C.A.D.S. Market Theatre, Cowbridge

The Benefactors

2011-03-16T11:20:00.002Z

Pity About the Beard

2011-02-12T17:04:00.002Z

Moulin Du Clout Snowbound

2011-02-08T19:23:00.000Z

I Don't Know Where That Came From!

2011-02-03T10:27:00.002Z

Barbara and Jeff have a coffee before the rehearsal . . .

A Benefactors Rehearsal

2011-01-29T11:13:00.001Z

Peter and Rosalie have a chat about how the rehearsals are going. It is not raining but it is very cold as the heating is broken . . .

DO CROCODILES EAT CHICKENS?

2010-04-02T17:54:00.001+01:00

I find the past seven days have been rather dramatic. Indeed, exceedingly dramatic embracing as they have one play acted in, one play attended and another play written. All of which, I can’t help feeling, must be something of a record - even for an amateur of the theatre like myself.

Suitably clad in scarlet I was bidden to play a dying Cardinal Wolsey in ‘A Man For All Seasons’ - grunting my way peremptorily through an argument with Sir Thomas More. What the argument was about you only need to read Hilary Mantel’s excellent book ‘Wolf Hall’ to discover. Her treatment is rather more enlightening than Robert Bolt’s play even if she does play a game called ‘guess which character my pronouns are now referring to.’ If you pick up the book - and it is the bestseller of the moment - you will know what I mean.

That play ended its run on Saturday with our traditional relaxed cheese and paté supper for the actors and punters alike in the theatre bar. Another production put to bed signals that it is time to think about the next one. Which is where the play written comes in, or rather finished. Except, strictly speaking, it’s more of an adaptation than a play.

Our little rural town is twinned with a similar little rural town in France and our franco- and anglophile families have been shuttling back and forth annually for over twenty years now. I even had the honour to be at one time Vice-Chair of this group and charged with extracting generous subsidies from the European Commission for these cultural and sporting, boozy and gastronomic exchanges.

Recently I found that at one of these suppers in the past - buoyed no doubt by the shabby high of applause and performance - I had made the mistake of suggesting that our little theatre could stage a show for the French visitors. And then two months ago I found myself bounced into doing just that: producing a show of not more than an hour that would be equally comprehensible to someone speaking English only, or French only and that would be sufficiently entertaining to keep our travel-weary and sleep-deprived visitors awake after an alcoholic dinner.

“I’ll adapt the tale of ‘The Little Prince," I said. Which suggestion generally found favour.

Now 'The Little Prince,' or in French ‘Le Petit Prince,’ is a book that French children learn and love from an early age. It is one of those books in which an adult takes a look at the world through a child’s eyes and this makes it both appealing to children and adults. It is unique. A pilot crashes in the desert and he meets a little fellow from a distant star who asks him to make a drawing of sheep. The French government even put its author, his aeroplane and the Little Prince himself on the old 50 franc banknote.

The author - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry - lived and died a pilot. When he wasn’t flying, he wrote. He helped to establish airmail services to Africa and later flew reconnaissance missions with the French Air Force. His book ‘Pilote de Guerre’ - (rendered for some reason ‘Flight to Arras’ in English) is one of the greatest novels to express the futility of war. Except it’s not really a novel. He is flying his plane, the mission is absurd, there's a two to one chance he won't get back safely, and yet he is detached, impersonal, dreaming of what is going on around him, the number of switches in his cockpit.

Maybe he was dreaming again on the 31 July 1944 when his aeroplane disappeared into the sea off the coast of Marseille. Who knows what book might then have been in his head? A few years ago both the wreck of his plane and his identity bracelet were found - but, despite various claims, how he met his end will never be known.

Luckily for us between the fall of France in 1940 and his return to active service with the Free French Forces, Saint-Exupéry sought sanctuary in New York and wrote both ‘Pilote de Guerre’ and ‘Le Petit Prince’ on the safer shores of Long Island.

So what is the story about? Le Petit Prince imagines other planets, or rather asteroids, populated not by people but rather each by a single person - so as we follow the Little Prince on a journey across the heavens we meet strange but eternal characters: the businessman, the drunkard, the follower of orders. We encounter love and emotion, pride and folly, longing and intelligence, a fox that wants to be tamed and a flower, cold and haughty.

It is no wonder that French people take this book - and its author - to their hearts. So it is with no little trepidation that I try to adapt it for our show. Adaptations have been made before, of course. There is even a DVD. You can do much on film. But these just tell the story of book and for me they miss the magic.

My adaptation may miss the magic too, but I hope that amid the necessary comedy something of a child's sense of wonder at the universe remains. I have had to change much, condense much. Owing to the limitations of our theatre wardrobe I have had to change the fox who eats chickens into a crocodile. Do crocodiles eat chickens? I have changed the ending too. But in a short piece that has simultaneously to stumble between two languages without boring its audience it has been impossible to include very much of the Little Prince’s philosophy.

Still I have enjoyed writing it and felt at times almost as though the Little Prince himself was sitting on my shoulder, so I hope that Saint-Exupéry will not be turning with irritation in his watery grave at my presumption. He is, I am sure, a reasonable mentor and will only expect what he knows I can fulfil.

Perhaps it was the Little Prince who directed me to seek tickets for Chekhov’s ‘The Cherry Orchard’ at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. This was the play watched. Just to remind me what a good play should be like, perhaps. And a good production too, for a play is just paper without talent to shake it from the page and bring it howling into life. This production was quite superb: a credit to all concerned. If we are a quarter as good with our production of 'The Little Prince' that will be a miracle.

A CHORUS LINE

2010-03-11T11:06:00.008Z

Last Sunday morning I was awoken by a long-standing member of the Society. There was a problem. He needed to find temporary accomodation for some CADS paraphanalia. Knowing that I had already given a good home to some costumes that there was no room for in the Dressing Room, he had ...' just been wondering whether there might be room in your wardrobe for three more and a small box of goodies which would include things you are going to need for 'A Man For All Seasons', I can bring them round....you won't have to collect them from the Theatre.' ' Well ok' I replied, pulling myself up into a sitting position, 'when did you reckon to bring the stuff round?' ' Any time it's convenient' came the prompt response, ' how about in the next five minutes? The stuff is already in the car.'

I just about made it to the front door as he pulled up. The car looked very full, I could see fabric piled to the roof. 'Big costumes,' I thought. When the back door of the car was opened, all became clear, the three dresses were on tailors dummies. One by one they were brought into the hall, my friend was the perfect gentleman,although awkward to carry, he made sure that the skirts remained around the base of the stands and apologised to the dummies for the indignities that were suffering. I am delighted to report that all proprieties were observed. At no time did any of the ladies reveal their bloomers,even inadvertantly.

As he drove off I realised that there would be no room for the 'ladies' in the wardrobe, indeed it would have been almost rude to shut them in there. I could take the dresses off the dummies and put them in the wardrobe, but then I would be left with the three naked stands to house. What to do? 'There are more questions than answers'. So I carried them, fully clothed, upstairs and put them in my office while I tried to think of somewhere else for them to live. It had been a little awkward getting them round the bend on the stairs, like their owner I found myself apologising when I bumped the stump where their heads should be on the bannisters. They would definitely be living on the first floor for the duration of their stay.

Some five days later I am convinced that my office is where they are going to remain until they go home. When I turn to my left, there they are stand, looking for all the world like the back row from a Broadway musical. I am as bad as their owner, when I walk in I find myself saying 'Morning girls, how are we today?'

Suggestions on the blog please.

Hamlet - 45 minutes (like WMD's)

2010-02-10T10:46:00.002Z

The AGM, which lasted less than 45 minutes, was followed by PSLB's 45 minute long version of Shakespeare's Hamlet. The play, with a cast of 14, overran a bit! It lasted 1½ hours. However, much fun was had by cast and both members of the audience seemed to enjoy it.

Brenda took some stunning photographs during the performance but, as a result of a serious error on her part, Brenda failed to capture an image of the Ghost. It must be said that ghosts are known to be difficult to capture on film or even digitally - it's all to do with their ethereality.

The Ghost was less ethereal when it came to downing milled wine and mince pies.

Towards the end of the evening, most people had forgotton all about the AGM so it had to be held again (not true!)

HAMLET - The Comedy

2010-01-30T11:14:00.014Z

This event was planned an as entertainment for our drama group's A.G.M. It is always difficult to get members to attend the A.G.M. - perhaps they are afraid they will get voted onto the Committee against their will - a distinct possibility!

It was Peter's idea and he was the director. The piece was re-written to last forty-five minutes - cutting out the long speeches but the one rehearsal we had lasted two and a half riotous hours.
No one had to learn any lines as it was a 'scratch' effort and read from the script.

My job was to provide bits and pieces of costume and to make the mulled wine for the interval.

As we had about twenty people (including the cast and crew) attend the idea was regarded as a great success and the evening was just as funny as the rehearsal but was condensed into one and a quarter hours. Well done Peter - a great idea. Next year - the Scottish play! I want to play Lady MacBeth.

Here are the pictures - in no particular order - the last two being small videos so turn up your sound:

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

2009-12-29T17:23:00.003Z

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Well, not long ago actually. As Winnie the Pooh might have said - about last Tuesday - but the rest of the quotation is true enough. And if the wind outside the theatre wasn’t actually moaning at the time then there were plenty in the second and third rows of the audience to make up for it. ‘Moan!’ cried the Gentleman in the top hat and riding boots, and they moaned to chill even the thickest blood.

Rain or Shine Theatre - a company reputed for its happy and burlesque productions of the classics of English theatre in the fragrant softness of the British summer - had decided, ‘times being what they are,’ to attempt a winter and indoor tour. And what better classic to start what may be a run of such tours than ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Charles Dickens, the second best, or so the top-hatted gentleman said, Christmas story ever told.

And what better time and place to end such a tour than ‘The Market Theatre’ in Cowbridge, just before Christmas. Weather permitting that was.

The problem with the weather is that it always over acts. Never do you watch a film and see drizzle. It always rains stair rods, however inappropriate or inconvenient this may be. So the weather chose to join us for the final night with an array of snow, ice and plummeting temperatures. ‘Bah Humbug!’ it probably said, ‘to the prospect of theatrical productions!’

Indeed the punters who had booked the theatre the previous night had cried off en bloc, whispering down the telephone windy noises about the roads being ‘treacherous’ and the lanes ‘lethal.’ And this was before they set eyes on the car park!

So would we have an audience? We weren’t entirely sure that we were even going to have players. The radio had announced closures of both Severn Bridges during the day and we knew that the Rain or Shine Theatre Company hailed from snowy Gloucester on the other side of them.

But of course the show must go on. In the event both actors and audience (well, most of them) made it to the theatre, some even from as far afield as Yorkshire, thereby incurring financial and geographical inconvenience to add to the meteorological inconvenience that was our lot this Christmas-tide.

The players arrived in a Tardis-like van, crunching across the ice, and only slightly behind their time. But soon they were bustling: lights were hung, curtains draped, a set erected, furniture placed.

Gradually, drawn by promises of mulled wine and mince pies, the audience joined them. drifting out of the Dickensian weather and towards the Dickensian show. Both show and audience readied itself. The Gentleman in top hat and riding boots (born 1840, still going strong) strode about issuing instructions. A Cranford bonneted lady in bombazine black moved among the expectant throng selling programmes.

Eventually we were ready. The Cranford bonnet (Jane Lloyd) disappeared. An expectant hush began to descend. The last boozers struggled out of the bar and into their seats. The top-hatted figure whispered a mysterious message about disappearing and reappearing which ended obliquely: ‘when you see me the second time douse the lights!’ He then disappeared. Brows furrowed in a tangle of perplexity.

But all was well. The top-hatted gentleman, (James Reynard) effected his second coming; our lights went down, their lights came up and the magic of theatre began.

Well, sort of! You see there are many bricks to make and little straw. In the case of Christmas Carol there is not only the wind to make moan, but festive merriment to arrange, there are chains to rattle and ghostly wailing to effect, above all there is a clock that has to chime as an old Dickensian clock that has seen much wear is wont to chime - irregularly! More than this, members of the audience needed to speak at critical stages. Oh yes, we the audience were not just passive spectators: we were, or so it seemed, half the show! An equity card in every programme!

But, once briefed (and suitably mulled wined), we were away like an express ghost train, clanking chains, wailing furiously, festive merriment and all. Was there no stopping us?

Bah Humbug! Craig Roger’s Scrooge managed to look both mean and fierce, instantly recognisable as the man who knows the value of nothing but the price of everything. He soon put a stop to our mirth as he terrorised poor little Bob Cratchit, (Tom Jordan) shivering in his fingerless-glove corner.

One characteristic of Rain and Shine performances however is that no actor remains playing a single character for very long. Miniscule Bob became a towering whitened spirit. Indeed, one might say that never in the field of comic theatre have so many parts been played by so few actors. Flimsy barriers of age and gender are swept aside with just passing assistance from a wig, costume or hat.

Queen of this genre is Pippa Meekings who moves effortlessly between Fred, Scrooge’s nephew and every bit the young about town gentleman to the homely poor Mrs Cratchit all bosomy and flowing locks as she serves up a tennis ball sized Christmas Pudding to feed all the Cratchits including the waving Tiny Tim. Even the top hatted gentleman donned wigs and shawls to become this or that.

