Shakespeare

Went to watch an outdoors version of Romeo and Juliet last night at the Priory, which for people who are not buried in English tabloid news, is an addiction recovery centre, which happens to be set in parkland in a mansion designed by Nash.



The ensemble was skillful and enthusiastic, Will's text well interpreted and confidently espoused, although the well-known plot was occasionally raced through and I felt the cast were either too concerned that the audience would become impatient with the 16th century, or else they were all gagging for a drink at the rugby club - to which the audience were cordially invited after the show.

My dislike for the Romeo was based purely on his looks - passing boring I felt - but he grew on me and his cry of anguish of learning of Juliet's death provided the most memorable and marvellous moment as it echoed across the park and carried to the distant lake, alarming a bird settling down for it's evening roost. His performance was in the end well-judged and believable.

Juliet played the almost-14 year old fairly well but was guilty of gabbling her lines and I felt she sacrificed tenderness for hysteria too early on. All the comic passages and fights were well-staged and energetic - better than the National Theatre said Jo's boyfriend Dan - and the overall movement excellent. Even a wooden and stolid Paris couldn't ruin the play. My favourite character part the Priest was finely played with great detail, arch asides making excellent sense, and some real pathos, with the Nurse coming a close second, played in a broad Welsh accent with great humour. I sat next to Alex who muttered about the age of the Juliet. It seemed to really bother him that she was 13, even though he phrased it with humour.

In fact the age of consent was I believe raised in this country from 12 to 16 in late Victorian times because of the high level of child prostitution, a fact I like to remind people of when they talk of a return to Victorian values. As for sex at the age of 13 or 14 - I can remember it distinctly, fumbling nervously in Spa woods with my first breast, wondering whether I could get into the knickers and if so would it be biting off something (figuratively) more than I could (metaphorically) chew. I felt excited confused and guilty all at once. I wish I had been allowed to explore in safety and freedom. I don't know whether I would have killed myself if forced into sexual liason and marriage... I guess just about everything is overwhelming at that age. I think I would have accepted the banishment and enjoyed Mantua.



On the way home there were some delays and I got stalked at Southgate by a young rather deranged-looking east european woman. She got on the same carriage as me - I got off at the next stop. She was definitely confounded ! Ay ay ay. The perils of benefactors, the blessings of parasites.