Recently, at the theatre...

Four great shows, four great evenings. Here, have some typical Hannah reviews (i.e. capslock and feelings and objectification, probably).

The Tempest @ The Globe
Globe, Globe, Globe ... spiritual home, bringer of endless joy, tridecagon of boundless wonder. I shall never tire of it, and was particularly excited about its season-opening production of The Tempest owing to the casting double whammy of Colin Morgan and Roger Allam. Merlin and Peter Manyum? Why, if you insist.

I was never going to dislike the production, with a cast like that and a long-held affection for the play after studying it for A Level (not to mention my Globe-blindness), but it completely exceeded my expectations. Much as I like the play, it is undeniably dry and not one of Shakey's strongest or most exciting. However, the text was eked for as much humour as possible with spectacular results - a charming, magical and warm production, it was a delight from start to end.

Allam's Prospero was, of course, a BEAST of a man - at once commanding and fatherly, and not as cruel as I've seen previously, which was lovely. His interactions with James Garnon's wonderfully ape-like Caliban were less abusive, more piteous - as a softy at heart, this pleased me. Moreover, Prospero's relationship with his daughter was particularly touching, with a star turn from Jessie Buckley too - her wide-eyed, playful Miranda was particularly lovely. Paired with Joshua James' bumbling, puffy-chested, adorable Ferdinand, the two brought a charm to the lovers I've never seen before. Gorgeous.

Jessie Buckley, Joshua James and PROSPERALLAM.

Nautrally, Colin Morgan's Ariel was going to be a highlight for me (tunnel vision, what can I say?), and he was pretty damn magnificent. I wonder whether the Merlin writers had him on some kind of magical diet, because he seems to have grown, bulked and aged about ten years since the show ended. Sprightly and ethereal, he wound his way around the stage effortlessly, and the less said about the whole upper-body-strength thing the better - this blog should at least attempt to be PG13.

Big pimpin'.

Boosted by spending a gloriously sunny day with friends in London, The Tempest was dizzyingly delightful and engaging from start to end.

Taming of the Shrew (Propeller Theatre Company) @ Sheffield Lyceum
This...was a weird one, and warrants a shorter review. I love Propeller - their productions are bright and smart and moving and always well-staged. Taming is always going to be a troublesome play, and I feel like it can be done one of two ways: 1. Kate is as complicit in the interactions as Petrucio is, and they play off each other to find a relationship that works for both of them, or 2. the domestic violence angle is exploited in an attempt to make a point, and exemplify its horror.

I prefer the first, no question, but I can see why you might attempt the second, as Propeller did. Their portrayal was incredibly well performed, particularly by Dan Wheeler - painful and uncomfortable to watch as it should be, there's no doubting the talent involved. I just couldn't get on board with the decision to play it like that. Firstly, alongside the bawdy comedy of the Lucentio/Tranio/Biondello subplot (which was undoubtedly well done again, and had me frequently in stitches), it seemed jarring and uncomfortable, but not in a good way. And secondly, though they amped up the play-within-a-play idea in order to pull away from it at the end, leaving Petrucio/Sly shamed and judged by the players for his awful behaviour, it wasn't enough for me. There wasn't enough overt condemnation of his behaviour to make me comfortable with the way it was played out.

I thought, for a time, that the portrayal was made worse by the fact that it was an all-male cast; but the more I thought about it, the more I wondered whether an all male company were, in fact, the only people who could do justice to such a storyline - the depressing truth being that it takes the overt abuse of a man at the hands of another man to really bring home the suffering Kate endures. It could have been too cruel were Kate played by a woman, and the strength of a man overpowered by Petrucio's cruelty may work to make the realisation all the more shocking.

I just don't know with this one, kids. It left a bad taste in my mouth, and I still can't get my head around why.

This House @ National Theatre
God bless NTLive, the National Theatre's endeavour to screen some of their biggest shows in cinemas up and down the country, and abroad. When I had a steadier job and income, I was back and forth to London an obscene amount, and was lucky enough to see loads of shows. These days, it's far more infrequent, and several live shows have passed me by - much as I'd prefer to see the shows in person, having NTLive to fall back on is a gift.

Particularly for a show like This House, which I would have been utterly foolish to miss*. Set in Whitehall between 1974 and 1979, it dramatises the inner workings of government during the period of hung parliament which saw the two leading parties grasping for as many votes as possible to push their policies through. We see the progression through the eyes and actions of the Chief Whip's offices, as they seduce the 'odds and sods' of fringe parties to their side, desperately trying to get the elderly, incapacitated and infirm into the House to make sure their policies are passed. The play cleverly backgrounds the rise of Thatcher in the Conservative party, which of course takes on a new poignancy watching it now, and the NTLive production featured an interview with Baroness Ann Taylor, who is herself portrayed in the play - and who paid testament to the play's accuracy.

Much as they present fictionalised versions of events, This House and shows like The Thick of It have both shed light on areas of government I never would have given a thought to before - whips, spin doctors, the men and women behind the faces we see everywhere. It's simultaneously fascinating and unnerving to see the cogs in the machine, even more so to realise those cogs are human beings.

Photo by Johan Persson.

A pacy, vibrant, smart and hilarious production with moments of real tenderness and honesty and some brilliant visual effects and choreography, it was a real tour de force from newbie writer James Graham. The cast of main characters were faultless, with the relationship between Charles Edwards and Reece Dinsdale's Deputy Whips in particular a delight, and the rapid accent, clothing and facial hair changes from the supporting cast being pretty damn impressive too.

Reece Dinsdale and Charles Edwards (photo by Johan Persson)

I could talk more about other aspects of the politics of the play that intrigue and unsettle me, like the change in the social makeup of the labour party since the 70s, and the heightened policy-based idealism these politicians seemed to have, as opposed to the glory-hunting that seems to pervade politics these days. This House hints at both these issues and more without thwacking you over the head with a sledgehammer. It directly played into my interests in changing class politics, and made me more determined to pursue study of it further.

Obviously, I can hardly say 'make sure you get tickets!' now the show itself has finished, but gosh it was worth seeing.

The History Boys @ Sheffield Crucible
If you think I am capable of being in any way objective about a production of The History Boys that stars one of my favourite actors in one of my favourite roles, then you are sadly mistaken. I will, however, give it a damn good shot.

