Belvoir’s Windmill Baby, directed by Kylie Farmer and dissected by me

David Milroy’s ‘Windmill Baby’ is one of the more engaging Indigenous monologues written over the last 20 years. And that’s saying something because I feel like I have sat through an endless supply of Indigenous biographical or autobiographical monologues to last me a lifetime.

So, before I get cracking about this production, I am going to make a statement that will win me no friends, I’m sure. In fact, I am aware that saying this is going to cause a stir amongst the Arts community who have politely if not fiercely supported all Indigenous works, the good, bad and ugly. I have to say that mainstream writers would not have been so politely tolerated had they clung to one expression of writing on the same theme for so long. So listen up-I am officially banning the monologue as a dramatic form for Indigenous writers as a means of theatrical expression.

Look, I know they are intimate pieces of theatre, some more successful than others, and a way to express an autobiographical or historical agenda to a mainstream audience as a one man or woman show. And I know that even with the theatrically limited monologues, theatre, which is generally left of centre and white middle class, will always clap and nod appropriately and feel genuine guilt and emotion over the injustices inflicted and then cheer for the triumphs of the human spirit over adversity.

Yes, I know by the telling of personal experiences we highlight the political themes that express Indigenous aspirations for equality and allow the voices of history to be heard. I know…I know…I really do. I even hate myself for saying this.  It is not the intent I am criticising, although the expression sometimes lacks substance and feels more like therapy rather than theatre and I am not saying don’t tell your stories- I encourage everyone to tell their story if you can manipulate it into an engaging piece of theatre. What I am saying is that Indigenous writers have overused this form and that it has become passé and predictable. It’s time to play with form.

Right, controversy over, back to the show. ‘Windmill Baby’ is a more sophisticated storytelling theatrical piece because it creates a world in what Milroy calls “conversations and characters past and present, jockeying for a place”. These characters are fully realised in actor Roxanne McDonald’s rich portrayal of Maymay, an old Aboriginal woman returning to her camp which is situated on the old cattle station she once “amassed treasured memories” and then proceeds to bring these characters, relationships, desires and memories to life. Even director Kylie Farmer states “the characters’ connections are luminously woven with a poetic rhythm connecting each story simply and beautifully” and this is realised in Belvoir’s Downstairs production of this play.

What separates this play from others in its form is its ability to craft a throughline in the vignettes connecting the pieces into a well-rounded story and creating dimensions in the world the character Maymay inhabits. All eleven characters have wonderful moments of poignancy through McDonald’s interpretation and skill and her friendly, inclusive style of storytelling to her audience. The play takes us on a journey through hardship using humour, music and direct audience address. I will admit in the first ten minutes the traditional style of “yarning over the campfire” tested my resolve but McDonald won me over with her creation and imagery of the memories of her youthful fight for the heart of stockman Malvern, her shopping trip with Malvern and his reaction to her purchases, her integrity in portrayal of crippled Aboriginal gardener Wunman and his forbidden relationship with the boss’ missus.

It was the final story of Maymay’s promise to Wunman and the crossing of the river that most touched me. McDonald’s powerful physicality and emotional conviction and connection to these characters raised the stakes for me in this deservedly award winning play.

Maymay’s catharsis in sharing with us these bottled up memories provides us with a form of catharsis too. We mourn the losses and air the dirty washing (literally and figuratively) so that we can look to the future and not carry the burden of the past with us anymore.

Designer Ruby Langton-Batty aided in breathing life into Milroy’s work through her wonderful outback abandoned set of the cattle station, worn and eroded and imbued all over with the colours of the Australian desert. For the record, my boots are still stained with the sand. It makes me feel distinctly Australian.

I’m very glad I saw this play, especially as obviously it will be the last Indigenous monologue I’ll be seeing. Kylie Farmer has directed a very moving interpretation of Milroy’s work and all the elements have created a piece of theatre that beautifully manipulates tension and dramatic imagery and can’t help but draw its audience into a world we can believe real and encapsulating past and present.

Belvoir's 'Neighbourhood Watch', directed by Simon Stone & dissected by me

I saw this show with some trepidation. I’d heard very different reports about the production and I will admit I walked into the theatre with low expectations. After all, Belvoir hadn’t yet pulled one out of the bag for me this year in their upstairs theatre and I thought I may be seeing a more polished version of something as thin and superficial as ‘The Business’.

