Interesting diversion last night en route to Scarborough. Some dreadful crash on the A165 forced us to double back and head through a village called Muston. We were confronted by dozens of scarecrows. It was, surprise surprise, the village scarecrow festival. Very weird. The villagers that weren't scarecrows looked unhinghed.
And it was all better, in many ways, than Time & Time Again. There was a hint of menace in Muston. In Scarborough, the audience are getting so old that half of them appear to be dead. Maybe I spend too much time watching silver-haired audiences these days, getting annoyed at their "I'm so clever I get it" chuckles, their penchant for unwrapping sweets for the duration of the play, the bald heads of the critic and his rake-thin sidekick in front of me. There were some good pauses - I'm starting to prefer pauses over dialogue. The SJT is 50 years old (younger, then, than the people that frequent it) and, while it's fascinating to see pictures charting the decades on the corridors leading into the auditorium, I do wonder about all this glancing backwards. I'm not big on revivals.
Meanwhile, here in the office, we usually get a fire alarm test on a Wednesday - usually just at the same time that we're straining to hear someone on the worst line in telecoms history. But not today, oh no. "Please note there will be no fire alarm test this morning. If the alarm does sound this will NOT be a test." Get me out of here.
Listening: Embrace - Hey, What You Trying To Say?
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