When I heard about the Sheffield Crucible (one of my favourite theatres) putting on a production of the History Boys (my favourite play), which was going to run through June 7th (my birthday) and would star Will Featherstone (one of my favourite actors) as Scripps (my favourite character), I was honestly a little bit concerned that someone had been stalking my subconscious, because that it quite literally everything I love. Then finding out that Oliver Coopersmith was taking the role of Posner opposite Matthew Kelly's Hector? Well, I snapped up tickets as soon as humanly possible. There's always a wariness with something that, on paper, sounds so great - what if it doesn't live up to my preposterously high expectations? But in this case, I just knew it would. I had complete and utter faith, and I was not let down.

Will Featherstone and Scripps, in rehearsals. I had ENTIRELY PROPORTIONATE reactions to this photo. (Photo by Robert Day: source)

It. Was. Brilliant. Fast-pased, dynamic, dazzlingly kinetic and energetic, it was a production full of youthful exuberance with its feet planted firmly in the 80s. I concede, with a text this strong it's hard to go wrong, but there was so much newness to the play which meant it was, to me, entirely invigorated. The movement of the sets was cleverly done and refreshed every scene, emulating that clattery desk-and-chair noise only found in secondary schools. The dance and music breaks were wonderful, and the boys themselves moved around with pure teenage vibrancy, as if the soles of their very feet were itchy and they couldn't stand still. The metre-stick-boom and satchel-camera employed during the film recreations; the constant action at the back of the stage; Dakin's earring - all these little touches added to the raucous youthfulness of it all.

Photo by Robert Day: source

And still the play kept its gorgeous moments of poignancy and heartbreak. Posner's reward, the funeral, Hector's breakdown, "the best moments in reading..." - all gorgeous, as they should be. It's also wonderful to see lines you know backwards as fresh as ever, garnering huge laughs from the audience; Ross Anderson's delivery of Rudge's immortal "one fucking thing after another" went down a storm.

The performances (and accents) were excellent all round - Coopersmith's petite Posner, all buttoned up in his duffel coat, was heartbreakingly good, and I was not let down by Featherstone's charming, whip-smart Scripps (who's ability to playing a moving piano was particularly impressive).

Oliver Coopersmith as Posner (Photo by Robert Day: source)

The stand-out performance, though, was Tom Rhys Harries' Dakin, who entirely reinvented the character in my eyes. Other productions have recreated Dominic Cooper's swaggering, old-before-his-time dickbag - not a bad thing of course, as Cooper's portrayal is brilliant. But Rhys-Harries brought Dakin back to school. Younger, gentler, more wide-eyed, this was a Dakin who was still, ostensibly, a boy, who was just as lost as the others, just better at pretending not to be. There was a tenderness and timidness there I hadn't seen before, and it was wonderful.

Tom Rhys-Harries as Dakin (Photo by Robert Day: source)

There's a reason this is my favourite play, and stagings like this are the a reason I'll never tire of it.

***

*I say that having now seen it, so if I had missed it I would have no idea what I missed, but shh with your logic.

Theatre awards 2012

I never see enough shows to do proper awards, with more than one contender per category, like the pros do. Instead, my theatre awards are an excercise in a) trying to remember what I saw this year, and b) ridiculousness. So here you have it - Hannah's theatre awards 2012!

The 'move, bitch, get out the way' award for scene-stealing
Usually reserved for James Garnon: scene stealer extraordinaire, he this year bequeaths it to another Glober (well, two of them, actually). I've already written at length about how much I adored The Globe's Taming of the Shrew, and there really wasn't a weak link in the cast. However, messrs Tom Godwin and Jamie Beamish snatched the focus of every scene (and a few hearts, I'll wager). The phrase 'rakish charm' could have been invented for Godwin (who you may recognise from previous starring roles), and his lanky physical comedy was an utter delight, while Beamish's outlandish, wild-eyed Tranio was hilarious to the point of hyperventilation.

Best pigeon impression
Having bought tickets for She Stoops to Conquer mostly owing to an absolute need to see the entirety of John Heffernan's ouvre, it was Harry Hadden-Paton who made the biggest impression. An absolute master of preposterous posturing and peacocking, his Marlow was nothing short of glorious, and made it more than worth seeing twice more. He has since been known as Harry Hadden-Pigeon, with good reason.

Most adorable corpsing
Of course, I couldn't shun The Heff from these awards, deservable of his own mention as he always is. This year, his tender yet bawdy Hastings in She Stoops was a delight, but it was the last-night corpsing that I remember with most affection. Was a person ever so charmingly pelted with orange peel? I think not.

Aforeawarded Hadden-Pigeon and Heff (from Harry's twitter)

The 'ahhhh, push it' award for most swagtastic dance moves
Myself and the cohorts with whom I most often attend the theatre share a fondness for background acting, and thus frequently leave shows more in love with minor characters, supernumeraries and orchestra members than the leads themselves. Taming of the Shrew was no exception, with several excellent background actors working their best adorable reaction faces. We were particularly enamoured by Robert Heard's booty wiggle during The Cuckoo's Nest song - both for its extreme adorability, and it's merits as a warming device when watching an outdoor play in the cold.

Best incorporation of a capella renditions of pop songs
Posh was rightly raved about, and having missed out on seeing it the first time, I was super excited to see this year's cast -- having lost Harry H-P to She Stoops, I still got to see Tiny Hamlet (Joshua Maguire), Tom Mison and Leo Bill, so I was on board. It absolutely loved it - full of bile and pomposity, it was an exaggerated yet unsettling look at entitlement and poisonousness in the upper classes. And, aside from all that, it has a capella renditions of Sexy and I Know It. Tiny Hamlet sang at me at one point. It was a good moment.

Favourite returning characters
If you've met me, chances are I've mentioned The Globe's touring production of As You Like It from 2011. Because of how it is the best play I've ever seen. The show was revived this year, replacing its two leads and choice others, but retaining a good half of the cast. I was a tad sceptical, knowing how much I loved the ensemble as a whole last time, but was very pleased to see the new cast were just as dynamic, quick and tight as the original. I was charmed by new additions Deirdre Mullins and Will Mannering, but it was a particular treat to be able to see Will Oxborrow, Emma Pallant, Beth Park and John O'Mahony reprise the roles I so loved them in the first time.

