Before going to London in November I had a look to see what was on and one show that caught my eye was No Man's Land.  I've always liked Pinter and McKellen and Stewart are a powerful double act.  But tickets were both scarce and pricey so I didn't see it.  Now thanks to the streaming revolution that brings masterworks to our local cinemas I have seen it and for a very reasonable price.

It was as incomprehensible yet captivating as so many of his plays are.  Indeed the only one I can think of as having a pretty straighforward narrative is Betrayal and even then it's told backwards.  Anyway I thoroughly enjoyed the mysterious meanderings of the characters who inhabit No Man's Land.  Its Wikipedia entry covers what the critics have said about the show over the years (it premiered in 1975) and it's comforting to learn that none of them understood it either but like me had a jolly good time watching it.

In theatre in the flesh I saw Picnic at Hanging Rock performed by an Australian company at The Lyceum.  It was a very interesting production with an unusual stylistic unity and provided, as Mark Fisher said in The Guardian, a masterclass in stage management.  Like the critics my chums loved it but my admiration is less whole-hearted.  I  have a nagging feeling that I must have snatched forty winks shortly after the girls disappeared because I was somewhat lost storywise as the show progressed.  I blame that glass of Picpoul before curtain up.

I had more than one glass of a number of alcoholic beverages at Phil's house at the weekend where nearly a score of souls were gathered to celebrate Burns.  It was a great evening with great grub and great craic.  I paid for my supper by addressing the haggis and by contributing the fruits of my attendance that day on a bread making course.