the oldest rowing race in the world. It takes place on the Thames every July and runs for just over four miles. It dates back to the 18th century. It was originally the idea of an Irish actor called Thomas Doggett.

Eventually it was time for us all to head home so we started walking back towards London Bridge, dropping me off at Bankside ferry stop as I was staying at the flat.

St Paul's from Bankside pier

In a nutshell, another great day out at the Globe.

Today I trundled off to the Globe to join the Weasels in our usual Gentleman’s Box, this time to see Shakespeare’s comedy, All’s Well That Ends Well. Not that the day started so well.

My plan was to catch a train into town, pop over the flat to drop off a change of clothes and then hightail it across to Bankside to meet the Weasels at the Anchor Inn, as usual, ready for the opening. South West Trains thought this plan was very silly and, in keeping with their practices of not particularly catering for their passengers, they changed the Sunday timetable, eliminating half the trains.

I’m sure they did this a while ago as the timetable poster quite clearly has one train an hour into London rather than the two an hour of old. Subsequently I had the pleasure of sitting on Farnham station for half an hour, wondering how fine I would be cutting it at the other end. It’s not like I could change the plan – I had a bag of clothes and my netbook, neither of which I really wanted to cart around the pubs of London.

For once, the Jubilee Line was working on a Sunday and I managed to get to the flat at 12, texting the Weasels that I would be late and would meet them at the Globe. Lorna responded by sending me a picture of my beer which they were forced to share out and drink between them.

Time was ticking frantically away – it always ticks faster when you haven’t much left – so I opted for a taxi. The rather pessimistic driver informed me that it would take about an hour to get to the Globe because of roadworks and diversions and general mayhem in the City. He reckoned the best option was to drop me at Southwark Bridge and I could walk across.

He wasn’t wrong about the traffic. It was horrendous. Southwark Bridge had become the favoured route across the river for everyone and appeared to be one long, single lane of parked vehicles. I walked across while they sat and waited. I sent my silent thanks to the god of taxi drivers.

I arrived at the Globe with minutes to spare, meeting the Weasels as they approached. They reiterated the fact that they had to drink my beer, which was very considerate of them. We took our place in the Gentleman’s Box and settled in for the performance.

We were nine Weasels – we should have been ten but Dawn decided to go to the Orkneys instead. John, Rob (who had been steadily drinking for 24 hours with a brief nap break in a corn field), Bev, Darren, Lorna, Lindy, Tottie (John’s niece, Lindy’s daughter who is an actor and who took Dawn’s ticket), Tom and me. Matt was also supposed to be there but for reasons not disclosed to me, didn’t turn up. I can’t say I was disappointed.

Our box, unlike other times, had no table. We were tempted to steal the pone in the box next to us but it was being used by the technical guys responsible for the subtitles so didn’t think we’d get away with it like we have in previous years. Given we were one short, it was easy to utilise the high stools for a food delivery surface.

The groundlings during interval at All's Well

I’m not a big fan of Shakespeare (as most people are well aware) and this play goes a long way to explaining why. I really have no idea why the characters did what they did. I could look up the plot but I think it preferable that I should try and explain it from where I sat and watched. Tottie said it was one of the ‘problem plays’ which means people have no idea whether it’s a comedy or a tragedy. I think Shakespeare was asked to write it in a hurry – maybe for a quick couple of quid or as per contract – and didn’t bother with the sense of the plot. Anyway, here is Gary’s version of All’s Well…

Some important guy (a count, maybe) is dead and his son (I didn’t catch his name so I’ll call him Boy) is off to the French court. In the house is a girl (Helen – though John seems to think it was Helena) who has grown up with Boy although she is not related to him. Maybe she was an orphan or they found her by the road…I couldn’t work that out. And, of course, she is in love with him and is rather dismayed that he’s off to Paris.