Favourite nicknaming happenstance
Upon finding out that Will Featherstone - our background favourite of choice from The Globe's 2011 season - had landed the role of Orlando in 2012's As You Like It, my best girl Emma and I subsequently flipped out. A lot. Frantically discussing the dreamy prospect of a Northern Orlando, I decided that he should henceforth be known as Geordlando. As became tradition with the Tiny Hamlet Saga of 2011, songs were writ, tweets were twote, and poor Will was dutifully informed of our nicknamification. Even better, a fansite bearing the name appeared, the phantom owner of which is yet to be revealed (though we have our suspicions). Geordlando himself was a gorgeous, goofy, TALL delight to behold, and I can only hope and pray we haven't pissed him off too much with our stupid nicknames.

Geordlando and co.

The 'thanks for that, asshole' award for life-ruining playwright
Remember when Philip Ridley wrote adorable children's books I loved, like Scribbleboy? I do. Remember when I thought seeing his plays would be a similar trip through charming storytelling? I do. Remember when it turned out that watching Ridley's raw, visceral, heartbreaking plays was like rubbing sandpaper on my heart? I DO. God this man is a marvel. I saw Shivered and Tender Napalm this year: the former actually had Emma worried I might pass out in the interval, gut-churning as it was, but I've never been gladder to have stayed thanks to its beautiful climax; while the latter saw an hour and a half of two people on stage with no props or set dressing pass in minutes, leaving me feeling like I'd barely breathed throughout. I can't describe Ridley's writing styling well enough; his words are sharp and cutting and soothing and perfect, and I would thoroughly recommend seeing any of his plays. Just take tissues.

Most pleasant surprise
Although One Man Two Guvnors was a huge sellout and monster hit, my closest theatre pals were less enthused. Their opinions being the ones I respect most, I didn't see it ... until longtime fave Ed Bennett was announced for the touring cast, and I absolutely had to. I can see why many weren't keen, but I very much enjoyed it - Bennett was predictably wonderful, tall tired frog that he is, while Rufus Hound was a surprisingly charming and adept lead. The real treat, of course, came from the music: live sixties jazz played by four guys in quiffs and burgundy suits? Yes please.

Most aptly rainsoaked
Rob and I got stellar front-row seats for York's Mystery Plays, a production of extreme scale and wonder which was deservedly raved about. (Un?)fortunately, our seats were some of the few not to be covered by the roof, and when a downpour of suitably Biblical proportions occurred, we were royally drenched - as were the poor cast. It was actually rather brilliant -- a floodlit rainstorm over a manger scene is quite, quite beautiful (shame it wasn't over the ark scene, mind). Despite it getting progressively colder and damper, the show was a joy, and the cast coped with the poor weather incredibly well. Ferdinand Kingsley's performance was something really special.

Performance of the year
You know when you see a person in a role they were born for, and when you see it a second (third, fourth...) time you can't think they can't do it any better, and yet somehow they do? This could be The Emma Pallant Story (if it had a nattier title). Her Lady Jacques in AYLI 2011 was nothing short of magnificent, and I was so excited to see her reprise the role this year. Somehow, she managed to be even better - her melancholy sharper, more biting; her snark more vivid and burning; her Seven Ages of Man speech even more heartbreaking. Seeing that, and her feather-adorned Titania in Playing Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream in March, were unnecessary yet extremely welcome reminders of Pallant's talent

Show of the year (show of my life??)
I've neglected mentioning Matilda this far, much as it could have stolen any number of these awards. I didn't think anything could pip AYLI 2011 from the top spot on my 'favourite productions ever' list (and it's extremely close, as that show has incredible memories for me), but the sheer range and intensity of emotion I felt while seeing Matilda has catapulted it to the top of the list.

Rob had sent me the soundtrack early in the year, and I was instantly in love. Tim Minchin's playful, whip-smart melodies and frantic piano were the perfect accompaniment to Dahl's suprisingly dark story, tugging both hilarity and raw emotion from the plot. The mischievous tip-toeing of Naughty, the swell of children's voices in When I Grow Up, the utter beauty of Quiet - I listened to the soundtrack on loop for weeks and learned every word. I was honestly a bit nervous it wouldn't live up to my expectations when I finally saw it.

I needn't have worried a jot. It was a magical, charming, hilarious, heartbreaking, overwhelming theatre experience that filled me with more joy and exuberance than I could have ever hoped. The vivid set, the childlike yet kick-ass choreoraphy, Bertie Carvel's magnificent Trunchbull. Oh god, I could wax lyrical about it forever, and this is already getting away from me, so I'll stop. It was a wonder, and if you get a chance to see it I implore you: go, and feel what it's like to be a child again.

And one extra award: The 'LOVE YOU' award for tip-top friends and theatre cohorts
Though the stigma is waning a little, having Internet friends is still seen as a bit odd. I just want to put people who roll their eyes in a room with my web-based pals and let them see how fantastic they all are. Then they'll see. Gabriella, Emma, Sophie, Izi and Julia have been long-term theatre buds, and I was of course grateful to spend lots of time in their company in 2012, but this year in particular belongs to Jan, Rhian and Rob. Still quite new friends of mine at the start of the year, I was lucky enough to see many shows with them, and spend a good deal of time in their company, sobbing/enthusing over various shows and people. You're all gorgeous and hilarious and I hope you know how much I love you. Thanks, guys <3

Taming of the Shrew, Shakespeare's Globe, 13th October 2012

Oof, I do love theatre. Next to linguistics, it is the light of my life. Compared to last summer, where I practically lived in London and overdosed on the stuff, this summer has been pitifully theatre-bare (pissing all your money away on an MA and then spending your summer writing a thesis for said MA kind of shoots any kind of recreational theatre horse right in the face*). However, I made sure to book for The Globe's closing weekend the day the tickets went on sale -- last night performances always have that something special about them, a kind of exuberant frenzy tinged with sadness from the cast and creatives, and in a theatre like The Globe, that's all the more electric.

Following a thoroughly excellent housewarming party at our new abode, I tore myself out of bed and just about managed a five-hour coach journey to London with a stonking hangover (remind me again why I continue to drink wine?), but was cured by the fresh yet biting October cold, the presence of Emma, and a little hair of the dog.

Classing it up with melon martinis

After a thorough deconstruction of the recent terrible life choices of Team Shameless, we wandered Globewards, queued for a time, and got a sweet spot thrust-left alongside Sophie, Jo, Jan, Rhian, and Rob, living proof that people you meet on the Internet are uniformly excellent.

Our first show of the weekend was The Taming of the Shrew. Though I know the text, I've never seen a production before and have heard that, pitched poorly, it can be DIRE, being one of the most problematic of Shakey's plays to transfer to a modern, enlightened audience. This production, however, overcame any and every issue with the text, resulting in a sparky, filthy, hilarious and gorgeous rendering of the play which left me giggling and delighted for the whole next day.