With the exception of the anchoring Scrooge himself, all the actors floated between characters and spirits to tell their tale. And it is an important tale. Not just about how Scrooge is redeemed. But of how people are reduced by unnecessary ignorance and undeserving want. How at Christmas there is the opportunity to see a bigger picture. Thus when Jane Lloyd, in one of her many guises as the Cranford bonneted charity collector to whom Scrooge finally yields a mountain of ‘back payments,’ rattles her tin, she rattles it at all of us.

Three curtain calls and the folk troop happily homewards into the night, well pleased with this slick, witty, inventive and superbly costumed show. We may know the tale, but there is much pleasure in a new and fizzingly acted telling. There is also much satisfaction in seeing so much delivered from a set that appears to be so insubstantial yet from which the mighty ghost of Christmas yet to come rose majestically towards the roof. ‘How on earth did they do that? The departing audience wondered as, arm in arm, they struggled out across the icy waste.

Photo shows Jane Lloyd as Jacob Marley and Craig Rogers as Scrooge

NEW YORK! NEW YORK! A contemplative bite from the Big Apple

2009-11-19T17:23:00.008Z

Last Tuesday I went to a performance of 'The Horrible Histories, Woeful WWII' at the New Theatre with number one daughter and two grandchildren. For those who have never seen a performance by this group, it really is great stuff , combining live action with 3D film. I was moved more than I have ever been before by live theatre.

In short the play concerns two children in Coventry in November 1940 and culminates on the night of November 14/15. Every member of the audience, over a certain age, knew where we were going. The children in the audience, normally very noisy, were deafened by the sound of bombing and the accompanying 3D pictures of an air-raid. They sat silent and still as the young girl, distraught at the thought that her mother was lying dead in their bombed-out home, screamed 'I hate you,Mr Hitler' in front of a backdrop of the ruins of Coventry Cathedral. The play closed with the cast quoting Winston Churchill. For me, it was much too close to home, that very event had affected my closest family.

Driving home swallowing lumps, I was reminded of the previous Friday morning when Upstager and I, on our brilliant trip to New York, visited Ground Zero. The area was hushed and sad, despite the work in progress on the building. The new structure, rising from the hole in the ground, will be, significantly, 1776 feet high, the guide on the tour bus had told us proudly. Significant? Work it out for yourself.

The pain was palpable, from the airport type security we encountered boarding the ferry to visit the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island to the elderly lady we spoke to in Central Park. She, having elicited that we were British, had earnestly assured us that they would always help us (Brits) as we were their friends, she wanted to be sure, worryingly, that we were not German. Her total sincerity and the hatred in her tone when speaking of the Teutonic race were alarming. 'His Blood be on us and our children'? Walking back to our hotel, Upstager and I had wondered what had happened in the past to the lady or her family. Interestingly, the following day was November 11, Veterans Day, and there were many old soldiers in town for the march. Whilst breakfasting in the diner I was aware of the number of elderly gentlemen soberly suited preparing to parade.

Just like the girl on Tuesday evening, the defiance was there to be seen. A large globe, once in front of the Two Towers, found damaged, but still recognisable, has been sited temporarily, in pole position, in Battery Park and and will be replaced where it belongs when building work has finished. An eternal flame burns in front of it and wreaths had been placed at the base. A piece of mangled, rusted girder, in the shape of a cross will also take its rightful place on the new site.

'Call this place Ground Zero, if you will,' our guide had said two days earlier, 'but never call it 9/11.' Even the southbound subway proclaimed the destination to be 'World Trade Center'. Travelling back to Newark a couple of hours later we were silent for the first time during the trip, both pondering on what we had seen. Leaving the theatre on Tuesday the effect was the same, even the children had walked out quietly.

New York! New York!

2009-11-16T15:54:00.000Z

Peg and Ber talk about their recent visit to New York

Having a good fan base

2009-11-15T16:38:00.002Z

Good afternoon fellow theatre-lovers, and a note here for those who enjoy cinematographic interpretations of our favoured classics.
The British Film Institute are currently making several films available each month, restored, re-mastered, etc, and in January of this year they were good enough to release "The Fan", Otto Preminger's 1949 film version of Lady Windermere's Fan.
This can be purchased on-line from Amazon, or from an old-fashioned shop, for as little as £3.00, AND, and there is more, AND, the DVD contains a silent version from 1916.
A silent version? Of a play in which the words play (and wordplay are) such a large part of one's enjoyment?
Good value.

CONFESSIONS OF A COMPUTER MUPPET

2009-09-30T17:10:00.004+01:00

As any of my family would tell you, I am a dummy when having to perform any function on-line. About ten days ago I happened to meet Upstager outside Davies, the newsagent, and I was bemoaning the fact that I was not going to Italy for a short break as daughter number three was having to move out of her apartment within a couple of days. She (daughter number three) was not, as you can imagine, the happiest bunny in the warren.Upstager and I discussed the situation and, to cut a long story short, decided that a trip to the Big Apple was in order.

Having booked on Monday, it came to our combined attention that, as of January this year, the visa requirement was to be accomplished on-line. My heart dropped, all visas in the past have been done on paper. It dropped right into my boots when I discovered this morning that Upstager had already made her application and it had been approved. I finally found the address in the smallest font I have ever seen,that's another bone of contention that will be dealt with on another occasion.

The form proved easy to complete, except that we both entered a different departure airport and I have a sneaking impression that I have put in the wrong departure date. Next to all the little boxes were a series of questions, some quite alarming, like the ones on the Blood Donor form.For instance, 'Was I planning a crime? 'Had I been involved in the Holocaust?' The best, however, was one about moral turpitude (or should it be Moral Turpitude?) Should I know this person? Is he travelling with us? If so, should I ask to sit next to him on the flight? More importantly, if 'there's a lot of it about' as the good Drs of old would say, who had my share? It sounds like fun to me.

I pressed the 'No' button for all the questions, but I am still concerned that I have missed out somewhere. I shall have to consult my fellow-traveller.

Solda and Aerial wish Fennie a Happy UnBirthday

2009-09-28T12:17:00.003+01:00

Fennie wanted a robot birthday card. His birthday was in May and as it is a long time to wait I have done him an Unbirthday card.

Guardianista and Misandrist

2009-08-03T23:14:00.001+01:00

Cowbridge High Street, Monday morning. Lloyd and Fennie meet. Lloyd is dressed normally.

FOR LADY READ MAN

2009-08-03T15:50:00.009+01:00

About six weeks ago daughter number three phoned to ask what operas were being performed at the Arena in Verona during my visit. As she would have realised, I had pulled the programme off the web the day I had booked my flight. We were both amazed to read that there was to be a gala performance on the Friday night of my visit by Placido Domingo. Lucie went away declaring that she would get some tickets as it would mean 'posh frocks' would be the order of the day. I had tried to interject, to no avail, that the tickets had been on sale for quite some time and therefore, it was probably sold out. Imagine my surprise when she phoned back about a week later to say that she had obtained tickets, not the 'Gradinata Numerata' that we usually grace, but tickets, nonetheless.

Even if one is sitting on the stone steps, which we were, daughter number three's preferred dress code applied, posh frock, dangly earrings, lippy and the ultimate, diamante flip-flops. In the poshest seats, 'Poltronissime', the dress-code still applies, with the addition of a Gucci handbag, but for the men.In Lucie's case the flip-flops (green) matched her pashmina, so I can confidently report that standards were maintained. The time passed quickly as we watched the 'outfits' take their seats.Many we had already seen on our way to the amphitheatre, sitting noshing their panini and pizzas at tables at the restaurants around the main piazza.

Packing my bag to go, I put my binoculars in the rucksack. I thought that I would like to get a good look at the great man when he turned up on stage, which he did in all three extracts performed that night. First as Otello, throttling the life out of Desdemona, then as Cyrano de Bergerac, we think, dying at the feet of Roxanne, but, as no synopses were in evidence, we were left to make up our own minds as to the end. Finally he arrived as Don Jose, stabbing to death a recalcitrant Carmen, who had, thoughtfully, worn a red dress for the occasion. Each extract was 'atto quarto' so we were guaranteed that some character would fall, or get pushed, off their perch by the time the conductor walked off for his interval 'g and t'. It was interesting in the Bizet that whilst the chorus sang in Italian, the great man stuck to French.

My binoculars proved a godsend when, five minutes before the start, the gong arrived. I was surprised when a man walked on bearing the legendary instrument.Before the binoculars came out, I thought that a penguin had arrived carrying a large saucepan lid nicked from his mum. It turned out to be a little bloke in white tie and tails, banging the gong once, twice, then three times during three visits before each piece. He then bowed solemnly to the audience before proceeding , in a stately manner, to the side.His restraint was fabulous, not the slightest attempt to 'build up' his part and not even a flicker of recognition to his friends and relations in the audience.

High melodrama, cracking tunes, tiaras and designer shoes all with the atmosphere of a football match. WOW!

Musical Rat

2009-07-24T15:41:00.000+01:00

Could we give a part to this rat? He looks talented.

Mother, mother!

2009-07-24T14:12:00.002+01:00

Mike rehearses his big speech at the theatre. It is windy . . .

TAMING OF THE SHREW

2009-07-18T14:34:00.001+01:00

True love! That’s the answer, isn’t it? And if Kate and Petruchio find true love then all the business that passes between them, the eponymous ‘Taming of the Shrew,’ is so much hot air for them and amusement for us. For unlike some ‘Shrews,’ this was a happy, if hard-bitten, romantic comedy that can leave everyone content.

Yes, it’s ‘Rain or Shine’ time again: that wet fortnight at the beginning of July when the strolling players come westwards and southwards into this little corner of our land sometimes this side of the Welsh border, sometimes that, depending on which night you turn up.

Yesterday they played in Chepstow Castle, that most magnificent pile of masonry beside the River Wye that pre-dates even the earliest of Shakespeare’s history plays. As usual the performance was al fresco (we might as well start early with the Italian seeing as ‘the Shrew,’ like so many of Uncle Will’s creations, is set in Lombardy). As usual, this is Shakespeare played, one imagines, ‘as she was writ’ that is to be rumbustious, comic, full of business - verbal pyrotechnics for the masses, all overlying one or two more serious themes.

The serious theme here of course is the extent to which a wife should obey her husband - indeed - to what extent should a husband bend a wife to his will? “I will have my property,” says Petruchio as he throws Kate over his shoulder and rides off after a precipitate wedding. Kate, of course, resists, as she has spiritedly resisted everything that has come before in her life.

That duel of spirits is indeed the axis on which the play turns. But here Shakespeare takes us back to a world with which his audience would have been entirely familiar, but of which most people today are entirely ignorant - the world of falconry. Petruchio likens Kate to a hawk that must be ‘manned’ - a singularly appropriate description in Kate’s case - and through lack of food and sleep be made to sit with docility on his master’s fist.

Anyone reading TH White’s marvellous book, ‘The Goshawk’ can relive that author’s experience as long night follows long day while the Goshawk of the title - a Kate by any other name - sits sullenly on his fist bating savagely at every opportunity. Following the old methods he does not feed the hawk, nor let it sleep, but instead reads to it - Shakespeare as it happens. He rewards the bird when it is still, but until the hawk accepts him, he does not sleep nor eat himself, his only sustenance being a glass of whisky and more Shakespeare. It is an epic battle of wills: man against bird.

‘The Taming of the Shrew’ is thus this ‘man against bird’ story transferred to the human sphere and the question is: who will really win - how should the play end? Three couples share the ending so there are endless possibilities for a director. Let me not therefore tell you how this production ends but only say that the Director, James Reynard, who also plays Petruchio to Charlotte Kingsford’s magnificently haughty Kate, is endlessly creative and there are twists, surprises - and laughs - galore.

Of all the plays ‘Rain or Shine’ have done in the past few years this is certainly one of the best performances yet. Wonderfully slick, beautifully spoken and acted - extravagant in its physical comedy - but also eminently believable.
As an audience we may have been windswept (but dry at least, indeed the sky was practically cloudless) by the stiff breeze that rolled up the river and swirled around the castle battlements, demolishing part of the minimalist scenery before the play had really even begun. We may also have been a thin audience, for many people would surely have been put off by the surfeit of rain over recent days and in the great space of Chepstow’s Middle Bailey our response and applause must have sounded painfully weak and unappreciative.

Nevertheless, like true professionals the company carried on strongly, putting every ounce of energy and not a little physical discomfort into the proceedings.

A really super show - and worth going out of your way to see. Only do remember to wrap up well. The weather can be most unkind after the interval even if it doesn’t rain. Don’t be afraid of overdressing. Leave the dashing about in flimsies to the cast.

A LAMP-ROOM IS A LONESOME THING,GOD WOT! (apologies to T.E.Brown 1830-1897.)

2009-07-14T11:44:00.005+01:00

Our theatre can usually be described as intimate and friendly, however, when operational the Lamp/Sound Room is really very isolated. Unless a mistake is made everyone forgets you are there,and, when mistakes are made there is no hiding place. Whether it is sitting alone in the dark,or the presence of all the little winking lights, mostly red and green, that gives rise to esoteric thoughts, I could not say. But sitting there on my high stool, raised up on the pallets, philosophical thoughts come unbidden. Perched up on that stool, it could,of course, just be altitude sickness.