So it was a pleasant surprise that I enjoyed ‘Neighbourhood Watch’.  I was sitting in the second row, which was probably prime position for this quite intimate drama- as friends who were seated up the back did not connect with the play as well as I did. Maybe this is one of those plays where your engagement is affected by where in the theatre you are located.

Chiefly, the play was all about Robyn Nevin. She was superb. Just ask her, she’ll tell you. So it pains me to say that in this show, I would have to agree with her. The play was written for Nevin, literally. Her role as Ana, a lonely, elderly Hungarian immigrant, living in the suburbs of Sydney, who forms a friendship with young Catherine, was so well crafted that if you hadn’t told me it was Nevin, I wouldn’t have known. Her transformation was an impressive display of her skill as an actor.

Kris McQuade also did a wonderful job of bringing minor characters such as Milova, an old neighbour of Ana’s, to life. Her breathless heaving up and down the stairs was comedic, pitiful and engaging. In fact the strongest roles in this play were carried by these seasoned performers. The others were good but didn’t always hit the mark in development and pathos quite like Nevin and McQuade. Charlie Garber was likeable, Stefan Gregory, Helen Mitchell and Ian Meadows fulfilled multiple side characters and Megan Holloway did a good job of playing probably the most flawed main character in the script. More of that later.

Director Simon Stone’s love of the revolving stage actually served him well in this production. The most impressive use of designer Dale Ferguson’s stage was the lovely movement of the tram as it took the audience on a journey through time and location and captured the rhythm and eventual tension of isolation and danger. I was not so enamoured by the carpet engulfing the whole set, perhaps representing the padding, false covering of reality or the grey pallor of suburban life. The metaphor was not completely convincing. But I forgave it as it didn’t distract from the action.

Perhaps the most flawed part of the show was in Lally Katz’s script itself. Don’t get me wrong, the script held its own and was generally very good. But I would say it was one or two drafts from being complete. Whilst I loved the transitions between past and present and its stylistic experimentation between fantasy and reality, the character of Catherine, the representation of Lally Katz herself, was underdeveloped. This is always dangerous ground for writers, trying to craft semi-autobiographical characters into three dimensional personas. Often writers struggle to flesh out detail and objective perspective or complexity on characters that are representational of themselves because we can never really be subjective about ourselves. The character of Catherine felt like she was a vehicle for Ana and therefore her own story didn’t quite have the punch or impact you would want in the final denouement. The writing also seemed to want to avoid the risk of pushing the emotions of the audience in key moments at the end. It’s a risk that if you go for it, it may become trite and melodramatic, but I wish Katz took the risk because the payout, had it worked, would have created this current engaging play into a powerful piece of theatre. I notice that the production had already deviated from the script, as you do when you have the benefit of being able to workshop and perform it with a strong and appropriate team. I could pass judgement on young Eamonn Flack as dramaturg, casting criticism regarding his age and ability to truly work with insight into a predominantly female, immigrant, ageing world. But I’ll just let it sit there and let you decide. A bit more reflection and time will see Katz’s script refined and a terrific Australian play in the works.

Overall I enjoyed this show and I don’t think I was alone.

STC's Edward Gant's Amazing Feats of Loneliness directed by Sarah Goodes & dissected by me

I really wanted to like this show. It had all the promise of a powerfully engaging show. So why did I come out 100 minutes later not giving a toss?

Was it the writing? Unlike Anthony Neilson’s more sophisticated work, ‘The Wonderful World of Dissocia’, this play felt like it wasn’t in control of its subject, style or characters. While it seemed to chug along at times, it struggled to stay on task, like a temperamental teenager who wants to be treated like an adult but behaves like a hormone- riddled man-child. I really don’t know what this play was trying to be. I know it was a mesh of styles and I understand it strove to set up conventions in order to break them but in the end, if the message is blurred and your audience aren’t satisfied, there’s something not working.

Was it the actors? They seemed to be slogging their guts out on this. But it was a bit like watching really accomplished performers, where I can see they have amazing skills but the characters aren’t quite sufficiently built in dimensions or detail. And I find it hard to say that because really, the actors were superb. I do think Paul Bishop was miscast- I think he was too young and pretty to play Edward Gant. A great actor, that’s not in dispute. But I get the sense that Gant needed to be much older in order to highlight the play’s reveal in the end, to showcase the suffering over the years of the character and the tension of his promise and his existence. And perhaps if you don’t get Gant right, it makes it even harder to enter the world of his troupe.