The onus of responsibility for pulling off a good Taming is going to rest on your leads, and Samantha Spiro and Simon Paisley-Day carried it brilliantly, fizzling with chemistry from their very first moment, and managing the tricky textual relationship between the lovers perfectly. Their Kate and Petruchio were swaggering, kinky and super hot for each other (without betraying their own integrity), and there something about a height difference that makes a Kate/Petruchio dymanic all the more delicious (see also: Rufus Sewell and Shirley Henderson in Shakespeare ReTold).

Height difference!

The 'taming' scenes, where Kate bends to Petruchio's will were played like a game, with Kate indulging her husband very knowingly - a fantastic way of interpreting the script. This Kate has always had to act up to get even the slightest bit of fair treatment, that's all she knows, and this Petruchio sees that and wants to change her for her, not his own gain. Fabulous.

(Also, Simon Paisley Day spends a goodly amount of this production in a thong-codpiece. Props to him for braving the cold, and for having some killer hipbones.)

The younger, flightier Bianca and Lucentio were adorably interpereted by Sarah MacRae and Joseph Timms; the former adding fantastic, calculated cruelness to the textually weak sister, and the latter being the most puppy-eyed, giddy-hearted sap you could hope to see. The entire supporting cast were faultless, adding tiny slivers of comedy to nearly every line and filling the stage with a cheeky exuberance which left you feeling scandalised - in a good way.

Even with such strong leads, two of the supporting roles were absolute scene-stealers. Tom Godwin's Biondello was brimming with rakish charm, twinkly-eyed asides and hilarious physical comedy. From miming the contents of a letter to book-carrying and wielding a sword, everything was executed hilariously and on-point. Jamie Beamish played a beaming (no pun intended), ridiculous Tranio whose exaggerated everything had us consistently in stitches - whenever he, Timms and Godwin shared a scene I swear my face hurt from grinning so hard.

This photo had to be embiggened, for facial expression reasons.

Special mention should also go to Pearce Quigly, whose lackadaisical, snarky Grumio was a thing of beauty, and who managed to make kicking a bucket the most spectacular joke of the night.

Throw into the mix some glorious music, typically gorgeous costuming and a beautifully tender ending and you're left with several hundred raucously cheering theatregoers. All in all, a tremendous stonker of a show with buckets of vibrancy and even more heart. The Globe at its best**.

*That metaphor kind of got away from me there.
**I do think The Globe owes me some recompense for the fact that I shall never be able to get the incredibly catchy Cuckoo's Nest song from my head, mind. However, if you've been standing for three hours watching a show, imitating supernumerary Robert Heard's brilliant 'Cuckoo's Nest Wiggle' is great for the spine.

Silent films, Streetcars and super exciting sojourns!

I haven't posted here since what I later realised was Valentine's Day (only the coolest of girls spend the ~most romantic day of the year writing blog posts about Shakespeare and fake sheep), because life seems to have SPIRALLED OUT OF CONTROL somewhat, not quite giving me time to get a foothold.

I expected the past fortnight to be a little calmer (not least because the first five days were Reading Week, the euphemistically titled break from studies that encourages most people to piss off on holiday), but with a formative phonetics assignment, several articles to write and subedit for my freelance job* and a smattering of this thing I believe people call a social life, I found myself with less time than ever. Throw in a motherbitch of a cold and the last fortnight pretty much flew by in a glorious, mental blur.

I did, however, manage to take in some culcha, feelings about which will be vomited below, in traditional listy format.

THE ARTIST
Bringing the grand total of main 2012 Best Picture Oscar nominated films I have actually seen to one, I got to see The Artist on Thursday evening. But, to be fair, it was the only one that, on the surface, made me want to watch it (aside from Tinker, Tailor, which I need to get on asap, because god knows I love me some tragic homosexual spies).

While I'm not sure it deserves the utter, unrelenting adoration it has received in every single way (in that, while wonderful, it was flawed), I bloody loved it. The combination of the novel, unique cinemagoing experience, vintage charm of the era, beautiful direction and extreme handsomeness of Jean Dujardin (more on that later) made it an utter delight from start to finish.

The direction was, as I said, beautiful; one shot in particular, in which George Valentin is angstily sitting at a mirrored table, and pours a glass of whiskey over his reflection on the surface, was really just staggeringly well done. The costumes were stunning, and I'm not quite sure who was more adorable, Berenice Bejo or Uggie the dog (utter scene-stealer)**.

While George Valentin was perhaps a tad whiny as a character, Jean Dujardin was heartbreakingly good at both beaming swagger and utter dejection. Also, as Emma has previously put it, his face should really just be pictured adjacent to the 'handsome' entry in the dictionary.

I mean REALLY. That's basically just obnoxiously handsome***.

The music was perfectly lovely, and I loved the experience of seeing a silent film (though I am Team Talkies - sorry George!). I found myself holding my breath in parts, terrified of disturbing the silence, and I admit that other people's rustling becomes that bit more frustrating in this setting, but I wouldn't give up the cinema experience of The Artist for a DVD viewing in a million years.

A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE @ Liverpool Everyman
(once again, I have taken the majority of this review from a shameful email to Rob)

A brilliant, uncomfortably intense production of a play I was utterly unfamiliar with (I do shame myself with my ignorance at times) before Saturday afternoon. Weak in parts, Amanda Drew and Sam Troughton shone in the most painful way.

I admit, I was kind of ruined for at least the first half-hour, because dear lord some of the accents were ATROCIOUS. I'm no expert on the specifics of the New Orleans accent, but the supporting cast were jarringly bad at the start, and it made it very, very difficult to engage with the characters straight from the off. It seemed so pantomime, so distant, if that even makes any sense. Amanda Drew and Sam Troughton were much better, but Matthew Flynn (Mitch) in particular was in and out like a yoyo! Which is such a shame, because his performance was heartbreakingly good.

The stage was three-quarters of a room, which rotated to reveal an outside spiral staircase at the side and occasionally only gave us shots of the action through an open window, which I really liked. You could really feel the stickiness and claustrophobia of the tiny apartment, and how much that must have driven Blanche to distraction, particularly being so close to Stan.