Last night was a case in point. I had not turned on the mike, for a midget like me it requires standing on said high stool to reach the switch, located above the door and I simply could not be asked. When one of the blokes switches it on they just stand on the end of the pallets and clutch the door-frame. Talk about life in the fast lane! Also, when making the switch on previous occasions, I have either fallen off the stool when the door moved, or banged my head on the metal arm at the top of the door. All was well until the heavens opened and the monsoon started.With the racket on the roof, I realised that it was like looking into a fish tank, through my window all I could see were the three blokes opening and closing their mouths like goldfish. I sat, fascinated, until I became aware that I had not a clue where we were on the script and quickly did my mountaineering act. Interesting though.

Watching this silent movie got me thinking about the talk of Seneca in the script and his 'De Vita Beata'. I've never read it but I suspect that this classic would not have me rolling in the aisles with uncontrolled laughter.Who are these men in the script? Seeing as it is 'Le quatorze juillet' I will accept that, for today, they are French. But are we really looking at the classic Roman triumvirate(number 2)? If so, if Yvan is Lepidus, who is Octavian and who is Mark Antony? Don't rush to respond, it's just the lamp-room effect.

A CROWDED STREET

2009-06-08T11:06:00.006+01:00

It was with only a passing interest that I listened to the results from the European Elections yesterday. However it did get me thinking about neighbours, Europe is a road that just teems with people, if you fall out with the people next door, in our case, France or Ireland, there are still plenty of neighbours to talk to. We have been falling out with the French for years, in fact between Agincourt and Waterloo we have met them in every round (and,dare I say it, won) and all were away fixtures. It is hardly any wonder that, whilst in France, the locals have not been sure whether to accuse me of being English or German.('Boche' being mouthed with a Gallic sneer.) The old enemy or the new, usually they have settled for 'Dutch'. I have always got my own back, however, the total refusal to understand English has meant that I have been obliged to use my appalling French. My massacre of the language should be punishable by law, the wincing at even my best efforts has been a joy to behold. My grammar is passable, it's the brummy accent that it's delivered in that seems to set their teeth on edge.

It was, therefore, with some surprise when I had two conversations with a couple of Antipodeans to hear their opinion of each other. Back in January I was chatting to daughter number three's new boyfriend, a Kiwi, who professed that he didn't mind people having problems with his accent as long as he was not accused of being an Aussie. My son called him 'Frodo', but that's another story. Then, last Saturday whilst doing some research in MacDonalds in Cardiff, I spoke to a young Australian bloke who claimed that he would have been insulted if I had even suspected him of being from New Zealand.

I find this quite incredible, if they are not speaking to each other, who do they speak to? The penguins? My geography is poor, but as I see it, this particular 'street' has only two houses. If they want to slag each other off who do they gossip to? The aboriginal people in both countries would, no doubt, declare, 'A plague on both your houses'. Answers on the blog, dears.

2009-06-06T13:24:00.002+01:00

Rosie, the Director, talks to Mike about his role in 'ART'. The rain is still drumming on the roof . . .

Clowning Around

2009-06-04T19:14:00.002+01:00

Lloyd and Fennie (Peter) are discussing the rehearsal. The rain is drumming on the roof . . .

The Rehearsal - Part 1

2009-05-29T22:00:00.006+01:00

At the Market Theatre. Rosie and Fennie are waiting for the rest of the cast of ART. The rain is drumming on the roof . .

THE LADY AND THE GONG

2009-05-27T11:54:00.005+01:00

The perennial discussion over the years at Committee meetings has been how we can effectively publicise our productions. It is a well-known fact that the places to hang posters have reduced and any piece sent to the press does not automatically appear in the relevant week's paper. It has occurred to me that perhaps we are missing a trick here. Some years ago I saw a sight which certainly impressed me, although not strictly advertising it gained my full attention and that of the other 21000 in the audience that night.

I had taken my seat (metal) and was looking at the set in front of me. No curtains, the set would be changed in front of my eyes, but then where do you hang a curtain in the open air? Lucie had vanished to obtain two more glasses of the stuff that refreshes and inebriates from the bars doing sterling service in the bowels of the amphitheatre. I was enjoying looking at the walls of Mantova and the river, Mincio, unashamedly Italian. I had commented on the fact to my daughter before she left for the bar. 'You can even see Rigletto's house there', she had said. 'But it's French', I said, 'Le Roi S'Amuse, Victor Hugo.' But I digress.

Suddenly from stage right a large lady , who would have done justice as Brunhilde in 'Die Valkure' strode on and stood in pole position in the middle of the stage. She was dressed in an understated outfit of feathers and carried a large gong that would have done good service at the start of of one of those old J. Arthur Rank movies. She circumnavigated the gong with her mallet, hit it once and promptly walked off, waving her mallet at her friends and relations on the stone seats above. Luce returned shortly after with two glasses of prosecco. When I enquired about the vision of loveliness and especially what she had come as , I was told that she was the equivalent of the bell and would make two more appearances before the kick-off. Everything happened as had been foretold. I was fascinated feeling that I had had my money's worth before the off. On subsequent visits I have waited for the gong-ladies' arrival, considering while I did so on what would be the preferred dress code for the evening.

Perhaps we should invest in a gong and have a willing volunteer outside the Town Hall every day of a production.I'm not sexist, it would not have to be one of the girls, we could make it one of the blokes in a loin-cloth like the guy in the movies. Now there's a thought to conjure with!

'Be it ever so 'umble'. 'Outside Edge' A Postscript.

2009-04-02T17:41:00.005+01:00

One of the best things about having our own theatre is that the set grows around the cast during rehearsal. In the ‘town-hall days’, rehearsals would have taken place in our building, then, the weekend before play week, the whole caboodle would move into the Town Hall. The set would rise in 24 hours and a rehearsal would take place on Sunday evening with the cast being advised to avoid contact with the walls because the paint was wet. Practical doors, mimed until this point, needed to be opened, telephones answered and the right furniture sat on, leaned against or walked around. It is hardly any wonder that most Sunday night rehearsals were a disaster. The actors, bless them, were totally disorientated.

Our rundown cricket pavilion was just what the script demanded. Sitting in the lighting box, it was great to watch the cast at home on the set. I marvelled at the ease that they displayed in the tiny space we had given them to work in. No claustrophobia here then.

However on the final Wednesday of rehearsal I stood at the back, chewing on the safety rail, something was wrong and I could not see what it was. Next day during my afternoon perambulation with the dog, I saw the light, my own personal Damascus at the traffic lights. We only had one garden bench! How could I have been so blind! A rather sad bench in need of some TLC had arrived from a garden in Eastgate. It was perfect, so a coat of paint would have to wait until after production. What we needed was a second. I had seen ‘our’ bench’s twin in a front garden in St Athan Road, but it was immaculate, it would have given ours an inferiority complex.

Decisions were made during that walk, ‘What’, I asked myself, ‘ is an actor’s greatest strength?’ ‘The ability to scrounge’ came the reply. Walking back home I glanced into all the gardens to see if there was anything suitable. Just I was ready to give up I saw my neighbour tidying his garage. Yes they had a bench, but it had stood outside for years, he had mended his bike on it and it desperately needed attention. It had been third hand when they got it. Music to my ears, by the time my neighbour’s wife returned from Exeter (it was her bench anyway) the poor old thing was gracing our stage, (bench not neighbour’s wife).

The cast was thrilled, they were using it on set within 24 hours. I kept my anxieties to myself, the bench had been very wet, would any of them develop mould on their backsides? I’ll have to ask them.

Showtime - Outside Edge

2009-03-17T22:56:00.002Z

Only a week before opening night, (Wednesday 25th to Staurday 28th March inclusive - 7.30pm), and do we have a show in store for you.

It's a comedy with feeling, with ooomph, with everything but falling trousers and missing vicars, and it is very funny indeed.

The venue is The Market Theatre, Cowbridge - split your sides in comfort and leave the recession behind for a couple of hours in the company of some amazing actors - hard to believe that this is an amateur production -
super!

Thankyousomuch.

Discussion point - Publicity & volume

2009-03-06T12:03:00.002Z

I am reminded of some dialogue from Basil Fawlty, in which Basil has placed an advert in The Lady magazine and he says (to Sybil) " The sky's the limit." and Sybil brings things down to earth with "Twenty two rooms is the limit."

This highlights the major problem with publicising our work - "68 seats is our limit", and I have been giving some thought as to how we could best accomplish both a high level of public awareness and to reconcile that with the physical limit of 68 seats.

The most logical answer would be to have numbered seats and a buy-on-line ticketing system, and this system could be used in a separate campaign to raise the profile and status of "patronage" and members. One could, for instance, sell "season tickets" at a slightly reduced price to the general public, and at a slightly greater reduced price for patrons and members.

The latter would offer a greater incentive to join the society, and provide some measure of advanced bookings

A discussion point - workable? Too expensive? Sledge hammer cracking nuts?
what do you think?

Great Unanswered Questions

2009-03-05T15:12:00.004Z

Recently the Publicity Secretary asked for peoples' thoughts on why they enjoyed being a member of CADS. At the time my mind went completely blank, however during an intensive session of DIY a possible reason occurred to me . It is the availability of this Blog, amongst other things like treading the boards and having a ball at rehearsal, providing the chance to ask ones nearest and dearest, within the Society, those questions to which one is dying to have an answer. Whilst hanging my last piece of wallpaper three unanswerable questions came to me, two are relatively simple but the third will require a bit of background, so bear with me please.
i) Why is a stubby bit of pencil 'de rigeur' when decorating and why is one beset with impotent rage when it goes missing, which it invariably does?
ii) Why does the ink cartridge always run out halfway through a print run?
Now to number three, whilst visiting daughter number three in Italy last year I became aware of 'Tri-dog', proper name Guiseppe, but known to all the ex-Pat Brits throughout the length and breadth of the Souze Valley as 'Tri-dog' because he was missing a front leg. He managed to get around perfectly well, a bit like Hoppalong Cassidy but he coped, his style was uniquely his own, he had a bit of trouble on ice but then who doesn't. I asked Lucie whether he had been born with only three legs but she confessed not to know. When I was visiting said daughter a month ago, I suddenly became aware that I had not seen 'Tri-dog' lying in his favourite spot outside the Bar Assietta and was informed that he had gone to the great kennel in the sky.Thinking about him and his problems, it occurred to me to wonder how had he managed with a call of nature, I never saw him with anyone who could have propped him up when the occasion merited. When I asked Lucie her feeling was that he probably leaned against the wall, but I can't see that working. So the third question is
iii) How did Giuseppe manage when he needed to cock his leg?
Answers please, dear friends, not on a postcard but on this Blog.

'Outside Edge' and the Eleventh Commandment

2009-02-28T14:49:00.003Z

The other day I received a letter that wasn't a bill. In these stringent days it seems to me that the only people who write to me are the Utilities and the Local Council with demands for money, so it made a pleasant change. The epistle was from our esteemed Membership and Patron Secretary doing his highly accomplished job of persuading members and patrons to part with some cash. Having paid my own subs I felt fireproof and quickly moved to the penultimate paragraph, I was most impressed to read the following about the next production.'....now as then; people are concerned only for themselves. As the action progresses, everyone in the on-stage cricket team together with those surrounding them become steadily more irritating. Until the dreadful thought dawns that we might be looking into a mirror.'
'Oo-er' I thought, a totally new and erudite aspect of the play opened before my eyes.I had never thought of it in those terms. In my understanding of the play, the point was that all of the cricket team (male) break the Eleventh Commandment, 'Thou Shalt Not Be Found Out' and further (sub-section one of said Commandment) 'And never by the females in your life'.
The inevitable happens,of course, the guilty secrets are all laid bare and we know that retribution will surely follow. Despite this we are having a ball at rehearsals, the 'chaps' are revelling in all the little traits that drive us girls mad and the girls know that poetic justice does ,sometimes, prevail. I agree with 'Frank' come along and watch us enjoying ourselves, enjoyment is contagious!

A proper innings!

2009-02-28T13:40:00.002Z

First blog. Will keep it short and simple, rather like myself. Outside edge will be great fun for everyone watching and taking part and I would love for as many to see it as possible. When they see the good work CADS do, they'll want to see more. So I would urge everyone involved to plug it to their friends, neighbours and countrymen- lend us your ears and eyes. Full theatres every night. That's the aim. A proper innings!

CHARITY AND THE THESPIAN or I CAN'T WEAR MY GLASSES or FEEL THE ACTING!

2009-02-15T10:55:00.002Z

We all sat there in the middle of the room, all six of us. We had been told that the bar staff would share our table, one at either end, moral support as it were. Minutes earlier, after it was too late, in the manner of the best News of The World reporter, to make our excuses and leave, the bar staff had collected their forks and spoons and retired out of the firing line. The one sitting on my left,new to this activity, gave me a look of panic. There was no fast exit we were surrounded. Had she realised it was not just her, even the old hands were beginning to wonder what they were doing there, when they could have been something really important like checking their lottery numbers or cutting their toe-nails. The Chairman, sitting at a side table, pretending to be a member of the public avoided our eyes.
Upstager finally bit the bullet, the order was given, over the top at 20.15 hours. There was much shuffling of scripts and swallowing of wine. At that moment one minute before kick-off, I realised that I could not put my spectacles on because of my wig. To make matters worse, if I held my glasses too close to my eyes I was in grave danger of dislodging my false eyelashes. In the thirty seconds that remained before the off I had to learn my introduction (CV) and my lines for act 1. In this situation the inevitable happened, the ham actor took over. It is a well known fact that in moments of stage panic impress them so much with the 'acting' they don't notice the cockups. 'Give them the old razzle-dazzle' as the song says. In the five or so minutes between scenes I combined stuffing my face with the supper the Rotary had kindly provided (free to the actors!) and learning my next bit.There was just one bad monment when Upstager threatened to ring the bell and I had my mouth full of pudding. At the end I realised that my wig and the two others on parade had taken all the acting honours for the evening.
All that apart, it was a great evening, more anecdotes for CADS to dine out on,in the 'Where is the stage and what is the play?' category. The Charities being remembered will receive a goodly sum and the blushing violets on the middle table had the opportunity to deliver some remarkable understated performances. Thank you, Upstager, for letting me play, it was well organised and a great laugh.