Then we meet the best character in the play. A rather dashing, foppish chap who I shall call Eddie (because he looked and sounded like Eddie Izzard and I didn’t catch his name either) is seen flirting outrageously with Helen, discussing the pointlessness of virginity. For me this was the funniest scene of the whole play and Eddie was superb. Actually he was excellent throughout the play.

So Boy and Eddie leave for Paris and Helen is all upset and distraught. She then has an idea. Someone has given her a miracle drug for some reason and she intends to cure the King of France in order to gain a request from him – Boy’s hand in marriage.

This all goes according to plan except Boy isn’t enthused. The King however, insists and they are married. Boy, however, refuses to consummate the marriage and, instead, goes off to Florence to fight in the war. Helen hatches a plan to follow him and ends up in, I think, a nunnery. She leaves a note behind intimating that she is dead.

She somehow manages to get Boy to bed one of the nuns during which there’s a lot of ring swapping between them. However, the nun tells Boy she will not speak during the act and it must be dark. This all goes according to plan and, I think, Boy was going to marry the nun.

Back in Paris everything comes out and the King discovers the ring that Boy has is the one he gave to Helen (I don’t remember this happening but clearly it did). Helen appears and says she isn’t dead and that Boy didn’t sleep with the nun but with her and she’s now pregnant with Boy’s child. Boy breaks down and they live happily ever after. I guess.

Somewhere in the middle of this, Eddie is kidnapped and tricked into thinking he’s been captured by the enemy and confesses lots of things about his master (Boy) and various other chaps – this was a wonderful scene played superbly. I’m pretty sure Shakespeare meant us to despise this fop but the actor was so good and so likeable that I actually liked him far more than the rest of them.

Because of his confessions he is left a sad, scruffy chap, stripped of his garish clothes. I’m not sure what else happens to him.

So, all in all, a bit confusing and, if you ask me, pointless. If you want to know the real storyline, I’ve found this link which may make things clearer.

After the performance, which we all agreed was quite enjoyable – some more enjoyable than others and at least it was better than last year’s Macbeth – we wandered across Blackfriars to the usual pub for a few pints before making the long trek across the City to the Bavarian Beer House at Tower Hill.

Weasels mincing on the way to the beer hall

Tom found out about this place while searching for Bavarian beer and, it was thought, we could relive the delights of Munich therein. Which we happily did. Big jugs of beer and white sausage. Fantastic!

White sausage and pretzel - doesn't get any better than this

After a few gallons of Bavaria’s best brew, we staggered across to the Anchor for a final pint before I bid them all farewell at London Bridge station. I was rather drunk but was back in the flat half an hour later and asleep about 10 minutes after that. What an excellent idea that was.

Last of the sun over the Thames

If you’d like to see John’s photos of the day, they are here. And I should give credits for the mincing and sausage shots, which were Lorna’s.

Last night I went with some weasels to see Hadestown. It was written by the wonderful singer/song writer Anais Mitchell. She has a webpage here, if you’re interested.

Hadestown is a new version of the story of Orpheus in the underworld as he tries to bring back his love, Euridice. Anais has set it in a post-apocalyptic world of depression, where Hades entices people to join his town (Hadestown) and build walls to keep the ‘enemy’ out while keeping them in under his rule. Once you enter Hadestown, you can never leave.

Euridice is tempted in and joins the community but Orpheus decides to try and save her. He enlists the help of Hermes who tells him how to enter the town via the back door. Once in, Orpheus tries to find Euridice. His beautiful songs come to the attention of Hades and his wife, Persephone who convinces her husband to allow Euridice to leave with Orpheus.

Hades agrees but only on one condition. Orpheus is to walk out of Hadestown and Euridice will follow as long as Orpheus does not look back. Orpheus is doing really well but then, just before he leaves, doubt takes over and he turns around. Euridice is lost to him forever. Oh, he of little faith!

The performance last night was at the Union Chapel in Islington. Quite an amazing venue, very well suited to the performance. The trouble was, there was also an Arsenal home game on at the same time. This meant that the Tube was full of people in red and white scarves. We were all to meet at The Swan Inn but this was heaving with gooners, so, after texting each other, we met at the venue.