Was it the design? Once again, an outstanding display from new designers ‘Romance Was Born’. The mask, the costumes, the staging were all beautiful interactive pieces in the play. And yet, was this distancing me from capturing the style of this run down body of actors, all trying to redeem their existence in a world they have either been outcast or tried to exit. Did the design detract from the bleakness of the message by being too pretty? Would the play have been better served by reflecting the lives and world of the characters as they try to create meaning in a world that has given them nothing but a chance to belong to this run down, desperate group of storytellers?

Was it the directing? Did Sarah Goodes struggle to find the pathos in the characters? I just don’t know.

Was it the ending that asked us to accept that the action of the play was contrived and now what is happening is real? Did we just find that leap too much to believe? Did the actors not pull it off? Was it just poorly written?

Perhaps all these fine separate pieces just didn’t sit well together and as a result we have a pretty jigsaw that make a series of disconnected images but not a complete picture.

All I know, despite its intention, is that this play did not hit the mark.

'33' by Cathode Ray Tube & dissected by me.

‘33’ is an ensemble piece presented by Cathode Ray Tube, produced by Jocelyn Brewer and currently running at the TAP Gallery in Darlinghurst.
It revolves around the evening of Saskia’s 33^rd birthday & kicks off with the unexpected arrival of her brother, joined eventually by her friends as they settle in to celebrate her birthday before things turn sour.

It’s an intimate six hander piece, although sometimes I felt we were all part of the party, especially the young couple next to me who felt the need to narrate their thoughts and opinions constantly during the show. Maybe it was the excitement of their phones vibrating that kept them tantalised through the events. Or the fact that they had imbibed an extra 30 minutes of alcohol as the show went up late and we were forced to hang out in the bar with Rocky, the ginger tom. And that is not a euphemism.

There were lots of things to like about the show, even if it’s not quite there yet.  The first 20 minutes is particularly engaging as the surprise arrival of Saskia’s brother Josh, (played by co- writer Alistair Powning) sets up a tension straight away. Things start to drift a little as the rest of the guests arrive. There’s Saskia’s (Emily Stewart) friend Maya, (Jessica Donoghue), whose marriage to Tim, (co- writer Michael Booth) has broken down as they head in different directions. Throw in lesbian friend, Lily (Gemma Atkinson), and lothario Lachlan (Ben Dalton) into the mix and you’ve got a recipe for a young person’s guide to social diversity and dramatic foils.

Each character has their moment in the sun, so to speak, although the play gets confused by whose story it is telling and doesn’t always succeed bringing about closure or develop a clear function for each character.

Cathode Ray Tube, formed in early 2009, set out to “be like a rock band, to jam regularly, muck around with material, create stuff and most of all to have fun”. The play certainly has that feel. It emanates a collective and devised vibe. After the success of ‘That Old Chestnut’, ‘33’ has a very similar feel and this is a tight working ensemble. There is a sense of real life and a rapport amongst the collective - they are having fun, are very comfortable on stage together and that makes the audience feel relaxed in this intimate space.

Of course, this doesn’t always work theatrically. Staging is, at times, awkward in the several split scenes going on at once, fighting for the focus of its audience. The character-driven plot gets lost amongst quick unpredictable transitions and character intent is not always clear. Sometimes the whining of the characters feels much younger than I would expect from people who are 33 and if not for the device of Saskia’s 33^rd birthday party, I would have felt I was watching characters much younger. Lines like “I will always hold you in my heart but can no longer hold you in my arms” may have cemented that impression. Or maybe that’s my middle-aged-self speaking…

I think the piece’s greatest weakness lies in the fact that there is no director. Actors beware. As good as you are, do not underestimate the power of an appropriate and skilled director, (unless, of course, that director is Benedict Andrews and then ‘33’ would have been set in a Gulag in 1940, complete with firing squad, a coal mine and a flying fox). A director would have ironed out some of the devised indulgences of the staging and asked some of the big character questions like why Josh has run away from commitment now and why did he break contact with his sister, why no-one made poor Saskia lunch when she was a little girl, why Lily doesn’t seem overly concerned by the fact that her partner broke up with her that night, why Tim doesn’t want a baby, why Josh is so angry by the prospect of Saskia and Lachlan’s flirtation and why Saskia doesn’t come to Maya’s rescue in covering up her infidelities.