Frost/Nixon

2009-01-29T21:13:00.002Z

Went to see the Frost/Nixon film this week - and a very fine film it turned out to be, especially if you are of an age to have lived through all that Watergate business and remember Nixon at the start of his Presidency in 1969 and the slow spiralling off the rails that subsequently followed. Gripping stuff. All power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely etc. But the film itself is equally gripping and the portrayal - of Nixon by Anthony Langella, especially, is very fine.

Steen is really nothing like David Frost though occasionally (but only occasionally) he mimics Frost's voice. However this does not matter one bit, because the film becomes a film about Steen's Frost rather than the real 'David Frost' and Steen's Frost is an entirely believable character.

But the star has to be Langella. He has the voice and the delivery and the poise of the former President and is brought to the confession that he thought he'd never make. In this respect the film is a bit like Titanic - we know how it is going to end - (though as an aside were I ever to make a movie about Titanic I would give it a happy ending as I still believe that had people applied some brainpower and kept the ship on an even keel she could have been kept afloat certainly for longer than was actually the case and maybe long enough to have effected some temporary patchwork on the gash made by the iceberg).

But back to Frost/Nixon. What most of us don't know and what makes the film so compelling was the struggle that Frost (whose career was failing) had to surmount to stage the interviews when everybody was against him, the networks, advertisers, the political correspondents, even his own team. Yes, it's a magnificent film, a magnificent piece of theatre.

'IT'S ONLY MAKEBELIEVE' (pop song circa 1965) or THE POACHER TURNED GAMEKEEPER.

2009-01-19T10:50:00.004Z

I stood, looking out from the stage at the seating in our theatre, the seats were empty save for the odd coat and bag, a box of tools graced the apron of the stage.I visualised the same scene on play night. The theatre, dark, save for the stage lights, those very seats,hopefully, full.Although unable to see the faces of the audience one can sense their mood, smiling with a comedy, silent and concentrating with a drama. My reverie was interrupted by a voice at my feet. I checked that I had not allowed my support of a frame to slip. But, no, for once, I was not the cause of the complaints. 'What has happened to all the nails?' our set designer/builder was muttering to himself. Five minutes earlier he had dropped a hammer on his toe and was in some pain.'What's the problem?' I said, as far as I was concerned the box was full of nails. 'They take nails out, use them, then sling them in with the screws or any where else that takes their fancy,' he continued, without looking up. At this point we were joined by one of the others who were busily engaged in the perennial job of tidying the workshop. He looked at me quizzically. 'J** can't find the nail', I explained, 'you know the one upon which the whole set depends'. He grimaced and returned to the workshop, the search continued. 'The trouble is,' I said to no-one in particular, 'if you rely on actors you get what you deserve.'
Standing there, holding my second four-foot frame of the day, I came to the startling conclusion, that that is the story of all our CADS lives. With the exception of those wonderful people who have no desire to tread the boards, everything is done by actors pretending to be something else. I am no exception, in the last month I have been barstaff, technical support and demolition. Now I am once again embarked on the biggest CADS performance of all, the actor who pretended to be a director. Over the twenty years since I started on this particular 'wheaze' I do feel that I've got better at it, after all, practice should make perfect. But I still cannot visualise and I cannot 'block' using a pile of spice jars. My casts over the years have been wonderful, they wait for the evening they know will come, when I say that have had a storming idea. The 'old-hands' eyes may glaze over but no-one says that they need three weeks notice of a change as was heard in the bad old days. It is fun and long may it remain so. Our 'set-man' knows this, and, if pressed, would not have it any other way. Better the devil you know, Mr Set-man, than you one you don't. We actors drive you mad, but we're lovely with it.

CADS Christmas Tree

2008-12-14T12:17:00.002Z

Forgot to mention at the last Committee Meeting that CADS Christmas Tree was in place in the Church along with over fifty others. Ours is rather small and not perfectly formed. On the way to the Church with the decorated tree the bottom fell off! As did several other bits including the Santa at the top which meant a dash down to Hurrans to get a replacement. The tree is cobbled together with a supporting rod and bits of string.
My intention is to petition the Committee for a new tree for next year which I shall buy in the January sales.
Anyway here is a picture - the theme is "Costumes" and the sharp eyed among you may recognise some of them.

An antidote to Christmas

2008-12-12T11:29:00.003Z

Following Lloyd's masterful rendition of Charles Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol', the next couple of weeks could have been viewed as a distinct anti-climax. A massive non sequitur, if ever there was one. Congratulations, Lloyd. Thinking about this I was reminded of the remark of a longstanding member who delightfully is still with us and has not joined those distinguished ex CADS in the great Green Room in the sky. Honourably resting I think the term is. He was reminiscing over a foaming pint in the pub about the best Christmas he had ever spent. The panto at the Manchester theatre where he was working was due to open (as they did in days of yore) on Boxing Day. Apparently they spent the whole of Christmas Day trying to get the Transformation Scene (remember those?) to work.It kept either falling down or getting stuck halfway and everyone was still at the theatre until well after midnight.
Bearing this in mind I cleverly arranged the first rehearsal for 'Outside Edge' for the 17th December. All but two members of the cast are able to make it which is wonderful so close to the big day. I will attempt to organise rehearsals during the holiday fortnight which will get us nicely through to the New Year. If others feel as I do they will be something to look forward to.Despite having to stand on a box attempting, but failing, to keep order, I enjoy rehearsals.See you next next week.

A Christmas Carol

2008-12-06T09:38:00.001Z

As part of the CADS 2008 Christmas celebrations and extravaganza, Lloyd Lee will be performing - and acting out - for two nights only! excerpts from 'A Christmas Carol' by the great Charles Dickens at the Market Theatre, Cowbridge on Thursday 11 and Friday 12 December at 7.30 pm. Tickets will be available at the door (until sold out), price £6.00, which consideration in favour of the company will include a glass of wine expertly mulled to a recipe in Little Dorritt. More mulled wine may be purchased at the bar.

You will not be turned away if you arrive in top hats and crinolines (unless you wear both at the same time) for Lloyd would like to encourage an authentic mid-nineteenth century atmosphere. Indeed, experiments in eclectic dressing will be welcomed as will any number of wigs, bonnets, false beards, moustaches, sideboards, smoking jackets and stove pipe hats. Patrons may note that in respect of the latter the theatre is amply equipped with fire extinguishing equipment. the theatre.

Lloyd comes to us fresh from professional success on boards as distant and disparate as London, Plymouth, Exeter, Broadway and Derby. He is without doubt the most charismatic and the most authentic representation of Charles Dickens in the British theatre.

We do hope you will come along and give your support on these memorable evenings - and, in the process, have a great time.

Lettice and Lovage

2008-11-21T16:57:00.002Z

Oh yes, this is our current production - "Lettice and Lovage" - tonight and saturday - 7.30pm - but please come early as seats fill very fast and you wouldn't want to miss it.

Friday 24th October - last in the current series

2008-10-23T22:59:00.002+01:00

Yes indeed, this is the last in the current series of Friday night theatre club and we have Peter SLB running some exercises in voice projection, a play reading of a short play by Terrence Rattigan, (chosen by Neil of the Drama Association of Wales), and, if there's time, and enough people, a "Doctor - Doctor" comedic review.

Theatre Club - Friday 17th

2008-10-16T12:39:00.002+01:00

A sort of "sing for your supper" evening, something we used to do when I was chairman of the Wonston Drama Group.

Everyone brings along a contribution to the buffet supper, and takes a random numbered ticket which then becomes your allotted time slot for you to "do your own thing". It can be a sketch, a reading, a song, a poem, a dance, anything to entertain, enliven and enighten your colleagues.

Bar opens at 7pm as usual, and there will be a play reading, if there is time left, which is Alan Bennett's one-act play "Say Something Happened".

see you there.

SILLY MID OFF

2008-10-06T12:24:00.002+01:00

This Friday, 10 October, Lattedrinker has kindly turned the social evening at the Theatre over to me for a reading of 'Outside Edge'. It is hoped that the hilarious play by Richard Harris, with it's cricketing theme, will be the 2009 Spring Production. The drawback over the years has been the perennial problem of whether or not it could be cast, with a cast of nine it does take some organising. For too long this play has languished in the wings. The time is now right for it it to take it's proper place centre stage.
Our wonderful set designers have been sent off on their vacation to foreign parts, their holiday task being to work out how to create a cricket pavilion on our stage. Cleverly I leave all the hard work to others, I just direct the thing, attempting, but usually failing, to keep any sort of order.You can't miss me, I'm the one standing on the box talking to herself.
I have attempted, to quote the timeless words of Claude Rains in 'Casablanca', to 'round up the usual suspects'. If I have left anyone out I apologise, please feel free just to turn up, the more the merrier.Rehearsals should start late November/December, the bonus being that we could rehearse all over Xmas for anyone who wants to escape from the festivities.Only kidding.

Theatre Club - Friday 3rd October

2008-10-02T12:08:00.002+01:00

Bar opens at 7pm, activities at 7.30pm, and the line-up consists of...

A possible enactment of "Jack's Return Home" by Galton and Simpson, if I can get it ready in time. If not, and possibly also, the re-run of "Earnest" postponed from last week. ( I like it, OK!)

Discussion on this week's dramatic element - Timing.

Play reading - Relics by David Campton. This is a short one-act play for four women. Winnifred and her friend Una arrive at the home of the recently deceased Aunt Dorothy to see what they can claim before the rest of the family arrive, but they gradually become aware that some-one is already there......

Theatre Club - Friday 26th September

2008-09-25T10:22:00.002+01:00

And what have we in store for this week?

Well, we are continuing the "Dramatic Element" Number Two (Tension), with a reading of the one-act play "Murder Play" by Brian Burton.

We have a team quiz event, on the theme of entertainment.

Brenda's going to give us a short illustrated talk on theatrical costumes, and if there's time we'll have a re-run of "Being Earnest - the impotence of", because I've only seen it once !!!

So, it's a packed programme, let's have a packed house - bar open at 7pm, activities start at 7.30pm.

See you there......

Theatre Club - Friday 19th September

2008-09-16T10:48:00.002+01:00

This week's Friday Theatre Club will feature:

An enactment of "Being Earnest - The Impotence of", another in the series of "What happened next?", in which Earnest and Gwendoline are visited by an agitated Lady Bracknell on their first wedding anniversary. Who is the mysterious Mr D'Arcy and what has Dirty Doreen to offer?

A discussion on the subject of the twelve dramatic elements.

Plus a reading of the hilarious short play "Sweet B.A." , in which four women get together in a back garden in the Welsh valleys to celebrate something... but what exactly? From a learning perspective, the play offers a lot of discussion points.

Theatre Club - Friday 12th - 7pm

2008-09-11T12:28:00.002+01:00

Bar opens 7pm - fun starts as soon as the bar opens - activities start at 7.30pm with...

Play reading - "ART" - hilarious play - fairly short (approx 60 minutes) - looking forward to this.

Stage enactment of "What happened next? - Pride and Prejudice" - fifteen years on from their marraige day, Mr and Mrs D'Arcy struggle with their finances, their eight daughters, and a rather bizarre housekeeper borrowed from Mandalay.

Should be fun.

Theatre evening

2008-09-08T15:40:00.002+01:00

Well done to Lattedrinker (from the seventeenth century I must ask what this "Latte" is ? Anyway your evening was a great success and I am sure is the start of something very worthwhile for the future. Many hours have been spent on discussions of what might be done and it is very encouraging to actually see something being offered to existing and new members.
Peregrinations to various parts of Englan will preclude my attendance at the next two events but keep up the good work.

Henslowe

Fumed Oak and A Night Out

2008-09-07T19:07:00.006+01:00

Well, this production has been and gone and good fun it was too with respectable audiences and no prompts! Not necessarily the right lines in their correct order but who noticed!
Here are some photos for those who like a laugh at the expense of others. They were taken by Chris at the dress rehearsal. Jim does not have his suit on as I hadn't yet turned up the trousers. There were other minor adjustments to costumes and set yet to be made.