It was oddly ironic that we were going to a performance about and based in hades while we had to walk through, what some would describe as, hell. It was quite marked when it came time to go home. The tube train we were in had a combination of folk music lovers chatting enthusiastically (or not in one case I overheard) about Anais and Hadestown while others stood around in their team colours, grunting and swearing. I’m not just saying that for effect! It WAS the case.

Anyway, the performance started off with Wallis Bird, a fabulous Irish folk singer who is a dab hand at the guitar. She writes and performs everything herself. Very self effacing and very talented. She has a website here. I liked her so much I bought her album Spoons. Mirinda listened to it tonight and loves it too. We are Wallis fans. Seriously!

Having warmed us up, Wallis was replaced with Anais and her group of folk celebs none of whom I’ve ever heard of. The band played behind and the singers sat in front. They would stand up as their turn to sing approached. There was a storyteller who made a few contributions in order to keep the audience on track. It was a very good idea.

Apart from one little thing, it was a fantastic night of very talented people. Another was Thea Gilmore who played Persephone. You can read about her here as well as listen to a track of hers. I am very tempted to list the entire cast…except I don’t know who they were…but I’ll just mention one other. The guy who played Orpheus was wonderful. His name is Jim Moray, and, naturally, he has a website too. It’s here.

I could type on and on and on…however, I’m going to leave it there. It was a great night all round with a long trip home at the end. A big thank you to Dawn for parking at Farnham so I’d have someone to talk to on the train.

There wasn’t really a lot of opportunity for weasel photography given the rush before and after but I did manage a shot of the venue.

Union Chapel, Islington

Arsenal won by the way. And the one thing not so good about the show? We had to sit on pews. Super, typical, bloody uncomfortable pews! Had I known, I’d have bought a big fat cushion. Actually I could have done with a big fat cushion to get over the big fat head sat in front of me all night!

So. My final Weasel adventure? Perhaps. These are my notes from the final day and the trip across the Channel.

What is wrong with these people? Clearly they’re not like me at all. Perhaps, after all is said and done, I am ill-suited to archaeology. Smart arse know it alls.

There seems to be a desire for nothing to change and for everything to be ‘as it should’. Why, for instance, was there such a negative reaction to the huge Roman style building at the top of La Gacilly? Why must everything conform?

Along the canal we spotted a chateau with a satellite dish. This was seen as some sort of crime against humanity! Perhaps we should have been rowing up the river in a hollowed out log. Actually, I’m not sure about all these structures. I think leaving the trees 50 million years ago was a mistake.

After all, what is the original home of Homo sapien? Pre-civilisation, pre-agriculture, pre-technology…caves, I guess. Well, that’s what I want to see. A landscape unblemished by the trappings of ‘civilised’ human-kind.

But who is the arbiter of how far back we should go? This is, of course, a personal issue and one that makes no sense. We sit in a modern vessel, eating a drinking the products of civilisation (we didn’t have to go and hunt or brew anything) and claim people shouldn’t have satellite dishes.

What has been painfully apparent on this trip is how negative everything is viewed. Too new, too old, too many tourists, not enough modern conveniences (how ironic), etc. None of them view the world with an appreciation of the new as something beautiful. If this is archaeology then I don’t like it very much.

When I see something I’ve never seen before, I am generally all wide-eyed and enthusiastic, wanting to learn about it. I don’t criticise things because they encompass different periods of human history. Ok, if I see something I don’t like then I’ll say so but I don’t just simply dislike everything because it’s painted the wrong colour. Art must be an impossible appreciation for these people.

I hope I am never so bitter and twisted that I see the world through ashen glasses. While I may kid myself with my rose tint, I am, at least, generally a happy soul.

This is why I need to go off on my own from time to time. At first I thought this was because I had fallen into the trap of the lonely but I am now convinced it is because I need to escape the negativity that seems to surround the group like a dark cloud, a thick fog of despair.

The boat could be Charon’s dark barge, cruising the Styx!

