On this occasion I decided for the cloakroom option which meant that I could get togged up for cycling. Helped along by it being a bright, clear day with nothing left of the overnight wind.
Pulled my first Bullingdon from the bottom of the ramp at Waterloo and apart from getting held up at the southside lights at Blackfriars Bridge a good run up Farringdon Road, cutting along Charterhouse Street to get me to Roscoe Street. A tad faster than my usual route via Clerkenwell Road.
On to take the first bacon sandwich of the year in Whitecross Street, noticing three Waitrose trolleys on the way which had been appropriated by market traders. Let's hope they paid for them by buying their supplies there. Two waitresses at the Market Restaurant, one new, one old, that is to say one that I had seem before, rather than old in years. Bacon sandwich on very good form.
Amused by a street food tent on the way down to the theatre called 'Hoxton Beach' and selling something vaguely middle eastern.
In the theatre, played the pseud for once by depositing most of my gear in the cloakroom, but retaining my Arden text (from 1962). Which meant that I was able to quickly read through the first part of the play before the off, which made a surprising amount of difference. A pity I had not gotten around to reading through the whole thing. That said, the notes about 'Cut my lace' on page 30 (Act I, Scene III) seemed a bit overcooked, rather in the way of the Fernyhough notes noticed yesterday (reference 2). But that was before the off; reading them again now, with the performance only a few days old, they seem much more sensible, not just froth spun out of nothing by some clever academic. I clearly need to look out for a take three before the trail goes cold - with this particular production now having closed. In any event, I think it would be better to try a different one.
Antony Byrne as Antony came across better this time, with real tragedy at the end. But he still seemed more like a middle ranking businessman than a top ranking general. To me, he also seemed very Irish, a thought confirmed by Wikipedia telling me that the name is Irish but disputed by IMDB which talks of birth in Newcastle upon Tyne, just about at the time that I was being a lefty at uni. Put in a lot of time on television soaps since then.
Ben Allen as Octavian also came across better this time. His various comments on the vagaries of the mob were interesting - something which was clearly a concern to audiences at the time of writing - and something which, with our reversion to referendums as a way of doing business, is still a cause for concern now. But still not right, looking more like a popular athlete at a fancy public school than an emperor to be. Bing fails to reveal what his background actually is.
While Charmion still failed to please. Iras did rather better. But to be fair, it is hard to sit around on stage doing nothing much and wearing not much more than gauze. Neither came anywhere near matching Cleopatra's control of her body and her pose.
They made less of a mess of hauling Antony's body about on this occasion. But his messy suicide and Cleopatra's rather odd behaviour still raised a few titters - where I felt the tone was tragic rather than comic. But perhaps there are elements of both, with my responding to the former, the titterers to the latter.
I had a posse of people from the far east in front of me, most of whom did not look as if they had too much idea. For some reason I associated to Orwell's anecdote about a bottom dancing performance in Burma, presumably in the 1920's or 1930's, when white men who did not understand the form hogged the best seats and spoiled things for everyone else. The performers were, as I recall, girls of about 12 or 13, so not very correct by today's standards at all.
Dark when I came out, and going down the two-way cycle track down Farringdon Road as some cyclists were travelling at what I thought was an inconsiderate speed, considering the conditions. Encouraged by the lights having been sequenced in a way which meant that one could do a good stretch without being stopped. Plus I got into a muddle with the lights turning right into Stamford Street, with some pedestrians disputing my right of way. Stamford Street very busy - which meant one had to take care not to hit pedestrians popping out from behind things - and Waterloo Road was taped off, but I got up the ramp at Waterloo OK, taking position 5.
I decided against returning the Waitrose trolley on exit at Epsom and it had gone by the following morning. Presumably enough of their staff arrive by train in the morning for one of them to do the decent thing.
Greeted at home by a very smelly brochure from the Globe; something about the ink used by some printers, or perhaps for some purposes. A smell which neither I nor BH can abide, so the brochure hit the recycling bin double quick. I don't suppose we shall be going to the Globe again - unless, that is, they offer Antony and Cleopatra in the coming season. Which does not appear to be the case.
PS: seeing 'Antony and Cleopatra' more or less straight after seeing 'The Birthday Party' certainly made one realise what a slight thing the latter is compared with the former. The former is a serious bit of work about serious facts of life, while the latter is a bit of impressionism, a sketch.
Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/antony-and-cleopatra-take-one.html.
Reference 2: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/the-birthday-party.html.
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