Having said that, there were some funny moments and some of the acting was strong and engaging. Full credit to Jessica Donoghue for going on even though she was ill- the reason for the show going up late I am told. None of that came through in her performance. There is also a naturalness in delivery, an organic communion between characters that the actors demonstrate in moments on stage and it was clear that the audience felt they were getting value for money. There are great moments of truth in there, coupled with times of missing the mark.

Overall, the play felt like a long form improvisation. There was a lovely sense of spontaneity but moments of lost artistic control. Like a choir without a musical director, there were great voices but no-one to tie it together and manipulate or conduct focus, intent, action and staging. Some of their internal conflict didn’t seem to be enough to push them over the edge. It would not be hard to achieve –it just needs more workshopping with a director. I would love to see this play again once they have a director’s vision and skill in place and have a chance to review the dramatic function and objectives of the characters.

Whilst they haven’t managed to tie all the threads together, they are on to something worthwhile and I hope they pursue drafting and controlling this piece. It has all the makings of a good piece of theatre.

'Terminus', written & directed by O'Rowe and dissected by me.

I had heard mixed reports about Dublin’s Abbey Theatre’s show ‘Terminus’. Some people had chucked in their tickets, not bothering to go after they’d heard it was an indulgent & static application of verse. Others raved about the power of storytelling. As much as it may distress you (hit unsubscribe now if this is you), I am closer to the latter than I am the former.

So before I get stuck in to what made it work for me, I feel compelled to stand on my soap box and ask when Australia and the Arts are going to invest in developing our writers? What Ireland seems to do so well is recognise that developing a National voice through their writers, of all ages, is the spine of good theatre. Let’s start with a story worth telling and a voice worth hearing before we start dressing the stage with everything else. Australian mainstream theatre produces less than 30% of local works as opposed to 70% in most other countries. And throwing Australian works into a theatre without significant script development and workshop opportunities can be as dangerous as swimming with sharks. Those writers who understand the importance of developing their work in collaboration with actors, designers, directors and a dramaturge have the opportunity to extend some wonderful ideas and drafts into the most fluid and powerful pieces of theatre. Take Andrew Bovell’s  ‘When The Rain Stops Falling’ as one of the most obvious examples of this process at its best. So it is no wonder that there is a scarcity of Australian works that are even harder to sell to an audience when they do come along, because they have been left to foster their own talent and call in every favour to try to develop their work in some independent theatre in what still feels like a draft form. It’s about time the Government & Arts got more substantially behind our theatre writers of all ages and not leave them in a vacuum to find their voice- and those lucky few who get some assistance are still in need of further opportunities to fine tune their work.  Theatre is one of the most powerful tools to capture what is happening in society at any given time. Theatre should contribute to the spiritual life of a nation. What a pity most of the voices we hear come from somewhere else and we don’t think our own are worth hearing or developing.

Mark O’Rowe’s ‘Terminus’ is a beautiful weave of three voices who share their stories of one fateful night in Dublin and how their lives interconnect during the course of the recounting of those events. O’Rowe, writer & director states “The monologue can express isolation like no other form” and what is captured with great skill in the performance of these monologues is the disconnection of the characters from those around them and from their own desires and emotions. I must admit, the staging of the play in its simplicity is an easy critical target for an audience. Actors stand and expressively tell their story and apart from a short overlap, sit down on the stage until their story recommences. All of this is framed with the shards of a mirror, the cracked lives of those whose stories unfold before us and the dim lighting comes from a concentrated spot that only seeps between characters in the tiny moments of isolated dialogue and at the end when all stories connect. It is reminiscent of the stylings of Grotowski’s Poor Theatre, where the actor’s entire body is utilised in telling the story without the need of anything else on stage. We are used to the theatricality of the neon lights and gold tinsel to sell action. But ‘Terminus’, although expressed in the form of three parallel monologues, evokes such a picture of action that I can visualise the locations, characters referred to, actions, emotions and relationships. I saw the violence, the rescue, the chase,  the twisting of intestines hanging from the crane- each moment delivered to us with such imagery and passion. And not only did I see it, I felt it.

There is a deceptive simplicity to the presentation that Sydney audiences rarely expect but make no mistake, there is some terrific acting happening here. There was tremendous skill in being able to communicate the language of the text and embody the lives of the characters. I will admit, the rhythm of the verse was a little alienating at first but once the first beat of monologues finished, the actors and I seemed to have struck some communion and I was right there with them. And here’s the rub….I cared about what happened to each and every one of them. We want them to be victorious- even the most repulsive of characters. We want them to have their moment of redemption. Now how’s that for clever writing and performance- you made me care about your characters and not a glass box in sight.