'GETTING TO KNOW YOU,GETTING TO KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU'

2008-09-06T12:23:00.003+01:00

Wellies were definitely the order of the day. I had walked down to the theatre with the dog at 3.30 and found that the water, although not flooding the building was ankle-high on the path. I was amazed at the turnout later, considering the monsoon- like conditions. The cognoscenti had worn wellingtons or water-proof walking boots.One of the successes of the evening was the sense of achievement that one had found a way across the lake. Presumably it will only be after the waters recede, like the parting of the Red Sea, that we will discover those, who, in common with the army of Ramesses II, failed to make the crossing.Only Mrs Squirrelchaser was seen to leave wet footprints on the floor. Common adversity is a great way of breaking the ice.
We had a fun evening, by the end the young people who turned up were chatting in an animated fashion to all the wrinklies. Lattedrinker ensured that the group mixed and the oldies did not stick together in their shyness.Well done, Lattedrinker, more of the same please.

Monday 8th September @ 7.30pm

2008-09-06T11:38:00.002+01:00

At the Cowbridge Market Theatre, Monday 8th at 7.30pm, there will be a meeting for anyone interested in helping out with the potential production of "Lettice and Lovage".
The production, which has yet to be approved by the committee, would be from November 19th to Nov 22nd inclusive.
The cast has already been established, and an assistant director already in place, but we are still looking for stage manager, stage -hands, front-of-house personell,props manager, publicity manager and possibly a couple of understudies for the main roles.
So please come along on Monday and offer you much needed support.

Thanks

Cricketing Buxton

2008-08-30T11:28:00.003+01:00

It was my pleasure a couple of weeks ago to attend a performance of 'Ruddigore' at Buxton Opera House during the G&S festival there. This proved to be an enlightening experience. Firstly 'our' ladies facilities are palatial by comparison. There was only one ladies comfort station to serve the entire stalls. This is about on a par with Verona where there are several more facilities, but they tend to be holes in the ground in the bowels of the amphitheatre, great when you have dressed for the occasion. Secondly my daughter in law and I accidentally chose to eat in the pub frequented by all the operatic luvvies attending the season. The bitchiness was a pleasure to witness.
The group performing that evening were from Southampton and staged a modern dress performance with a cricketing theme, sort of 'Outside Edge' with violins. We did not stay for the adjudication, the G&S purists sitting behind us were not impressed, but then listening in to their conversation in the interval, they had been less than enthusiastic with the Bride of Chukkie in Verona's 'La Traviata' last year. I had another surprise when the contralto arrived, I had to restrain myself from calling out, she was our Lattedrinker's lovely wife's double!
It got me thinking about the Spring, lots of ideas but definitely no 'communal box', the running gag of the whole show. On with my deliberations!

Theatre Club Evening - 5th September

2008-08-26T21:21:00.002+01:00

From 7pm on Friday 5th September, and at the same time every Friday in September, we shall be having a Theatre Club Evening at the Cowbridge Market Theatre.
Admission is free, and open to all. The bar will open at 7pm, and the evening's activities will start at 7.30pm.
Audience participation is encouraged but not enforced, and the theme of the first evening is communication. There will be some warm-up games and exercises, some short comedy sketches to enact or enjoy, and a little bit of improvisation.
The idea is to share our skills, thoughts, knowledge of all things theatrical, and get to know each other a bit more, in a relaxed environment.
Please come along - bring a friend or two - and have some fun.

Roaring Meg Brings The House Down

2008-08-20T21:37:00.001+01:00

Of course it should have been a balmy summer evening, the sun sinking slowly into a furnace of copper, chilled Pinot Grigio on the castle terrace and a light zephyr breathing the warm balm of Sicilia over the assembled company. But that was asking too much.

We went in the Company of Upstager and Zebskid to Goodrich Castle last Saturday evening for the specific purpose of getting a good soaking and incidentally to watch the Rain and Shine Theatre Company perform the Winter’s Tale. As they say on the quiz shows: the clue is in the title.

Rain and Shine are an excellent troupe who perform Shakespeare and other classical plays in a rumbustious, burlesque, street theatre-ish style. Lots of noise, lots of clever and comic ‘business,’ minimal staging, deliberately hammy acting and audience involvement: the actors (well, two of them) fancying a drop of wine during the performance and helping themselves to the remains of someone’s picnic, for instance. Well worth seeing; more: well worth going an hour’s drive to see. Even in the rain. Even when the rain itself was over-acting.

I had never seen the Winter's Tale, so that was a first for me, and, given the generally humid ambiance, not one I am likely to forget. I actually enjoyed it, though I did, I confess, as the rain started to descend in stair rods during the last half hour, wish that the final scene would quickly draw to a close so that we could all go home. "Yes, we know the statue is real!" I wanted to say, "so you can skip the gradual warming up bit." Only when I started drying out did I discover how wet I was.

We sat, on seats brought especially for the occasion, next to a seventeenth century mortar called Roaring Meg. A squat, tubby black thing that looked almost benign and resembled an iron toad. It had been cast locally when the Parliamentary commander besieging the Royalists of Goodrich began to lose patience. So with Meg’s helped he lobbed a few 200lb gunpowder filled shells into the castle and the walls, in true Biblical style, came tumbling down.

I couldn't help thinking, watching the droplets of rain swirling on the wind like snowflakes in the luminescence of the spotlights, that the play might have been performed before, in this same castle courtyard or in the adjacent hall, in happier times, before Roaring Meg (why are cannons always female?) brought the great castle towers tumbling down.

I couldn't, either, help falling into my Lettice role and picturing the hall tables piles high with hedgehogs, puffins and coneys, or the Virgin Queen descending the grand castle staircase during one of her progressions around the Kingdom and slipping on the same wet stones stones as us.

I can't think of another country, other than Britain, where there would be shown the same spirit - not only of 'The Show Must Go On' but also of 'The Show Must Be Watched.' And as it ended and we packed up and waded back the long quarter mile in the darkness to the car park, cold and soaked, I knew I was glad to have gone. There is more to theatre than ice cream in the warm trappings of the grand circle.

LETTICE AND LOVAGE

2008-08-08T10:57:00.002+01:00

Last week we received the news that Claire Gribben would be starting a new job in the autumn and, in consequence of the travelling that this would be likely to entai, would not be able to take up the part of Lettice in ‘Lettice and Lovage’ under my direction in November.

It was necessary therefore quickly to find a replacement. To cut a long story short, I volunteered myself to play the part, on the basis that I could change the gender of Lettice from female to male. The Committee agreed.

I know this decision will not find universal favour. I want therefore to use this post to explain what lay behind my proposal and the Committee’s acceptance, apart from the need to have a lead actor in place virtually immediately.

Having been the putative director of ‘Lettice’ since the Spring (originally the production was scheduled for July) I had got to know something of the part. It contains some marvellous lines, lines which any actor would enjoy speaking simply for the fun they contain. So I began to learn a few.

But as you speak the lines you quickly realise that it is very hard to discern what gender the character is. Take away the obvious titles like ‘Miss Douffet’ and you are left with sentiments that are more likely to be uttered by men than by women. “Language alone frees one,” says Lettice, “and History gives one place.” Women are not usually given to such pretension, noble though it may be. Men, on the other hand........

Where had I heard such sentiments before I asked myself? Of course, spoken by Jeffrey Bernard. Not those words, no, but similar words. In fact, I concluded, that both ‘Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell’ (which I had performed with CADS in 2003) and ‘Lettice and Lovage’ are, at bottom, very similar plays.

Both are essentially about loss and compensating for loss. For Jeffrey Bernard the compensations for his crumbling life and the decay of Soho’s spirit - “sitting by the bedside of a dying Soho, holding her hand, but wondering whether it would not be kinder to switch off the light,” are racing, alcohol and fanciful reminiscence.

For Lettice, the loss is similar. She mourns the colourful past. “We live in a country now that wants only the mere - mere guides, mere people, mere events,” she exclaims. Her compensation is to escape the present into the fantasy of another age. But like Jeffrey Bernard, her life in late middle-age has crumbled too: she lives alone with her cat bemoaning the modern age that ever more deeply envelopes her. There are no children to call: “my tourists.......are my children....” she observes poignantly.

I should I suppose get away from writing of Lettice as ‘she.’ From now on it will be a man called Lettice. For that is the point: the character, as written, is gender neutral. Lettice is not a mother, she is not a wife or girlfriend, she does not involve herself with the WI, or the hairdresser, she does not buy tights or wear wigs, or keep home or do any of those things that otherwise identify a stage character as female.

And not only that - in his excursions into the past Lettice plays historical figures that are male: Sir John and Sir Nicholas Fustian, Richard III, Charles I, Charles II, Walter Raleigh, Charles I’s executioner, the public prosecutor of the French revolution. The only female character Lettice actually plays is Mary, Queen of Scots (in which role he says nothing anyway). Now it is easier to play male figures, as a man, of course, just as it is to adopt the boldness of style that is part of the Lettice image.

The play was supposed to have been written for Maggie Smith. Whether Maggie Smith arrived while the play was still a blank sheet of paper or whether Peter Shaffer adapted some already formed ideas for a male tourist guide for Maggie Smith, I do not know, but I suspect the latter from the text.

Certainly I find Lettice’s lines very easy to deliver as a man. The lines appear correct, authentic, the sort of thing a man would say in that circumstance, whereas, if I imagine a female Lettice - even when played by Maggie Smith - some of the lines seem a trifle forced, just as the idea of an all female company enacting only the History Plays of Shakespeare in French, in the Dordogne, is forced. Lettice, the woman, playing the part of the male executioner, complete with ‘foinal trappings’ (beard) is forced; her performing the Walter Raleigh cape gesture, as a woman, is forced.

These things can be just as funny, and slightly more realistic, when played by a man. But of course one cannot escape entirely the business of ‘forced.’ There is the Queen of Scots scene, though I cannot accept that a man playing (only briefly of course) the Queen of Scots is anymore of a travesty than a woman playing Charles I or his executioner. Playing Lettice as a man also gives the opportunity to introduce a subfusc element of sexual chemistry into the relationship with Lotte. Even with actresses as talented as Maggie Smith and Margaret Tyzack there is some subtle thing (to my mind) in their long arguments together that is missing.

I had originally conceived that I might play the part as an effeminate, gay, Quentin Crispish sort of man. Indeed, I even considered that I might have done it entirely in drag. While the latter, of course, might have been great fun I am not sure I have the talent for it and certainly, in a female voice, it would become impossible to give the lines in the play the enunciation they deserve. Besides it would turn the show into a pantomime, which would be most sad.

But there is no need. The part works very well as pretty much the character I played in Jeffrey Bernard - philosophical, regretful, by turns sentimental and self-pitying, by turns flamboyant and outrageous. As I said the plays are most similar; let the characters be so too. It will be a great show; of that I have no doubt. We have a great team, the play offers wonderful ‘coups de theatre;’ it will be a credit to CADS.

Towards Zero

2008-08-04T09:58:00.001+01:00

Why are robust and curmudgeonly older women called 'trouts?' This strikes me as very strange, the trout being as near to a sexless beast as it is possible to come this side of the molluscs. Such women may look variously like a great many members of the animal kingdom, but even so fishes are surely not among them - fish, even in old age, usually being sleek, well-groomed and wrinkle free, qualities not immediately associated with a 'trout' of the elderly female variety. I wonder what the male equivalent is?

Perhaps the word is falling into desuetude; certainly it has a Blandings Castle feel to it, which is probably why it was the critic's word of choice to describe the character played by the redoubtable Eileen Atkins - the stalwart but decrepit Lady Tressilian - in Kevin Elyot's adaptation of one of Agatha Christie's Miss Marple (she would today be Ms Marple, no doubt) stories on the television last evening.

A quite wonderful cameo performance of an old dying lady (who nevertheless contrives to get herself murdered) who lies abed all day, chain-smoking cheroots, as she issues directions and listens to the beguiling conversations among her guests that chance conveniently to drift through her open window. Eileen Atkins manages to combine simultaneously the force of the moneyed matriach with the bathos of the dying as when she exclaims, in a cross but resigned sort of a way, 'Oh what does it matter? We shall all be dead come September?'

champagne or salmonella?

2008-08-02T09:05:00.002+01:00

I quite agree with Lattedrinker about the Chairman and his braces and cannot think of anything to better it. I do feel ,however, that awards for sheer heroism should also be awarded. From the audience perspective the ham and tomatoes were quite fresh as Doris in 'Fumed Oak' claimed. By Saturday they looked a very sorry sight, despite all the best resuscitation techniques from the S.M. The loaf of bread needed turning to hide the growth of mould showing to the audience in the front rows. This had been very apparent from Dress Rehearsal, probably a penicillin culture in the making. The cast need medals for carrying on with the script in the face of such odds. To be able to deliver such lines as 'What's wrong with it?' and the response, 'I don't know yet' about the ham, without turning a hair should go down in CADS legend.
Although Doreen never had to look at her nemesis, I would award her top prize for behaviour above and beyond. By Friday the remains of the three takeaway meals into which she had to stick her hand had developed blue furry mould.On Saturday the SM and Props peeled the lids off at armslength. Warned about it, Doreen, 'without showing a morsel of fear', declared that she would shove her hand into 'the brown sauce one' being the least lethal of the three and did so. Wow!

A View from the Lighting Box

2008-07-31T18:48:00.002+01:00

Congratulations to everybody who appeared in, and supported, the recent "Happy Families" production.
Any one who listens to Test Match Special will know that the commentators all vote for their "champagne moment", which is usually a definitive sporting moment from the five days.
Well I would like to recommend that wonderful moment on the Friday night when our illustrious chairman found himself having problems with his braces. The audience loved it, probably thought it was part of the show, and Peter carried on without losing a line.
So that's my vote for this production's "virtual reality champagne moment" - what's yours?