Amanda was undoubtedly the star - she was INCREDIBLE. When we first meet Blanche it was really, really hard for me to see her as a real person; because her extended periods of solo dialogue seem so unnatural and staged, she seems like a written character rather than an actual person, if that makes any sense. She's SO dramatic and SO verbose that she seems ridiculous, but as the play continues and you see that it's just her, and that verbal diarrhoea is her reflex, her being terrified of silence and being alone, a frantic need to talk and talk and have someone listen (which plays off so heartbreakingly well against Mitch's need to have someone talk to him, oh my soul).

AND SAM TROUGHTON. Having only seen Sam as doe-eyed hopeless cases, I was completely unprepared for Stan's swaggering dickishness, but he absolutely killed it. He's basically all chest, and it is MAGNIFICENT. His Polish-American accent was very strong, and he was masterful at that sinister sexiness that absolutely made you understand why Stella fell in love with him in the first place, and remains so entranced by him. He was equal parts menacing and heartbreaking, and filled the stage brilliantly.

Also, and I am toning down the creepy A LOT right now, daaaaaaamn Troughton! Where'd you get them arms? Flex them for me a little more! Grasp that bottle/doorframe/wrist a little harder! Oh God I hate myself, but he was ridiculously attractive, and spent a good 40% of the play changing his shirt.

And this one time he totally poured a bottle of beer all over himself while wearing a vest.
It was awesome.

UNIVERSITY CHALLENGE!!!!111!1!1!!
So on Sunday, in what was basically the pinnacle of my existence, I got to go to Granada Studios in Manchester to watch the filming of University Challenge. Since my darling friend Becky ass-kicked her way into the captain spot, I've been spending an awful lot of time with the team as they've trained (having subsequently come to accept my own extreme intellectual inferiority), and have become disgustingly fond of them all. They're all wonderful, stupidly smart humans, and I was so honoured to have been able to go and watch them.

Of course, as this series is not airing until July, I am strictly verboten from divulging any of the scores or successes, but I can give you a giddy account of the day - which, I'm sure you'll agree, is even better.

I TOOK THIS PICTURE. THAT'S HOW CLOSE I WAS.

Arriving late, I was made to sit on my own at the front, and thus had to contain my ridiculous excitement at being on the University Challenge set oh my godddddd. INSIDER FACT: they hold the nameplates on with sellotape. Oh yeah, no expense spared. I eventually found some people supporting Warwick Uni, who were just as exuberantly hyperactive as I was, and spend a good few hours freaking the fuck out every time we heard the theme tune or Paxman walked past.

SPEAKING OF PAXMAN: there's some feelings I never thought I'd have. He's kind of simultaneously the worst person - really rude and obnoxious, quite stroppy and a little too overly fond of Oxbridge colleges for my liking - but also brilliant - he was fab with the teams, and cracking jokes throughout. Also, the commanding thing? Yeah. Pleasant.

He also may have walked past us on the way out and I may have taken a photo. Just a little bit.

We got to watch four matches, and all of them were brilliant. We also did a lot of scary 'filming the audience applauding' shots, so there's my claim to fame for the next ten years sorted. Basically, it was the best day ever, and the York team are my absolute heroes for dealing with the utterly terrifying prospect that is Jeremy Paxman firing questions at you at speed.

Man, this blogpost got LONG. I'm going to go drink tea with Bri before salsa class. Laterz.

*I write and subedit for publicservice.co.uk, by the by.** HE WORE A FUCKING BOW TIE TO THE OSCARS KILL ME.
*** If you have been intrigued by this ridiculous specimen of handsomehood (if not, have you not eyes?!), then I insist you go here to briefly luxuriate in his extreme handsomeness, and here to see how fucking adorable he is in real life, too.

The Winter's Tale, Propeller Theatre Company - Sheffield Lyceum

I cannot lie, the majority of this review is copy and pasted from a ridiculously lengthy email I sent to Rob, and will thus be ridiculous. However, I have edited it slightly, because gmail is a much safer home for my shamelessness, and this blog must retain at least a little decorum.

(There be spoilers below. Big ones. Do not read on if you want to remain unspoiled for the production. This means you, Emma.)

To summarise, I loved it. I have a soft spot for it having studying it for A-Level, but it cannot be denied that the play itself is bizarre; with its halves in complete opposition, it can leave an audience a little unsettled, I think.

However, I think the best thing about this production was the fact that they completely embraced the juxtaposition of the two halves. Pussyfooting around it can often result in a weird middle ground that doesn't work for either (as has been the case for other productions I've seen), but with Propeller's they had intense, haunting drama in the first half and proper, balls-out ridiculousness in the second, and I loved it. I've never seen such a polarised version of the play, and it was brilliant.

I was originally a little bit unsure about Robert Hands' Leontes, because his character is basically one of the biggest dickbags ever, and his suspicions hit so instantaneously that to play it more subtly kind of makes him seem like even more of a dick? I mean, the one I compare it to is Anthony Sher in the RSC version, who goes properly nuts with the accusations, so at first Hands' more restrained Leontes seemed wrong. BUT, thinking about it more and reading a couple of reviews made me like it, because it was more sinister and calculated - more knowing, maybe. And I like that. But regardless of how the character was interpreted, his delivery was brilliant.

I loved Vince Leigh's Paulina, and his performance in particular highlighted something I loved about the production as a whole: that, in the first half, none of the guys put on funny voices to be the women. It was all in the physicality, but it wasn't pantomime or stereotype. Brilliantly done. Paulina in particular is badass, and Leigh showed that really well.

Mamillius was done really well too, and I LOVED the way he was in the background for a lot of the scenes, witnessing the dissent and reacting to it - the breakdown scene was heartbreaking, and it makes it even more gut-wrenching when he dies.

Richard Dempsey's Hermione was one of the highlights of the show - he holds himself beautifully, and managed to capture the stalwart strength that I love about the character. I don't see her as resigned and passive, I see her as sure in her goodness and wise to the fact that having a fit about it won't make anything better, and he did that beautifully. The trial scene was incredible, with the microphone and us as the jury, augh.

Richard Dempsey as Hermione - credit: Manuel Harlan

The only thing I wasn't so keen on was the reaction to the Oracle - I always see that as the moment Leontes goes too far, to claim to know more than God, and I've always liked it to be properly shocking rather than played for laughs. But that's only a minor niggle.

THE BEAR! I was underwhelmed, but in a good way, I think. I expected ~A SPECTACLE~, because this is Propeller, but I liked the way it was done (particularly because it carried on the theme of the dolls that had been used throughout).

Final note about the first half, and back to the shallow end - THE SUITS. dsjahfgajhsgjhg such beautiful sartorial choices. Everyone looks good in a charcoal grey suit, particularly these guys.