Every nuance of the character came alive to me in this controlled and engaging delivery of storytelling. As Mamet would say “All that is under control is your intention” and Mamet created his system of Practical Aesthetics as a way of working with the actors that fit the needs of the writer. So it is not surprising, given the director, Mark O’Rowe,  was also the playwright of ‘Terminus’, that he has employed, even unknowingly, some of Mamet’s ideals. Acting is about what the characters do. This does not mean they have to ‘do’ them on stage. I see their actions in their descriptions, manipulated through their expression and attitude towards those events. The actions, presented through the craft of the actor’s body and voice, are deciphered from the script. I think that’s why I was so surprised by one gentleman’s question in the post-show Q&A when he asked why he had spent all this money to see what he felt was a radio play. Oh dear. Where do I start? Is this what we have trained Sydney audiences to think? Do we rely on & expect elaborate design, aimless intentions and trickery posing as substance before we can call it theatre? What happened to the beauty of the story and the skill of the actor in expressing it without needing a barrel of monkeys, a crate of bananas and a well-placed duck? Well put your cardigan back on, adjust your man bag and quietly leave before you make a fool of yourself.

Look, I’m all for a big design, a jumble of symbols and a brass razoo if it enhances the work, but honestly, it would have been completely out of place here. It’s as redundant as the fat clinging to my thighs. I know we’ve been treated to so much good theatre to come out of Ireland over the last decade. The work of McDonagh has probably got the most attention in the mainstream sphere and perhaps audiences are under the mistaken idea that all Irish plays involve a frantic action sequence involving sadistic torture, a mallet through the head, a few missing digits or a dead cat. The work of Conor McPherson is probably a closer relative to O’Rowe’s play in its favouring of the solo story amongst its audience of characters.

All I ask is that you put your predilection for elaborate action and staging aside and just enjoy the beauty of acting and storytelling in this form.

Belvoir's 'The Seagull', written by Chekhov, butchered by Benedict Andrews & dissected by me.

When director Benedict Andrews spoke to the audience before the show to apologise going up 10 minutes late, he should have kept the apologies coming in for what was a travesty of a tragedy. But what is obvious is that Benedict Andrews doesn’t care about his audience- or the play for that matter- because if he did, I can’t imagine he would have presented such a self-indulgent butchering of Chekhov’s work. 

I blame ‘War of the Roses’, where the raining glitter and ash, the static performances, spitting blood, flour, sweat and 8 hours of what turned out to be therapy-inducing theatre was so lauded by the critics, Andrews fell under the spell of theatre’s greatest  wank. And I firmly believe he thinks he is cutting edge, he is reinventing the theatre, he is breathing life into the classics (like he successfully did with ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf’)  and those who don’t agree are fossils, poor sad souls trapped in theatre’s past and unable to journey into this new generational funky wave. Dismiss the haters as ignorant traditionalists. It’s ironic, given what ‘The Seagull’ is about, that he feels he is poking fun at us. I’d like to think he is poking fun at himself in there somewhere but I think Andrews spends too much time in his own head. I recommend a holiday, Mr Andrews. Get some sun, a few drinks and a dose of the real world.

Segue way into Belvoir. What are you doing?? I’ll forgive you for the appropriation of Ibsen’s ‘The Wild Duck’, even if I thought the glass house was a bit much and the re-writing a bit thin because I think you managed to make it work for the most part. I haven’t yet forgiven you for ‘The Business’, where we all learnt that an 80’s soundtrack and retro costumes do not a play make. But this? Where do I start? Is this the result of putting a young man in the artistic director’s chair who is caught up in trying to be clever and naively putting a season together with people who think exactly the same as him and market for an audience exactly the same as him? Where are the voices of contrast? Maybe you should direct your audiences to what you’re doing Downstairs, which is much more interesting, than subject them to what you are doing on the main stage. I’m giving notice now that if you turn ‘Summer of the 17^th Doll’ into a play set in a modern cafe in Marrickville, I’m outta there.