Why does Matt ALWAYS look so miserable? What’s that all about? He seems to take great care to make sure his mouth is set in a grimace at all times. This is all you see. Sort of like an anti-Gary. Maybe that’s what he is. My antidote.

I realise how independent he is – I’d be an idiot if I didn’t – but he takes it to ridiculous lengths…as if no-one else exists or even matters. I guess that wouldn’t be too bad if you had something to offer the world.

Why does he just leave the boat without a word to anyone? It’s like he doesn’t know (or care) how a group works. It’s like he feels as if everyone else should just do what his agenda indicates.

But Matt I could understand, after all, he’s just unpleasant but Sean? What was Sean’s problem? I thought I had a great relationship with Sean. He has always been wide-eyed, innocent and up for total fun. Why did he suddenly decide not to talk to me? And all of a sudden he becomes very pally with Matt.

At first I figured Matt wasn’t talking to me because of that night after the Globe when he acted like a child and Sean and I took Bev up to Trafalgar Square. But clearly that wasn’t it. Matt has some other problem with me.

Interestingly, the night at La Gacilly, Bev was up and awake when I returned from walking the streets. We had a long, hushed chat. She told me how she wasn’t enjoying herself, how she feels she can’t be herself. I get so sick of telling her how she’s in a ridiculously self destructive relationship that I don’t any more. What’s the point?

I guess I’m fortunate in that, if I choose, I can probably manage to never see Matt again. The same with all of them, really. Though it would be a shame to lose touch with Lorna, Darren, John and Tom. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they all just put up with me and Matt is the only one honest enough to ignore me.

Anyway, when all is said and done, I think my holidays should only be spent with Mirinda. We see things the same.

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A highlight of the trip was as we boarded the ferry back to England. Sean and Carlee were with Lorna and Darren. We cruised on ahead, leaving them at the border control. They never made it onto our ferry because Carlee’s visa was out of date.

This meant they all missed the ferry and had to try for the next one, leaving Carlee and Sean in France.

Left Farnham for Battle as the rain started sprinkling down, a sprinkle which followed me all the way it seemed. A quick change at Waterloo for Waterloo East and I was heading back south. It’s the old spoke thing.

If you imagine London is the centre of a bicycle wheel, all the transport links head in towards it. It could just as easily be any big centre (Manchester, Glasgow, Edinburgh, etc) but London demonstrates it best. What this means is that if you want to travel around the rim, most of the time it’s only possible to go via London. This doesn’t actually apply to Farnham as I could have travelled via Havant and across the bottom to Brighton but this would have meant about six trains and taken about 4 hours. And so I went in to Waterloo and then came back out again. At least I didn’t have to cross London.

And so I found myself on a train heading to Battle (where the tussle happened in 1066) and John’s place, laden with rucksack and netbook, phone and iPod. Looking forward to a jolly good pirating week, I’m listening to a collection of pirate shanties recorded by a few famous rock stars. It’s called Rogue’s Gallery and is definitely putting me in the mood.

So I was first to arrive at John’s. We had a good long chat, catching up, just shooting the breeze, over coffee and then beer, naturally. The rumour was that Lorna, Darren, Bev and Matt would arrive more or less simultaneously. There had been no news from Sean. This is not unusual.

Bev & Matt were next. I’m not sure why but it appears that Matt is not talking to me. He’s gone all sulky. Strange, but then he is, really. It does make things a bit uncomfortable. I did attempt to talk to him a few times but he’s not really up for it so I stopped and just kept being incredibly funny, to force him to laugh. Which didn’t really work.

Lorna and Darren turned up shortly afterwards and, eventually we all sat down to a lovely chilli and sticky rice dinner, expertly prepared by John and accompanied by beer. At some stage we had a text from Sean, saying he’d arrive at 9:30. A while later (at about 9:30) we had another text from Sean saying he’d arrive at 11:30. We decided not to leave him any food and ate it all.