AND THEN THE SECOND HALF.
OHHHH, THE SECOND HALF.

I knew I was in for a treat, having seen some of the production stills, but OH MY GOD. I hardly know where to start!

Everything was magnificent and preposterous and I loved every second. John Dougall as the Old Shepherd was so tenderly done, especially when he finds out about Perdita. Gorgeous. Karl Davies is just too cute for this life; the scene where Autolycus strips him is always one of my stand out favourites in any TWT production, and this one was SO GOOD - the physicality of it is so perfect, and there was a knitted g-string involved, so yeah. I really liked Tony Bell's Autolycus in general, and the decision to play him as a drunken waster rather that a quick-witted rapscallion - like nothing I've seen before. It makes him all the more cringey and ridiculous. 

The bit with the Young Shepherd, his shopping list and the sheep was INSPIRED, and I was howling throughout. The sheep in general were a fantastic addition, and The Bleatles! And Robert Hands' shimmying! Ohhhhh, this cast <3

Karl Davies as the Young Shepherd, and a sheep - credit: Manuel Harlan.

AND THEN
OH SWEET LORD

I can hardly even do coherency about the ballad. If I say the words 'Lloyd from the Demon Headmaster and Peter Pevensie from the BBC's Narnia series performed a Shakespearean ballad to the tune of Beyonce's Single Ladies, with dance routine', you'd think I'd entirely lost the plot, but I can assure you that I haven't. It was absolutely the highlight of the show, without a doubt. Both were balls-out ridiculous with it, which is the only way to be. A magnificent spectacle, and one which I shan't be forgetting in a while.

I absolutely fell in love with Perdita and Florizel. Ben Allen is ADORABLE and I want to see him in more things because his faaaace, but it was all about Finn Hanlon. SO DREAMY. EVEN IN WHITE JEANS. And then he sang and was so in love and kept touching Perdita's waist and sdjhfgajhsdgfaj. I was absolutely dying for them to make out, I cannot lie. But was thwarted, alas.

I loved the Polixenes/Camillo disguises, and the scene with Autolycus tricking the shepherds into thinking he was a gentleman. Even better was the bit where the shepherds get him back, and have the whole speech about being 'gentleman born these four hours' - always brilliant, and Karl Davies was rocking that blazer.

The ending is always a strange one, because you kind of have to suspend your disbelief for it anyway, but it was touching and beautifully staged, and Leontes' metamorphosis was wonderful. However, the stand-out moment of that section (perhaps the whole show, Single Ladies aside), was Vince Leigh's closing moment as Paulina. Every production I've seen has played the Paulina/Camillo thing for laughs and jollity - 'hurrah, everyone is happy now!', etc. - and it was a real punch in the gut to see her so heartbroken at the end, because everyone got everything they lost aside from her, and it's so, so sad. Perfect touch.

My 2011 - part the final

So, taking inspiration from (read: shamelessly copying) Sophie, Rhian and Pockle, I have written my 'top theatre of 2011' blog in the style of ridiculous awards handed out in arbitrary categories.

Onwards!

The 'move, bitch, get out the way' award for show-stealing
James Garnon, in King Lear at the West Yorkshire Playhouse. My fondness for background acting in TV shows has probably bled into my theatre-watching, and my subsequent attachment to some (slightly) more minor characters. While the WYP's Lear was sound overall, I'm afraid I can't remember much aside from James Garnon striding around in braces and riding boots. That, and sassy!Oswald. Sorry Iain Batchelor, you were really close to winning, but were you wearing braces? No, you were not.

The 'eyes on the prize, Leach' award for show-stealing that was committed by someone not in the ensemble
Anne Boleyn was one of my favourite shows of the year; vibrant, hilarious and beautifully performed, I adored it. However, I found myself distracted by the presence of a certain Sexy Cellist up in the balcony, and - more specifically - his obscene habit of basically performing oral sex with his cello while he wasn't playing it. How is a girl to focus when he's mouthing at his tuning keys? Impossible.

Snog of the year
Despite hearty competition from Ben Lamb and Emma Pallant in As You Like It, Oscar-worthy kiss of the year has to go to Ben Deery and James Garnon in Anne Boleyn. I will refrain from further comment lest I shame myself.

The 'I hate myself' award for inappropriate arousal
Our Private Lives - a play about underage rape, accused incest and psychological trauma - was bloody hard to watch, and incredibly powerful. And yet, there was Colin Morgan, all slender and angsty, in excellent jeans, with his hair all a mess, and good lord the mixture of extreme emotions going while sitting in that tiny room was quite disgusting.

Best cape-based masculinity crisis
Sam Crane, All's Well That Ends Well. Oh BERTRAM, you beautiful dickbag.

Moment most deserving of spontaneous applause
Emma Pallant's Seven Ages of Man speech in As You Like It. Emma's Lady Jacques was sublime throughout, but this speech in particular was stupendous.

The 'OH GOD WHY' award for most awkward in-theatre moment
That moment when someone actually started spontaneously applauding in the middle of Emma's Seven Ages of Man speech. I mean, if you're moved to express yourself, then who am I to stop you, but she was only on act four! And it explicitly states that there will be seven! 

The TALL award for tall tallness
Despite stiff competition from other lovely tall boys (Ben Lamb, Will Featherstone, Ed Bennett, John Heffernan), this one has to go to Rupert Young, who had to KNEEL DOWN to hug one of his castmates in Company, and was still almost as tall as her. We also had the great honour of seeing his tall tallness up close, too, and Mr Young is as delightful as he is giant.

The 'you are my sunshine, my only sunshine' award for RADIANCE
The Globe ladies could have blown a hole in the ozone layer with the sheer force of RADIANCE pouring out of that one spot on the South Bank, I'm sure. Ellie Piercy, Miranda Raison and Emma Pallant were all beaming rays of sunshine (and I am reliably informed that Eve Best would also be on this list, had I seen Much Ado), but the accolade must go to the supernova of radiance that is Jo Herbert, for her Rosalind. As many have said, she was born to play the role.

Best forearms
There was a veritable feast of forearm glory in almost every show I saw this year (I can reduce even the most highbrow of cultural outings into a oglefest. I'm not even sorry), but SURPRISE WINNER of the 2011 forearms award is one Ed Bennett. I admit, I may have been blinded by the fact that they were about eight inches from my face for a several minutes, but they were undeniably spectacular specimens.

