On Being a Heathen at Heart...

A theatrical tour de force. A coup de theatre for the more pretentious amongst us. "Pretentious?" you ask.  "Qui moi?" Yes, I am a fully paid up member. So a few weeks ago Dearest, son and I set off for The Hampstead Theatre which was for me, a first visit. A really delightful theatre, and one which I have shamefully ignored for too long.
It was a new play, Wild by Michael Bartlett. We were particularly interested in seeing it as we had very much enjoyed his King Charles III which we'd seen in the West End last year. This also was topical. A whistleblower, bearing more than a passing resemblance to Edward Snowden, has been taken to a place of safety. It was WikiLeaks meets Godot in a hotel room in Russia. A game of words until the final jaw-dropping scene. We marvelled, but were not fully convinced by the whole experience.

Yesterday afternoon, we took our grandchildren and our daughter to a matinee performance of Aladdin. It was joyous on every level.  The closest I've ever come to seeing a glitzy old-fashioned Hollywood musical. It could not have been sparklier, more colourful, more lavish...
I love words, and indeed the book was very witty.  But I have such a weakness for the razzle-dazzle... with costumes that make me want to dig out my harem pants tout suite; in fact, the tooter the sweeter. Just need to work on a Koh-i-Noor to jam in the belly button and I'll be auditioning for this show.