War Horse

Some people resort to Amazon and Trip Advisor to let loose their amateur feature writing skills.  I want a quick review of a book and I get a 1000 word synopsis.  All I really need to know is did the reader enjoy it and would they recommend it. Likewise hotels.

We all really want to write for the Sunday Times Travel supplement, but alas, we can’t. Sometimes we have to make do with blogs.

Today, I’d like to be a theatre critic.

Back in the Autumn I’d been given theatre vouchers as a birthday treat. The husband isn’t a great one for the theatre, so I was determined to spend them wisely. At least I would have the consolation of knowing that if he was going to nod off, as has been known in the past, it wouldn’t be my money he was wasting.

Months ago (and just as well as the show is now sold-out) I used my vouchers to book two tickets to see the National Theatre’s production of War Horse at the Mayflower Theatre in Southampton.

I could tell he was apprehensive –  was it a musical? I assured him it wasn’t. Would there be dancing? I highly doubted it. Was it a comedy? In a story about the Great War - unlikely.

Having been advised it was helpful to know the plot beforehand, he quickly Googled the book.

‘There’s an awful lot of characters…..’ he warned me.

It's true. I’ve never seen a play with such a large cast. At least the Mayflower has a big stage, and it certainly needed it with galloping horses, tanks, and field guns.

The puppetry was – to coin one of my (least) favourite Americanisms – awesome. For anyone who has no idea what I’m talking about, the two full-size horses in the show are operated by teams of actors.  The co-ordination of the mechanics, atmosphere and creativity that went into the whole performance was stunning.

The basic premise of the story – boy meets horse, loses horse and finds it again is played out against the brutal backdrop of the First World War, which is of course very topical, and perhaps even more poignant in this centenary year.

War Horse is clever, emotionally charged and thought provoking, yet at the same time, very entertaining.  If I had one criticism - and it would be very petty - it would have to be the accents.  I know the farm boy was meant to be from Devon but did he have to sound quite so much like a Wurzel?  Yes I enjoyed it, and yes, I’d thoroughly recommended it.

Starting Over...(again)

I woke up this morning and decided to start blogging again.

I’m not quite sure why it fell by the wayside. I’ve hardly been busy – but perhaps that was the problem. Not enough to write about.

It’s all right harping on about the challenges of being an ex-ex-pat but eighteen months on and it's as if I’d never been away.  There's nothing surreal about shopping in Tesco and bumping into people I’d known at secondary school.

My creative writing tutor says we all need a ‘writers’ platform, where we can boast about our successes and promote our work.  We need to blog, tweet, and brag about ourselves on Facebook. I’m self-effacing so that type of thing doesn’t sit comfortably with me, but having finally had a short story ‘accepted’ by a magazine - albeit it a local free one (and the story is on hold until later in the year) – I probably do need to start getting myself out there again.  

So, six months on from my last post, where I am? Adjusting.  The husband has returned home so we’ve progressed from me, the cat and a teenager, to a household of four. It’s amazing the additional amount of housework one extra creates -  and a routine again as well. He wants proper meals – none of that oh we’ll have scrambled egg on toast tonight in front of the TV I could get away before.

The teenager is also now 18, a fully qualified driver and less teenager and more young adult – although one look in her room confirms the teenage status. Keep the door shut on it all the parenting books tell you, so I do.

Daughter No 1 graduated and is working abroad.  We’ve obviously given her the taste for the travel bug.  She is also a blogger – probably another incentive to take it up again (a little competition is always a good thing).  She has moved to Asia, where she is embracing a celebrity lifestyle as something of a novelty – a blonde in Beijing.

 I hit the half century – a depressing day brightened considerably by an early morning flight to Rome and a wonderful week’s holiday in Italy – which I could have written numerous travel blogs about, and probably should have done, although it’s a bit late now.

The weight gained from seven solid days of pasta has refused to come off, despite lengthy walks – currently in waders and wellingtons along the river.  I had hoped this weight increase could be blamed on muscle from increased sessions at the gym, but a diagnosis of high cholesterol at my over 50’s health check put paid to that. Too much cheese, wine and yoghurt apparently (I thought yoghurt was good for you?)

Anyway, life isn’t so bad on the downhill slope.  I’ve decided not to hurtle, but to gently slalom. I can’t put off the ageing process so I might as well enjoy it. At least I can finally put my ‘senior moments’ down to just that.

One picture of Italy - more may follow