Narnia

2008-07-19T09:36:00.000+01:00

I went to the cinema the other day. Liz wanted to see the new Narnia film, I wanted to sleep on the beach but it was raining so I thought the cinema was the next best thing.
On the way there, I'm listening to yet another debate about knife crime and the inevitable phone-in with the nutter who's carried a sixteen foot sword around with him for twenty years and hasn't killed anyone yet.
I wake up, somewhere towards the end of this children's film, having missed the adverts, the cartoons, "Look at Life" and the B movie, and there's this eleven year old girl on screen.
She's stood on a bridge, holding a six inch stilletto blade.
So - my thinking is a bit slow here after my repose - but I'm thinking knife crime, glorification of knife culture and here is the eleven year old hero of a kid's film defending a bridge with a knife.
If I could have found my shoes, which were deeply encrusted in yesterday's popcorn, I would have walked out in protest.

The Charles Dickens Show expresses heartfelt gratitude

2008-07-18T09:41:00.000+01:00

Here's squirrelchaser, again. This time, though, I reckon I've blown my cover!

Because, I'd like, very much, to thank the society for their encouragement with my Charles Dickens endeavours. Amazing support for Educating Charlie. I now have bookings for this, at respectable venues, this Autumn. Always looking for others, of course, and smaller venues and and private and corporate events, as well as theatres, are welcome. Schools, as well.
The show now has its web-site, which is :- www.thecharlesdickensshow.co.uk and I'd welcome feedback on same. There are, as you will see, other performances, all one-man shows, available.
So, again, thanks

squirry

Theatrical (near)Connections No.176 (approx.)

2008-07-17T20:13:00.000+01:00

From Squirrelchaser - who else?

My brush with fame was in the mid-1980s. My first wife and I were with friends. We were walking, together, down St.Martin's Court, in the heart of theatreland when, towards us came such a well known figure. Floppy fedora, renowned classical look - it was...Sir John Gielgud! The wife of my friend, and I, went weak at the knees. We did! We nearly fainted at being close to such fame - it was unbelievable. We gurgled and giggled and were just beside ourselves. My wife and my friend were just..contemptuous of our performance. Sir John went into "The Salisbury" and we begged our spouses to agree to us all going in....but they wouldn't; the miserable sods!!

Theatrical Connections No. 175

2008-07-17T09:33:00.002+01:00

Things you might not have known about Chris Bumstead, CADS family member since the turn of the century.

I once had tea, biscuits and a golden virginia roll-up with Sir Richard Briers.
Well, I was writing this book for the BBC - OK, I was "editing" this book for the BBC - "Hancock's finest Half-Hour" - and Richard had just had some critical acclaim for his role as Tony Hancock in a BBC Radio Three play, so it seemed like a good idea to ask him for an interview.
Just a cricket ball's throw away from Lord's cricket ground, we sat in their conservatory and discussed the technical splendours of the writings of Galton and Simpson.
Richard chain smoking golden virginia and the tape recorder whirring away, my nervousness ebbing away as his wife kept us supplied with copious amounts of tea and biscuits.
Later that day, I also had an interview with Robbie Coltrane, but that was under very different circumstances and is filed under Theatrical connections number 129.

THE TIES THAT BIND

2008-07-11T07:05:00.003+01:00

For once the room was quiet, all resemblance to Dibley had temporarily, vanished. The guilty parties examined their fingernails or looked hungrily at the biscuits. 'The point of the blog,' said the speaker, more in sorrow than in anger, 'is to show to any interested party who cares to look, who we are,' Warming to her theme, she continued, 'the website does an excellent job passing on INFORMATION , but says nothing about us as people, our family, here.

It seems to me that drama is obsessed with relationships, good, bad and indifferent. Our present production concerns itself with that very theme, life within a family. CADS is exactly that, with all a family's strengths and weaknesses and, notably, what can happen within it that would never be tolerated outside the 'nest'.

Sitting back listening to the speaker's justified complaints, I was reminded of an incident way back in Society anecdotes. CADS had,somehow, become involved in a pageant. The more sensible amongst the membership suddenly remembered previous engagements and made their apologies. The few that remained rapidly wished that they had done the same when rehearsals commenced. Dave M..... attended one rehearsal, made his excuses, in the manner of the best News of the World reporter, and left. At the next rehearsal the director was very terse about his departure calling him 'David' and mispronouncing his surname. It took a few seconds for the rest of us to realise who she was talking about. Kate T..... was up in arms. 'Who does she think she is, having a go at him like that!' she said over her pint later that evening. We pointed out that what had been said was actually very mild by CADS standards. 'That's not the point,' said Kate. 'we're family, we're allowed to slag him off.'

The rest of the CADS family would be waiting in the pub for us after rehearsal, dying to hear the next instalment.Margaret S....., glaring at everyone as she processed around the stage. Daring us to laugh, she re-enacted Elizabeth Tudor's triumphant reaction to the defeat of the Armada. I think her 'And where are the galleons of Spain?' will stay with me until my dying day. There we all sat,CADS and our cousins from CAOS. Roy C... head down in pain, Gaynor S... trying, unsuccessfully, to stifle screams of laughter beside me. 'How many verses are there?' she muttered therough clenched teeth. 'At least six,' I replied. 'Oh God,' she groaned and looked to the heavens. Finally Malcolm K.....holding his wig, the one that made him look like a forlorn spaniel, across his face like a yashmak. Not daring to catch Margaret's eye at the performance, I glanced at Tom S..., her husband, he was bent double.

As in all good families by the evening of the performance all those who had backed out were looking for back-stage jobs, their claim being the nned to provide moral support. We,who were still involved, knew better. The old adage still holds firm, who needs enemies while they've got family? Think positively, at least family do it with a smile.

METHINKS I WAS ENAMOURED OF AN ASS

2008-07-09T09:34:00.002+01:00

Marriages, they say, are made in heaven, though if this is the case there is an awful lot of twiddling with the raw materials that goes on here on earth, much of which, it has to be said, is unsuccessful.

I should at this point trot out one or two of statistics produced by those estimable people at the National Statistics Office for the benefit of columnists, bloggers and political parties. But being not so much lazy as short of time I think we can all take the point as read.

Simply put it is this: that a very large number of marriages fail and those failures cost us dearly, whether we are talking about emotional loss, financial loss, loss to the stability of society, loss to a child’s self-esteem and education, health, happiness and so on . Show me a broken marriage and, in most cases, I’ll show you an expensive tragedy.

Yet despite the vast scale - something like 40 per cent of first marriages end in divorce - we take little or no action to improve this state of affairs. In many cases love seems literally to be blind and unions are entered into that are manifestly unsuitable. When love departs, as love is wont to do, there is nothing left to hold the matrimonial edifice together.

Like one of those Shakespearean farces where the juice of something sprinkled in someone’s eyes is enough to make them keel over at the appearance of the most bestial of characters, so far too many people seem to marry whoever is closest at hand when the hitching time comes.

‘Methinks I was enamoured of an ass’ says Titania when she wakes. Alas, too many girls wake from the dreamy longings of ‘when, when, when?’ to find themselves married to arses and spending the rest of the time before the divorce asking themselves, ‘why, why, why?’

I should perhaps at this point exclude myself, my friends and my family most of whom have been freakishly successful in finding enduring relationships. But as my father had three wives and and my mother two husbands, I feel that a generation of matrimonial permanence is required.

Maybe I have been lucky, but my parents weren’t and nor are so many of the young lovelies that we see sweeping through the streets on a Saturday afternoon, dressed in improbable meringue in the back seat of some bizarre and unsuitable means of locomotion. Still most of us have been there: Elder Daughter arrived at her wedding in a boat.

I had the notion once that so great must be the cost of broken marriages to the National Health Service that the Government should institute a free computer dating service in every surgery, backed up with psychological profiling and parental checks.

In the old days, both boys and girls had suitors lined up for them by parents interested in forming financial or social liaisons with other parents. The young were pawns in such arrangements, but whether the heartbreak was any greater then than now, I doubt very much.

Then there is that famous painting of a young woman faced by a comfortably off but obviously dull young man of the Reverend Collins variety while through the window behind her we see an impoverished, but no doubt interesting bohemian character vacating the premises. The painting carries the explanatory title ‘Torn’ and the sub-title - for those of duller intelligence - ‘What Should She Do?'

I suppose it rather depends on the number of years she expects to live. If she is consumptive then she should elope with the gypsy. If she has the constitution of an ox, then she should marry Mr Collins and make the best of it. After all, the world is not exactly populated with sage, wise and beautiful Mr D’Arcy’s.

Indeed one could make an interesting story by bringing together Lizzie and her sister in old age and comparing notes, as it were. The manipulative Collins almost certainly would have become a bishop, while the upright Mr D’Arcy, I feel, would have come to a sticky end. For all we know, Lizzie might have ended up with the gardener.

While the practice of arranging weddings may still thrive in many cultures, we modern Bennets, have given up trying to marry off our daughters teLling them to do the job themselves.

Many subsequently turn to dating agencies or those small ads to be found in every paper or magazine nowadays. My favourites are those in the London Review of Books. For instance, I love the spirit of this woman who has clearly had problems with agencies:

Getting laid through match.com isn’t as easy as the adverts make it out to be. I’m hoping for better pickings from this column. Woman 87. Box xxx

or the following extravagant example of the genre:

I’ve spent my adult life fabricating reciprocal feelings from others and I don’t intend to stop now, nor at any other London Review Bookshop event I’m summarily ejected from. Yes, once the history section had emptied and we were left alone his voice said ‘I’m not interested,’ but his eyes very clearly stated ‘please follow me home and observe me from the shrubs in the park opposite until squirrels start to burrow into your legs, believing you to be a tree,’ Woman, 43. Reading between the lines even when the lines aren’t actually there.

She ends with the stern injunction: Don’t pretend you don’t love me. Box xxx.

But for she realism I go for this waspish example:

Most partners cite the importance of having a loved one who will listen to and understand them. I’m here to debunk this theory. The more you listen to your loved one, the more you will realise they talk crap, whine a lot and make unreasonable demands regarding holidays together (since when is a car ferry better than a plane, since when is a museum tour stop better than drunken evenings talking to oiled up Italians on a beach?) I’d like to state here and now that anyone responding to this advert and winding up in an emotional (or, even better, purely sexual and frequently tawdry) relationship with me will never be listened to at all. That way we can carry on the pretence of enjoying each other’s company for many an ignorant year. No lawyers. Woman 38. Box xxx

SLEUTH

2008-06-11T13:58:00.002+01:00

Jim and I went to see "Sleuth" at the New Theatre last week to find out if they were capable of improving on our effort. On the whole I don't think they did. The action was faithful to the script as we did it - we could have prompted if they had needed it.
Simon MacCorkindale who played Andrew Wyke gabbled his lines and generally behaved like a maniac on stage. If we hadn't known the text so well most of his lines would have been lost to us as we often couldn't hear them.
The set was good but then they had the advantage of height and could create a flight of stairs and a gallery although the bedroom entrance was a nonsense as there was a window in a strange place. The general effect was not a bit like "living in Hamleys" as there were hardly any games in evidence and the fish tank had no water or fish in it!
The special effects were not up to our standard as the safe breaking took place out of sight under the stairs (as the text) and if there had been real bullets in the gun when Wyke shot the jug then Milo would have been dead early as he was standing right in front of it.
However we did have an enjoyable evening but whether it was worth the £26.00 per ticket I am not so sure. C.A.D.S certainly gave value for money when we did 'Sleuth" and I trust it will continue to do so.

Battle at Kruger

2008-05-18T11:29:00.003+01:00

Have any of you watched the drama "Battle at Kruger" on You Tube? The synopsis is: a herd of strolling buffalo is attacked by lions and a small calf is singled out for lunch. During the attack the calf and lions slip into the nearby lake/river and the legs of the unfortunate calf are siezed by a crocodile. There follows a tug-of-war between the lions and the croc with the lions eventually managing to drag the calf onto dry land. From stage R the herd of buffalo return and go for the lions who after a scrap retreat leaving the calf to struggle to it's feet. All filmed by an amateur on video. Amazing!
A Clubnight perhaps? The parts of the calf and the croc are going begging.

JULY PRODUCTION

2008-05-17T14:09:00.005+01:00

After the postponement of "Lettice and Lovage" it is now hoped to do two one-act plays instead. The first of these is "A Night Out" by Frank Vickery and to be directed by Peg . The second, "Fumed Oak" is by Noel Coward and to be directed by Peter Sain ley Berry. These plays go well together and should provide a good evenings entertainment. Various members of stage crew required. Volunteers?

TOWN TWINNING

2008-05-11T18:50:00.003+01:00

Under orders from Upstager I post the piece following below. This I wrote wearing another hat, in another place and for another purpose. It has little enough to do with theatre, though as it has been suggested that we might put on a play for the French visitors at some point in the future we ought perhaps to familiarise ourselves with what happens on such occasions. Nevertheless, it is words.

For the moment I can tell you that (subject to the imprimatur of the Committee) we have had to postpone Lettice and Lovage until the autumn and so will be looking to full the summer slot with some other diversion. Suggestions on a postcard, please

*************

One of the few compensations of having a large printing order to discharge, as we had this week, is that you get to listen to Radio 4 a lot. And want a wonderfully eclectic mix of programmes you find there! If you are an intellectual butterfly like me, vaguely interested in pretty much anything, you can find yourself listening to it more or less continuously while the thermal printer chomps away in the background.