We sat in the lounge listening to a bit of pirate music, eating Lorna’s yummy cake, until Darren was sleepy enough to go to bed. We have to leave the house by 2:30am so the drivers (Darren & John) have to be in bed early. This prompted everyone to retire early as well. I, like a fool, am staying up to work on my dissertation. I shall sleep in the car. I’m very good at that. I am also going to meet Sean at the station. I don’t know why but at least I’ll get some fresh air.

The train arrived slightly early but I was there to meet them and escort them up the very steep hill to John’s place. They were very grateful, if somewhat exhausted. They had a laptop with them. I mention this because Matt has also brought one. Just can’t get away from them! And of course, I have my netbook.

What a crowded train I was on at 9:30am on a Sunday morning! It was so bad that the guard announced that the first class carriages were available for anyone to sit in if they want, without the weekend supplemental charge. I’m thankful I do not have a first class season ticket. There are a LOT of children. The reason? The London Marathon was on today and they’ve all come to gawp and cheer and wave things at the runners.

On my trip into town, I was sat next to a woman who didn’t understand why anyone would run 26 miles. Her friend agreed and said she couldn’t run down the street, let alone a marathon. They are going to cheer on the husband of one of them. These two were off to Canary Wharf so will take the Jubilee line. I was rather thankful that everyone else transferred to the Tube as well when we arrived at Waterloo.

Well Macbeth was terrible. The staging was fine but Lady Macbeth was pathetic. Where was her power? Her control? The direction was sadly bad. Macbeth himself was indeed a puppet but he had no puppet master. And while he looked very buff and you believed he could really wield that big sword he had, he was awfully melodramatic. The witches were good, the one good joke was played very well and Banquo’s ghostly appearance at the banquet was excellent, but other than that, it was all a bit wasted. It’s such as good play but not when you play it so simply.

Lady Macbeth didn’t have any power. All those wonderful lines, thrown away. Because she didn’t bring any power to the part, the audience had no idea why she did what she did. In a play dominated by testosterone, she needs to be the all powerful figure. The audience should believe she could control any of the men. Sadly she was a tiny waif amid the raw sexual strength of the warlords. She was the worst thing. Such a waste of a delicious role.

Duncan was very good. Him I believed! When he arrived at Cawdor, he stood with silence and power, surveying everything, happy that all his generals were behind him. His assassination should be made more awful because he believes Macbeth is with him.

Over all, it was a great disappointment but I think that was because I know the play too well. The previous plays were new experiences but this one was way too well known. Interestingly, one of our party had never been to anything like it and was enthralled throughout. So, really, what do I know?

The most bizarre thing was the sheet with holes in it. The pit at the Globe is where the majority of the audience stands for £5. I’ve never understood how anyone can stand up for an entire Shakespeare play but there’s always a lot of them. Groundlings, they’re called. Generally they just peer up at the thrust of the stage, a sea of eager faces all muddled in together. But not for Macbeth.

Someone (the designer, the director, someone’s mum…I don’t know) saw an old painting of a production which had the audience poking their heads through a sheet. And so, liking this idea, it was replicated for this production. It was supposed to resemble a battlefield, full of decapitated heads, which it did. The funniest thing was when people looked down, leaving just a mass of hair sitting on the sheet like so much seaweed. Quite affective. It also provided an opportunity for characters to suddenly appear through the holes, writhing in agony, blood covering them. Also the witches could suddenly appear and vanish. It worked well but not quite enough to carry the rest of the play.

Anyway, we saw the play, ate our usual picnic in our gentleman’s box which, incidentally, was on the opposite side to where we usually are, then walked to a pub (or four) and drank too much beer. I caught a late train home, drunk. With lots of people, presumably left over from the London Marathon.
Had a lot of fun around Trafalgar Square pretending to be tourists. Sean and I climbed up by the lion’s mouth and Bev took our picture. That was fun! I caught a late train home, drunk. With lots of people, presumably left over from the London Marathon who weren’t drunk.

Audience poke their heads through at the Globe