On the first night of the Grads shows I was doubling as audience and front of house helper and focusing on the latter forgot to take my tickets.  Fortunately my word of honour was accepted so I was allowed in to see Romeo and Juliet and Agnes of God.  There were excellent performances in both plays.  I felt that the constraints of the venue made it a little difficult for R&J to deploy its large cast to full effect but I appreciated the efforts that had been made and was mightily relieved that I wasn't one of those having to wave a sword around.

No such problems for Agnes and the clever settings allowed the three woman cast to act their little socks off in comfort.  It's a powerful piece that gripped the audience throughout.  I just wish the Scottish government would bring the on-stage smoking rules into line with England so that we could be spared pretend puffing.

I then abandoned the festivals temporarily, though not the theatre, to shoot off south to a Golden Wedding bash in deepest Sussex.

En route I went to The Globe to see A Midsummer Night's Dream.  I've long wanted to see a show there and the Dream is perfect for that arena (and vice-versa).  It was great fun, though the pesky pillar in the picture hid from my view 99% of what was clearly a hilarious take on Pyramus and Thisbe.

 

   
From the quintessential olde worlde English theatre I went to the quintessentially olde worlde English village,

near which the bash took place in head-burning weather - my fault - I had a hat but didn't wear it.  It was a lovely event with old friends to catch up with and new friends to encounter.

Back in the great wen the following day I took in Liolà by Pirandello at the National Theatre.

A reviewer of a production of mine once expressed surprise (and that negatively) that one section of my cast spoke with Irish accents while the characters they represented were in fact Spanish. (I had my reasons!) So you would expect me to be sympathetic to Richard Eyre's choice of Irish for this tale of Sicilian peasantry. Since they were harvesting almonds and grapes he clearly hadn't reset the story in Ireland, which one could well do.  No harm done but I couldn't see a reason.  The main effect seemed to be to make it more difficult for the audience to make out the words.

Those of us who did understand the brogue enjoyed this little tale of a lusty young man who fathers at will and a rich old man with no child to leave his money to, but there must be better plays out there longing for a production.

The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart was a big hit for The National Theatre of Scotland when it first appeared in early 2011.  For some reason (she knows who she is) I missed its various touring appearances in 2012 so was delighted to discover that it was on under the auspices of The Royal Court while I was down south.

Not in Sloane Square though but in a loft like hall up a close in Peckham Lane, set out cabaret style with tables and chairs.  It was a great venue for this anarchic romp through academe, border balladry and hell.  Our enjoyment was enhanced by the free tot of whisky and the close up of an actor strutting his stuff in his underwear on our table.

I got to the Pompei exhibition at The British Museum, spent some happy hours in the V&A and rounded off the trip at a family barbecue starring my twinly pregnant niece.