In the last few days I have learned about midwives, prostitutes, Stanley Baldwin, a Chinook helicopter called Bravo November and how intensively reared chicken is altogether a Good Thing if the limit of your perspective is global warming. I have listened to the Archers, learned about the Burmese tragedy and and bristled at Susan Sarandon berating Hillary Clinton.

Not that the radio has had things entirely its own way. For between these printing sessions and other, more regular work, I have been assisting, as the French would say, in the biennial visit of families from Clisson, our twin town near Nantes.

They arrived on Thursday bringing with them both sunshine and their own portable loudspeaker apparatus and set up camp in our newly renovated Physic Garden, where the Committee had laid on the South Walian equivalent of a vin d’honneur. All very agreeable, you might say, but at the same time curiously transportng. For what with the bunting, the convivialité, the amplified French voices it seemed I was no longer in Wales at all but back somewhere in La France Profonde

Nor does this transporting stop with the bunting and ‘le micro.’ For the arrival of the French precipitates a rush of Gallic behaviour, even among us locals. Acquaintances that you barely nod to in the street suddenly greet you with a kiss on both cheeks. Apart from the absence of brioche and the unlikely substitution - caused I suppose by the relative strengths of the dollar and euro - of Blossom Hill Californian, for the ubiquitous Muscadet, the little reception could have been French.

It was the same with the Hog Roast last night. Trestle tables had been set out in the rugby club in three long rows. Some species of unfortunate pig roasted outside on a supersize barbecue. Pencil thin girls wafted up and down, depositing even more of the Blossom Hill on the tables. This embarrassed me as I am not a fan of wine grown in any English speaking country but our French guests affected not to notice, or if they did notice they remained unusually reticent on the subject.

The pig however refused to succumb without a struggle. I don’t mean that it started the evening oinking around on the hallowed turf of the rugby field. The butcher had done his job, but evidently the beast had proved more well-padded than expected and a great deal of the Blossom Hill disappeared while we waiting for the porcine epiphany.

This provided excuse for yet another round of cheek kissing and general amity before a local choir arrived in best Welsh tradition. After the choir a harp made its appearance, played by a woman in stovepipe hat - these were billed, after all as cultural exchanges - and the gentle rippling sounds mesmerized the audience.

After we had eaten, with the Blossom Hill, still not exhausted the choir returned and sang Myfanwy. For those who do not know it, Myfanwy is the saddest and most poignant of all love songs and the music alone evokes the longings of a young heart so beautifully that listeners are often reduced to tears.

Poor Benadicte, one of our visitors, found herself caught up with the conductor during this performance for reasons that need not detain us now. Never mind that the song was in Welsh and the music not exactly in the French idyll, she returned to her seat tears streaming from her eyes.

And so it went on. Not to be outdone the French visitors huddled to the front and sang and we banged the tables during that old happy drinking song ‘Chevaliers de la Table Ronde.’ Finally to shouts of ‘more,’ the choir returned and we all belted out together the national anthems - ‘Mae Hen Gwlad fy Nadau’ and the Marseillaise.

And so after a final round of cheek kissing and benedictions of ‘Nos dda (Goodnight) or even more endearingly: ‘Nos dda, Cariad’ (Goodnight, little darling) we meandered home happy.

I see that the performance is to be repeated tonight, and no doubt will be another attempt to drink California dry. Dancing is to be substituted for singing this time, which will be fun as the Clissonais confess to a variety of interesting folk dances. But why in our reserved little Britain do we not do this sort of thing more often?

Here are two more

2008-05-05T17:24:00.006+01:00

What no news?

2008-05-05T13:36:00.005+01:00

Where are all you bloggers? I have been away a month and no one has anything to say. I am posting some more pictures from "Arms and The Man"

Arms and the Man

2008-04-01T22:30:00.001+01:00

Arms and the Man

2008-03-31T15:07:00.002+01:00

Another success! Well done to all concerned; it is, as always, invidious to single anyone out but The Director/Set Designer/Costume Maker consortium deserve praise and as far as the cast is concerned it is so encouraging to see more new faces on the stage. We look forward to seeing more of them and a special word of praise for Mike Chapman who stepped so nobly into the breeches when an original cast member left in a hissy fit.
Audience feedback was very positive ( a Full House on Saturday) and several first timers expressed firm intentions of coming again.
So here's to Lettice and Lovage !
Incidentally, Mistress Henslowe and I attended a performance of "A Small Family Business" at the RWCMaD last week; very enjoyable with good ensemble acting and a very interesting skeleton set but certainly no better than what was on offer at the Market Theatre.

AN EVENING OF DELIGHT

2008-03-15T15:49:00.003Z

Brave man that he is Lloyd Lee asked me to write a review of his show 'Educating Charlie,' so I have.

AN EVENING OF DELIGHT

It is impossible to use too many superlatives in describing Lloyd’s Lee’s one-man show based on the entertainments that Charles Dickens himself used to give. But ‘Educating Charlie’ is much more than a series of readings - it is a full-hearted theatrical event, both excellently written and magnificently performed.

In the show we trace the story of Dickens' life from his humble Portsmouth beginnings, through his happy youth in Chatham and then to the great London wen, following in the footsteps of his father’s distress. We feel for him as he is put to work, aged 12, as a humble toiler in a boot blacking factory by the Thames. As he tells this tale of the ups and downs of a young life, he describes the real adults who peopled it and shows us how he used them as models for the characters in his novels whom we know and have come to love - Pickwick, Mr Jingle, Wackford Squeers, The Micawbers, Sam Weller, Fagin and so on.

Lloyd manages to bring real Victorian authenticity to this eclectic family. He commands a range of accents and voices that is at once as at home in portraying the squeaking high Cockney treble of an agonised Mrs Micawber as it is the low Yiddish bass of Fagin. And as with the voice, Lloyd’s action and gestures convince us that we are in the actual presence of these souls so that we, the audience, experience the same astonishment and bewilderment that Dickens himself must have done as a boy in his encounters with the poets and schoolteachers, cabmen and boot boys he found in his new London world.

Truly, this is a mighty show and as good an evening’s transport of delight as ever one might hope to encounter on the London, or any other stage.

Peter Sain ley Berry
EuropaWorld
15/3/08

Arms and the Man - Poster

2008-02-26T10:50:00.004Z

West Side Story

2008-02-17T10:47:00.002Z

The students at the Welsh College of Music and Drama have been performing West Side Story over the past fortnight and last night was the final performance, so they gave it a bit of welly. And then some! Wow! It was one of those magical occasions when the audience has a perfect rapport with the cast and the magic of theatre creates a electric atmosphere that raises the whole performance to new heights. Of course, we all know the songs, veiled as they are for most of us in our younger romantic years and hearing them again, with the emotion of the story, I found the tears just pouring down my cheeks.

But it was just so well done. The choreography was perfect - perfect - the design could not be bettered, the energy of the boys and girls, who will in a year or two be taking their parts in West End musicals and in the Bill, Casualty or Coronation Street, was abundant, the singing, raw with feeling and deeper meaning, the orchestra superb, brassy, rhythmic, passionate.

At the end the 700 hundred seat Sherman rose in acclamation. A standing ovation and worth every thunderous minute and whistle. That is what live theatre is all about.

Lettice and Lovage

2008-02-15T10:18:00.002Z

We shall now be reading 'Lettice and Lovage' at 7.30 pm on Tuesday 19 February (this being the preferred day). Everyone is invited. The play is a comedy by Peter Shaffer. Time: the present.

The venue will be my house - Llanquian House, St Athan Road, Cowbridge. For those that don't know it, this is a white house with dormer windows with a Citroen Picasso outside about 150 yards down from the traffic lights and on the left hand side of the road. Telephone is 01446-773874 Look forward to seeing you all there.

If you are interested in being a part of the production but can't come to the reading, please let me know. Subject to casting etc the production is planned for around 3rd week of July. It will go into rehearsal at the beginning of May. As before please extend this invitation to anyone who does not appear on the mailing list whom you think might like to come along. It would be helpful if anyone that hasn't told me already they would like to come, could let me know as soon as possible either by telephone or email pslb@mac.com

Peter SLB

How many ?

2008-02-14T21:31:00.002Z

I do remember making an attempt to update the numerical list of CADS productions a few years ago, but we must have updated a few computers since then, because I simply can't find the info anywhere.
What memory I have left is trying to tell me that I sent copies to the relevant committee at the time, and I was wondering if anyone else might just have a PC version available - I though it would be good to bring it right up to date and print it in the next newsletter perhaps - or on this very blog, maybe, or both !
I would also be inspiring to know that "Arms and the Man" is production number xxx.

Value of new members

2008-02-05T10:46:00.000Z

Even before she has appeared in a production for us it is gratifying to see the publicity generated for us by one of our newest members; my newspaper this morning has a substantial feature entitled " Adele a star is born" and we must hope that she manages to fit her obligations to us into what seems to be a very busy schedule !
It is also good to know that more contributors are to be welcomed to this colloquy although I observe that the cloak of anonymity offered by noms de plume has been drawn aside to reveal the identity of at least one contributor, where will this end ? are we being "blog-bugged" ?

Henslowe

New Authors Wanted!

2008-02-03T11:00:00.000Z

Thanks for the below EuropaWorld. We have certainly had worse A.G.M.S!. It was brought to my attention at the meeting that work to update the Website was long overdue. I am still working on it along with sewing a multitude of costumes for "Arms and the Man".
It was also suggested that more authors were needed on the Blog. These come from invitation from the Adminstrator (me) and I am willing to invite anyone who is keen to post articles of general interest to members. Please send me an email and I will do the necessary: (brendagrove1@mac.com). It will certainly be good to have some more literary efforts with pictures too if possible as these liven up the Blog.

2008-02-02T22:40:00.001Z

A whole week has elapsed and no-one has written about the AGM cum Burns Night supper (minus haggis) which conveniently whiled away the last Friday evening but one. Little happens at AGM's - at least not very often. People get elected, usually nem com and sometimes without their being there (though we do ascertain they will stand beforehand). Your Chairman therefore remains as does your secretary but at Treasurer there has been a reshuffle. Portfolios have been switched. The new Chancellor of the burgeoning CADS Treasury is Chris Bumstead, PSLB having decided after four years that it was time to hang up his calculator. He has been made publicity officer instead and will soon be writing to everyone.

After the AGM, we retired to the home of those well known purveyors of generous hospitality, Jim and Brenda Grove where Robert Burns was read in a variety of accents, and so, for some reason, was William McGonagall, (O beautiful bridge o'er the silvery Tay') who might well have commented thus.

It was on the 25th of January at seven thirty in the night
That members of CADS sat down to put their club to right
It was of course the time for the annual meeting
At which there was some laughter and not much weeping.

And after the Chairman had been duly elected
And last years minutes had been duly corrected
The meeting adjourned to premises warmer
Where we all drank some whisky and thought of the fauna.

Wee sleekit, cowrin' tim'rous beastie
What mad panic's in thy breastie'
Wrote Mr Burns when out ploughing he encountered a mouse
In a note that he wrote when he returned to the house.

Success

2008-01-22T10:48:00.000Z

The Dickens evening,was, as predicted, entertaining and enlightening; after these events I am almost ready to attempt to read Dickens again. Well Done to Lloyd and his team.
Interestingly, the next evening we travelled to Bristol for a fascinating recital by the well-known concert pianist Lucy Parham in which she was joined by the actors Joanna David and Henry Goodman (currently getting fine reviews for his role in "Fiddler on the Roof" in London )in which extracts from letters and diaries of Franz Liszt and his family, mistresses and others are interspersed with his music. Another entertaining and enlightening evening; what was particularly interesting to observe was that, as a proportion of seats available, Lloyd played to a fuller house than those luminaries !

Don't forget the A G M which unfortunately falls on Burns Night; Skean Dhus must be left at the Door.

Dickens of a failure

2008-01-17T15:02:00.000Z

Oh, Lackaday, lackaday !
In my enthusiasm for the forthcoming Dickens evening I fear I gave the wrong date. It is of course, this Saturday 19th and not as quoted in my last effort.

My excuse is that dealing with 21st Century technology while describing a 19th Century event is very demanding for someone who lived in the 17th Century !

Anyway I look forward to seeing you all there.

Annual General Meeting

2008-01-15T11:12:00.000Z

There are two important dates scheduled for the next week; as previously advised on the blog Lloyd is bringing a new Dickens evening this Friday 19th. I can't stress enough what a wonderful event the last one was and I do urge you all to put this one in your diary in big red letters.

The A G M may not be quite so exciting but is important; please make an effort to attend and participate in the running of your Society. Friday 25th January.

Look forward to fighting through the throng on both dates.

Henslowe

Educating Charlie

2008-01-08T09:53:00.000Z

The next event is Lloyd Lee in his one-man-show about Charles Dickens. With new material lloyd once again shows us what he is capable of on the stage. It is an evening of sheer delight - not to be missed. Although unfortunately I shall be absent as my sister is having her 60th birthday bash on that evening, Saturday 19th January.
I believe the £6.00 entrance fee includes a glass of wine. The performance starts a 7.30 and is a full length evening of entertainment. Tickets on the door.