I saw this production in the second preview night so maybe it’ll pick up over the season, although reports back from friends who are either leaving at interval or bemoaning the waste of 3 hours may suggest otherwise. The first thing that strikes you is Myers’ set- what can only be described as a trailer park in rural coastal Australia. So let’s address that for a moment. By all means, reinvent the classics, transpose them into a contemporary world, be bold. However, if as a result of this you lose the play, what are you presenting? If you are desperately trying to fit your round piece into a square hole, you’ve lost perspective. Don’t significantly mess with the play if you can’t make it more relevant or a better version of itself. And don’t sell this as ‘The Seagull’. You may as well market this as ‘3 hours of Andrews & Co wanking over Chekhov’. What a waste of a good cast but more of that later.

I should have trusted my instincts after watching the opening scene of Masha engaging in a bucket bong. I missed another opportunity to run out and reclaim my night once they unveiled yet another glass box to represent the theatre (come on Belvoir & Andrews- find a new metaphor), or the neon lights declaring  REAL LIFE- when the lights were working. There is some attempt to make this a theatrical device of the pretention of theatre but that only made it more confusing when Andrews actually uses it to remind us in the second half that we are now watching real life. Oh...and let’s not forget the raining black ash to represent the dark winter and dashed dreams? If you’re going to remove the essence of the play and fill it with symbols, and let’s face it, it wouldn’t be a Benedict Andrews play without it, can we at least employ something new?  But even with all that, Andrews’ complete contempt of the audience by staging almost the entirety of the second half inside the trailer, behind the glass doors, reminding us, I suppose, that we all return to the mundane world of reality after the show, was enough to make me wish I was at home cleaning the mould in the kitchen cupboards.

I was confused by the keeping of the names and the references to returning to Moscow if we’re now in Jindabyne.  This was perhaps best highlighted by the choice to present Ilya Shamrayev, played by Terry Serio, as a brutish, esky carrying, Australian stereotype. And I was not alone in my confusion. At interval you could hear a multitude of voices asking their companions to explain what this play was about and I’m not sure that the second half clarified any of that for us. I know Chekhov treads such a fine line between comedy and tragedy. In fact most Russian playwrights walk this road and it’s a brilliant reflection of a harsh landscape, life and culture and times of great upheaval and revolution. Andrews’ play probably does a better job exploring the comedy rather than the tragedy but the production is all over the place. This production is monochrome in its message. Whilst it attempts to hammer home the idea of enduring real life, it has garbled every other complexity of the play and washed it away, sacrificed them to make sure that we all got the idea that real life is hard and boring. I don’t need to go to the theatre for 3 hours to learn that one message, thank you very much. Please refer to the comment on my kitchen mould as evidence of my understanding.

Andrews has  cast such a wonderful assembly of some of Australia’s finest- Judy Davis, David Wenham, Billie Brown, Anita Hegh, Terry Serio, John Gaden (although on a personal note, if I see John Gaden in one more show I may poke my eyes out with a blunt stick. Aren’t there any other distinguished older actors apart from Gaden and Peter Carroll that could get a look in?) He has also employed a generally fine young ensemble of actors. Yep. Cast them all and then completely pissed them up the wall on this heartbreaking misinterpretation of what should have been the highlight of the Belvoir season. They did their best to try to make this work but to no avail. I can only imagine how bad it would have been without them. Terrifying.

I wish I could have come out raving about art vs life or about the parallels of Russia in 1901 and Australia in 2011. Instead my hope is that Belvoir stops sending me letters to donate money or bequeath them in my will because I’m feeling my internal organs atrophy as every second of these productions tick by. If you keep producing work like this, I can’t see myself subscribing ever again. Get your hands off it, get someone in to tell you some cold hard truth and start respecting your audience.   Andrews says in the program “In Ralph’s first year as Artistic Director, I wanted us to reflect on the task and craft the impetus of theatre-making. What is at stake in the experience?” The answer is simple: your audience.

If you insist on seeing it- and as the season sold out before opening, I’m imagining many of you will-start drinking early and hope for the best. I strongly advise that this will not be a show you will want to sit through once, let alone twice. And if you’d like to skip the whole thing and come over and clean my kitchen cupboards, I could give you the entire Seagull experience in much less time and much cheaper.

It’s your call.

Commenting and Editing Go Astray

So can't seem to edit or leave comments on my own blog. Shits me no end.

Anyway, have to post to firstly say, sorry for the apostrophe misuse in last post but it won't let me go back in to edit. Note to self- do not post at midnight and learn how to troubleshoot whatever the issues are on my computer or program.

Normal service now resumed...