Told you so

Best RIPPLING BACK MUSCLES
Like there was, or will ever be, another contender. Step up, Ben Lamb.

Most arousing costume design
Ooh, sometimes I just want to kiss a show's costume designer on the mouth. This year we had some treats: Heffernan and his bowties in Last of the Duchess; Sam Barnett's ridiculously tight jeans in Rosencratnz and Guildenstern are dead; an abundance of waistcoat action in both Three Farces and As You Like It - all, magnificent. However, I think the award has to go to Propeller's Henry V, whose modern military garb - mainly vests - resulted in what was basically a forearm army, or a forearmy, if you will.

FAAAAACE! of the year
Yet again, Ed Bennett takes it. Three Farces farces had me laughing until I was sure I was going to vomit up my spleen, but Ed in particular was fantastic - the tiniest little lip-twitch or nose-scrunch had the audience howling, and his upper-middle-class twit face is second to none.

Most teasing loincloth
Don't even front, Sam Crane. Stop concealing your feelings under that knee-length modest loincloth of yours.

The 'oh, that's what everyone was harping on about' award for person I finally saw on stage
Excellent twitter types had talked at length about how wonderful John Heffernan is, and I finally got to experience it for myself this year - twice, in fact! While I will be forever bitter about missing Love, Love, Love and particularly his Richard II, he was utterly wonderful in Emperor and Galilean and Last of the Duchess -- in the former, tender and heartbreaking, in the latter, precious beyond belief. He immediately leapt onto my 'people I will make the effort to see regardless of price or distance' list, and I can't wait to see him in more things. Next up: She Stoops to Conquer.

The 'cheers, Twitter' award for people I am inexplicably attached to despite never actually seeing them perform
The joint recipients of this award have to be Kyle Soller and Phil Cumbus; living vicariously through my friends as they watched Much Ado About Nothing, The Globe Mysteries, The Government Inspector and Faith Machine, with only headshots and YouTube delights to tide me over, I nevertheless start 2012 with a Soller Situation and a spot on Team Cumberbus. \o/

Greatest things I have now watched because a person from a show was in it once
I am finding it hard to pick between the objective winner - Benjamin Dove, a beautiful, if heartbreaking Icelandic family film - and one I secretly want to give the award to - The Demon Headmaster. However, the astute among you will notice that these two things have something in common, and thus the award can be presented to Gunnar Cauthery's back catalogue. Even The Tudors.

The 'oh God still crying why did it have to end' award for show of the year
The Globe's As You Like It. Almost four months later, and I still can't find words adequate enough to express how fucking wonderful it was. The most joyous show I've ever seen.

Best nickname
Tall sex ninja, jam filled pastry case, sunkissed, Cumberbus -- there were a LOT of ridiculous nicknames coined this year. However, the crowning jewel of nicknamey glory, of course, has to go to Tiny Hamlet, a pseudonym that is so ubiquitous, it appears to now be used by Joshua Maguire's family members. As Sophie puts it, 'I feel we have, in a very real way, ruined Joshua McGuire's life a little bit.'

Troll of the year
Posting pictures of skinny-dipping adventures? Sending us links to videos of glorious boyband mimicry? Slipping in-jokes into on-stage dialogue and radio interviews? Why, it could only be Gunnar Cauthery, troll extraordinaire and king of the enablers.

The 'we could have had it aaaaaaaaall' award for show I most regret missing
As I think of all the shows I didn't get to see this year, I'm finding myself hammering at the keyboard with increasing bitter rage. Jerusalem, Richard II, 66 Books, Tender Napalm, and so many other shows I missed due to distance/cost/logistics. Oh, to be a lottery winner! However, the title has to go to The Globe's Much Ado About Nothing, which I heard was nothing short of exquisite. I hope to find some solace from the eventual DVD.

The 'WHY AM I HERE I HATE MYSELF' award for guilty pleasure of the year
Glee live. Fuck you all, it was amazing.

The 'how is this a thing that is real' for best experience of the year
That one time we spent an evening sandwiched between Jamie Parker's childhood friends while he, his beautiful wife Deborah Crowe, and Samuel Barnett performed Sondheim and other other musical theatre classics about eight feet away from us. Remember that time Jamie's friends told us anecdotes about his adolescence? Remember that time we cheered so loudly that we got special recognition? Remember that time Deborah Crowe told me I looked like Anna Maxwell Martin? I do.

The 'shut up being so wonderful I can't even deal with it' award for best ensemble

These fuckers.

They don't know we know they know we know

I've just got back from a wonderful, wonderful lecture given by Oliver Ford Davies*, entitled 'Did Gertrude Know? Some problems with performing Shakespeare'. I was utterly entranced by the whole thing, for three main reasons:

Firstly, Oliver himself. What a charming man! Stumbling across the lecture while browsing the vast selection on offer (methinks I shall be making good use of them in the coming weeks), I recognised Davies' name and face from his role as the Polonius to David Tennant's Hamlet, a production I was lucky enough (or unlucky enough, depending on your Tennant-feelings!) to see a few years ago. I've not been fortunate enough to see him in any other theatre roles, but I am definitely going to try in future - he seems a warm, intelligent and kind soul, with the kind of deep knowledge of his subject matter that only a pure passion could have motivated. His voice is measured yet commanding, and he wisecracked and witted his way through an hour which seemed to fly by.

Secondly - daft as it sounds - I understood! I've never been a slavish scholar of Shakespeare; while I studied and loved many of his plays throughout school, I don't share the same encyclopedic knowledge of his work as so many wonderful academics and theatregoers do. However, I do think him - in short - a genius. I'm a novice fan - one who watches and reads as much as she can, and is left in constant awe by his mastery of language** and character, his wit and his tenderness, and his love of people and their eccentricities.This past year has seen me pretty much overdose on any Shakespeare production I can get my eyes on (to turn an odd phrase), and while the nuances discovered by line-to-line study may be lost on me, I've loved broadening my Shakey horizons - and, thus, I adored this lecture. When Davies spoke of Gertrude and Petruchio and Edgar, I knew them - I knew the characters, as played by various actors, and I knew their stories. I 'got' the jokes, the asides, and wasn't left baffled by some of the matters discussed - which I might have been several years ago. As I said, I by no means claim to be an expert (far, FAR from it), but goodness it felt marvellous to be engaged by a Shakespeare discussion, one which I found compelling and exciting. I bloody love Shakespeare, and this reminded me exactly why.