Twelfth Night Party

2008-01-08T09:22:00.000Z

With three successful years under its belt the CADS Twelfth Night Party is now becoming a bit of a tradition. The last one, held on Sunday (January 6th) was a great success as we acted scenes from Dickens novels and enjoyed the scrumptious food contributed by the participants. Thanks go to Jim and Ber for hosting and also to Lloyd and Barbara for sorting out the scripts (and sound effects).

The picture is of the Galette des Rois - the frangipane tart (yes, I know it sounds like something out of Dickens but that's what it is) that is traditionally eaten on Twelfth Night. Inside was a token. Whoever finds is entitled to wear the crown and to be king for a day.

Annual General Meeting - date

2008-01-04T23:15:00.000Z

Good evening - I know just how much we all look forward to the event of the year, namely the CADS Annual General Meeting, so I would like to place this date firmly in my diary for fear of missing it this year.
Perhaps some kind soul can remind me of the date, and, indeed, remind us all of just how important it is that all members come along and have a say in the running of CADS.
thanks.

Twelfth Night 2

2008-01-02T22:50:00.000Z

Jim has put our phone number incorrectly - it is 772732. But, in any case, we shall be in Bristol from Friday evening until late Sunday afternoon so Lloyd is the better bet. You can ring my mobile 07976479257 or leave a message lon the landline.

Twelfth Night

2008-01-02T21:11:00.000Z

On Twelfth Night - January 6th - next Sunday, there will be a party for any CADS Members, Patrons and friends at 81 Eastgate. The format will be the same as last year when Lloyd prepared some scripts of scenes from the works of Charles Dickens which were acted out in an impromptu style with minimal costume. It was great fun and everyone present took part. Members contributed to the food and CADS supplied a bar.
If you would like to attend this event please either comment on this blog or contact Brenda 772731 or Lloyd 02920537820 - this is important to assess number.

Happy Christmas

2007-12-23T21:32:00.000Z

Happy Christmas to all CADS friends, members, patrons and supporters. May we look forward to some excellent productions next year. Thanks for lots of fun.

Arms and the Man - reading

2007-12-10T22:35:00.001Z

Do you fancy wearing a costume similar to these - and - er - are male, young and handsome? Then come to a reading of Bernard Shaw's 'Arms and the Man' on Thursday 13th December at 81 Eastgate. Anyone else interested in the production will be welcome also. 7.30ish.
Production aimed for the end of March 2008, directed by Jim Grove

Red Ball, Pink Ball

2007-12-09T16:06:00.000Z

Perhaps it's global warming and the rising water levels but the market theatre is becoming home to an endangered and fast disappearing species of marsh audience. At least to judge from the few brave web-footed souls who waded to the heart of the swamp to attend Friday evening's CADS Christmas party.

My contribution to thee proceedings involved stumbling through AA Milne's poem about King John's Christmas, which is all about...er...King John and his wish for a big red india rubber ball. It contains the couplet '...when by the window, big and red, there whistled by the royal head and bounced and fell upon the bed, an india rubber ball.'

Well, I was walking yesterday, head down against the gale that was sweeping up Broadway, when bouncing towards me (and almost whistling past) came.....a red ball. 'Apt,' I thought, if a day too late. Anyway I couldn't resist picking it up while looking around for the likely lass or lad to whom it might have belonged, for I discounted the possibility that it might have been lost by a passing Royal. It was not made of india rubber, but of a light plastic, though there is not a lot of difference in the look of the thing in the gathering dusk of a winter afternoon.

As no wailing child hove into view and as I felt a bit silly dropping the ball back on the pavement (I could have got myself arrested for littering) I placed it in my right pocket and continued on my way. Imagine my surprise then when in the middle of Love Lane I should find a pink ball lying at my feet. Had someone been playing snooker in the Heavens? Was there now a whole frame of balls dotted around the Cowbridge streets? I picked up the orphan ball and put it in my left pocket.

I didn't find anymore but if any of you have any information or claim ownership, do please say.

Arms & the man

2007-12-06T19:34:00.000Z

An earlier blog on this topic is slipping down the charts and will soon disappear, so here is a refresher. The last was widely ignored, so I am beginning to feel lonely. Sob! Is anybody interested in this: there will be a reading of the script with a view to casting parts on Thursday 10th December at 7.30 in the warm at 81 Eastgate, Cowbridge. If you want to read the play, you can find a text at gutenberg.org that can be downloaded and copied freely,or Brenda has copies to borrow. There is also a DVD of the BBC production from about 25 years ago with a youthful Helena Bonham-Carter that is worth seeing (but we can do better). There is still an important gap in our ranks for a "young" officer of artillery (he says he is 35 but I don't believe him), Bluntschli, a splendid part. Do you know of a personable (not necessarily handsome) young man who really, really wants to act but nobody ever asked him? Come on! I know you are out there somewhere!
Committee approval is still required and you know how perverse and capricious the Committee can be. We need a good case, preferably with a convincing looking cast sketched in if we are to compete with all the other projects on the agenda.
Contact Jim on (01446) 771645 or jimgrove81@mac.com.

Blogopolis

2007-12-06T15:34:00.000Z

As I stumble hesitantly through the thicket of the blog-world I find items which strike me as a very good idea viz. communication lists. Unfortunately I am currently unable to add comments nor indeed to find the comments left by others so perforce I have to create a new entry but it certainly seems like an idea worth considering.
It is also the case that I tried very hard to reduce the font size of this message but on my machine at least it refused to accept my instruction. But then as any student of theatrical history will realise I am very old.

Henslowe

blogphobia

2007-12-02T07:32:00.001Z

Having successfully managed to leave two comments, I thought it was time to have a go at some thoughts. Upstager gave me a crash course over the phone in posting a message, which I promptly forgot. (It might have had something to do with having just got home from work and having lost the will to live of course.) Somehow this morning I seem to have got onto the page, but I have already forgotten what I did.Perhaps it will be a permanent blindspot for me like the trip to Bristol Airport, made comparatively frequently, but a white-knuckle ride nonetheless. Still I can find my way around Tescos at Culverhouse X, just, so perhaps all is not lost. If I can negotiate my way (with trolley) around that beast, why should I fear a blog and Bristol Airport? OR, if there are others out there like me we could form a splinter group called 'Blogphobics Anonymous'.The possibilities are endless!

A Newcomer

2007-12-01T18:05:00.000Z

This is Squirrelchaser, new kid on the blog. Please, Upstager, add me to the list of contributors. I've already added a small comment to the "Rotary Quiz" post.
Hello everyone.
By the way, as I feel I know you all well enough, you may call me "Squirry", if you wish.

Prima Donna

2007-12-01T11:34:00.000Z

All Grandmas and Grandpas will know what this is - a photo of a grandchild on her first stage appearance. This is Joni Glover (a name to watch out for) aged 4 1/2 in her first show 'Pinnocchio' in Bristol. Alas one performance only. She is clutching flowers from her delighted fans.

The France Show

2007-12-01T09:46:00.000Z

For all those who are lovers of France here is something that might interest you...

http://www.thefranceshow.com/

They tell me there will be live cookery demonstrations by top chef Jean-Christophe Novelli, Caricature artists, seminars on winetasting, book signings by leading authors like Stephen Clarke, live music, sample food dishes from Mon Plaisir and Cafe des Amis restaurants, a TV5 cinema, language lessons, champagne bar and over 20,000 properties for sale.

The answer is at London's Olympia, 18-20th January - where the UK's biggest celebration of France and the French living takes place in the shape of The France Show 2008.

Sound of interest? Then, here's the really great news because if you register for tickets on the France Show's official website (www.thefranceshow.com) before 31st December, your tickets to the Show will be absolutely free - no catches, or gimmicks, absolutely free! The offer allows you and up to five guests to gain entry free - saving you up to £48.

From 1st January 2008, tickets will cost £8 per person, either from the website or on the door on the day.

A big event, expecting over 40,000 visitors, The France Show 2008 will be split into Travel, Food and Wine, Property, Lifestyle and Language and Culture. There'll be full Seminar programmes running throughout each day with leading speakers on aspects of travel in france, learning French and buying and living in France - all are free on a first come first served basis. The property exhibition, meanwhile, will be the largest single French property exhibition held in the UK - no better place to find that dream home you've been promising yourself. The free cookery demonstrations, taking place in the Novelli Academy Food Theatre will also have a six session programme each day, three being carried out by Jean-Christophe Novelli himself, two by his protege Stephen Kitchen and the other by Frank Raymond of Mon Plaisir, the celebrated and oldest french restaurant in London.

Within the mini-Montmartre centrepiece of the Show, visitors will be able to relax with a drink or eating a sample signature dish cooked on the premises by top French restaurants for as little as £3 per dish. And all this while listening to live music and watching caricaturists and painters demonstrate their incredible talents.

The event is being run by top French sector magazine publisher, Archant Life, and sponsored by amongst ohers, Sunday Times, Classic FM, Brittany Ferries, Maison de la France and Rosetta Stone. For full details of all that's going on over the three days, check out the website at www.thefranceshow.com

I also notice if you click on the link there are free tickets....

World Aids Day

2007-11-30T17:22:00.000Z

Gosh, well this site has gone a bit quiet. Where are you all? Have to liven this up a bit. And the CADS Christmas Party only just round the corner too. I wanted to do 'King John's Christmas' - you know that ditty that goes 'King John was not a Good Man, he had his little ways' though it remains to be seen whether I shall be allowed. It seems doubtful. Anyway I shall be in London that day on UNESCO duty so whether I get home at all will be a bit in the lap of the gods. Maybe the second half. Anyway, in case you are interested in something remotely theatrical here is something that (as it were) I wrote earlier.

I was reminded this week, as scandal after scandal rocked the leaky boat of government, of a wonderful sketch written by Peter Cook and performed as part of the ‘Pete and Dud’ series. Peter is explaining, or trying to explain, acupuncture to his dirty rain-coated colleague. “Let’s say you’ve got a pain in your head,” says Peter. “Well this acupuncturist comes along and sticks a needle in your arm, so you forget about the pain in your head and worry instead about the pain in your arm. So the acupuncturist then sticks a needle in your bum – so you forget about the pain in your arm and concentrate on the new pain.

“In the bum,” says Dud. “In the bum,” says Peter – or words anyway to that effect. And with it he creates the splendid illusion of the acupuncturist breathlessly chasing all over the body sticking needles hither and thither to keep one step ahead of the developing pain.

This prompts me to suggest that maybe the reason child benefit discs went missing was to take our minds of the wreckage of Northern Rock. And by the same token - or rather needle - the latest party funding scandal may have been created to take our minds off worrying about the security of our bank accounts. The only problem is that sooner or later the acupuncturist is bound to run out of needles, leaving a bruised and battered patient unable to sit down behind him. Equally, sooner or later the government will run out of scandals, too, I suppose.

Still everything is relative. Tomorrow is World Aids Day. 40 million people now carry the virus apparently. It's a sobering thought.

Hobson's Choice

2007-11-27T20:55:00.000Z

Just wondered if anyone went to see the recent production at New Theatre Cardiff?
And, if so, were you as dissapointed as I was in the whole production. The set was quite drab compared with the CADS production, and as much as I admire actors moving across from television to the stage, I do wish they would realise that there is an audience out there. In this production most of the major speeches were delivered to the backcloth.

A Boring Bit of Business

2007-11-27T18:28:00.000Z

Sorry to be boring but I think we should construct a CADS electronic mailing list - or perhaps two such lists so that people could opt-in or out. One list would just contain notices of productions etc. The second would be this plus details of play readings etc.
CADS and Friends of CADS, perhaps. The problem at the moment is that we all have our own lists so there is both duplication and omission and some people get bothered by stuff they have no interest in.

Somebody - the publicity officer perhaps - should circulate a regular email containing the blog address and the website address as a footer and perhaps a contact name and number and and unsubscribe link. Perhaps the committee could email each other with the lists they hold so that a definitive list or lists could be produced.

A Question for You

2007-11-27T09:49:00.000Z

Now here is a question for the erudite Upstager and my other 'learned friends.'

I was doing the ironing the other night and, as one does, half watching Cranford at the same time when I found myself asking a Deep and Philosophical Question. This was not, why is it that carriages in costume dramas (or vintage cars for that matter) are never defaced, whatever the weather or however far they have come, by as much of a single speck of mud. Nor was it that other question I always feel prompted to ask when a film script calls for wet weather - which is why is it that film makers have yet to invent a machine that produces drizzle? For whoever it is that plays 'rain' in films is always prone to gross overacting. Have you noticed? Rain comes in one strength - deluge - and that's it. No subtlety about rain even in the most expensive shows.

So it wasn't these questions I pondered as I beavered away at the collars and cuffs; it was this: why do women in eighteenth and nineteenth century costume dramas wear those silly little cowl things over their hair (and under their hats) when they are not wearing mob caps? What was the purpose of them? Was it hygiene - to keep the nits at bay? Was it modesty (the same function as the Muslim headscarf)? Was it fashion? Or was it that shampoo (an Indian word, surely?) hadn't yet made it's appearance and that if you had to wash your hair in carbolic soap, you, too, might have wanted to keep it under wraps while half of it fell out and we all waited not so much for the coming of the railway but the arrival of Messrs Proctor and Gamble. Any ideas?