Thirdly, the theme of the lecture itself was one which really seemed to resonate with me and my sensibilities. Davies spoke on the ambiguity in Shakespeare's work, and how a lack of explanation can result in endless frustration for an actor. Did Gertrude know she was married to a murderer? She can be played either way, and the effects of the choice can echo through the entire show. So, so many character choices and motivations are obscured in Shakespeare's work, and others' too, in what Davies termed 'stragetic opacity'. But the thing that got me most was his attitude to this - speaking as an actor, one might see him sympathise with the plight of the unknown character (which, to an extent, he of course did). But he also rejoiced. His closing remarks, while I can't recall the exact words, expressed the sentiment 'Shakespeare left it open to you - enjoy!', which absolutely warmed my heart.

So many times - whether it be deciding on a linguistic theory with which to side, or a religious doctrine, if any, to which to adhere - I have thought myself stupid, frustrating or inferior for just not knowing. To be undecided - politically, spiritually, or any other -ally - is bad, wrong, silly, naïve, lazy, foolish, and many more pejoratives. Yet, sometimes, I find myself wanting to scream 'isn't it okay to just not know?' - why does everything have to be defined, solid and immovable? I appreciate the merits of surety, of course - it would be nonsensical not to - but sometimes I just like to bask in not quite knowing for sure, and I wish it were more acceptable to do so. Not-knowing brings discussion, debate and learning, while stagnated, unchangeable opinions can occasionally be a breeding ground for dogma and intimidation. Maybe that's why I enjoy learning so much - I don't know, and therefore I want someone with more information to tell me things so I can start to know a little better.

I appreciate that I have extrapolated the themes of Oliver's lecture to a preposterous level of abstraction, and will therefore stop typing, but - as with many things - it just made me feel all the feelings, so I thought I'd put them somewhere. Oliver Ford-Davies has written a couple of books about his acting life and the craft itself, and, while I haven't read them myself, if they're half as engaging and entertaining as his lecture, then I'd thoroughly recommend them.

"Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity." ~Gilda Radner

*Witnessed a fellow saying 'man, this guy looks just like the guy who played the Archbishop of Canterbury in Johnny English'. Yeah, that was him, idiot. (You might think 'idiot' a strong choice of word, but the guy then went on to tell his friend that they had special, reserved seating, and thus would be away from the 'plebs', so I am more than content to go with such a derogatory term. What a dick.)

**Me being me, I am particularly enamoured with Shakespeare's language, its intricacies, and its phenomenal effect on the way we speak and write today. I'm currently reading David Crystal's Think On My Words, a fascinating analysis of Shakespearean wordsmithery, and I would thouroughly recommend it to all and sundry.

Introduct-a-Han

I used to blog A LOT. Back in the good old days of Livejournal, I had a friends-only blog wherein I angsted about my 17-year-old non-problems and got REALLY, REALLY EXCITED about Doctor Who.

Several years later, I have slightly less teenage woe and - if it's possible - slightly more feelings about Doctor Who. I also have a degree, newly dyed ginger hair, and much wider field of interest. I've been itching to get back to blogging for a while - having caught the bug with my language blog (which is still very much in its infancy) - and reading my delightful friends' ventures in theatre review, film and television blogging, and generally just talking about their lives has convinced me to just bloody well give it a go.




So here I am. Wittering away into the void like some kind of unstoppable moron, and hoping to keep doing so on a semi-regular basis. But first things first - a two-pronged introduction!

THINGS I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT (AND WILL THEREFORE BE LIKELY TO BLOG ABOUT)

- Linguistics, aka. light of my life, my very best friend, etc. I'm a pretty keen bean for most linguistic fields, and am generally fascinated by quirky word facts in general (for instance, did you know that the Anglo Saxon word for 'squirrel' - acweorna - literally translates to 'oak botherer'? Now you do!), but specifically I love studying phonological theory, acoustic and articulatory phonetics, sociophonetics, wider sociolinguistics issues (the use of language to construct social identity, gender, ethnicity and sexuality in particular), and language change through history, with a particular fascination with the way language is used on the Internet. I have a detailed post about my language feelings here, and will most likely save in-depth waffle for the language blog, but linguistics being the fire in my belly, it's likely to crop up a lot.

- Television. Oh, I watch far more TV than is healthy, getting thoroughly, embarrassingly, soul-destroyingly invested in fantastic shows (The Thick Of It, Blackadder, Sherlock, etc.), terrible shows (GLEE, for my sins) and those which hover in between (Doctor Who, Merlin, Downton Abbey, and far more than I care to mention). I enjoy - among other things - snarky protagonsists, excellent friendships, background acting, wistful looks, bromances and ADVENTURES.

- Theatre. Most of my time and any dispoable income I can muster (and, to be honest, my not-so-disposable income too) goes on theatre tickets. I fell in love with theatregoing about a year ago; the vividness of it, the electricity, the power of it being right there, in front of your eyes - sometimes ugly or sharp or stunning or wild, but always, always exciting. Shakespeare's Globe in particular is my spiritual home, and I'll see my favourite shows over and over again before they close (transcience: the curse of the theatre!).

- Things That Are Important. I don't claim to have any kind of authority when it comes to matters of the world, but I like reading about things that interest me, and things I feel are important to learn and know about. Feminism, racism, sexism, gender and sexuality issues, religion, the media, politics and world issues - I read what I can, and I may try and post semi-cogent feelings about this kind of stuff when the need arises

- Nature and Science. I'm a bit of a giddy child when it comes to the world, and just generally get fascinated and awed by nature being crazy and ridiculous and beautiful and mind-bogglingly spectacular. So I might occasionally get a bit capslocky and feelings about waterfalls and the Aurora Borealis. Yeah, watch out for that.

TEN TINY FACTOIDS THAT MAY GIVE YOU A MORE ROUNDED (IF NOT WHOLLY ENDEARING) IDEA OF WHO I BE

- I own an unhealthy number of pairs of coloured tights.
- About 30% of my vocabulary comes from quoting TV shows and/or Memes.
- I curse like a sailor, and will frequently have the sense of humour of a seven-year-old boy.
- Pictures of the Earth from space are almost guaranteed to make me cry.
- One time, I made myself a TARDIS bag.
- My favourite food is custard. Peas, however, are of the devil.
- I can't sing. However, I sing all the time.
- Hercules is the greatest Disney film. Yeah, you heard.
- I can name all the kings and queens of England from William the Conqueror to Elizabeth II.
- I learnt the previous information from here, which makes it decidedly less impressive.

So, yeah, that's me! I apologise in advance.