My Toddler

 I have a toddler. 

This is my toddler. He's a bit sleepy.

See, I've got tradies in at the moment. They're replacing the window sashes in the flat as by rights, the glass should have fallen out of half of them in some of the breezes we're had lately. 

This overdue work is being done by my lovely tradies, Craig and Michael. Craig's been sorting things our around here for years. His painter mate Michael is a lovely man too. They don't mind coming here as I make sure that cups of tea, water and access to the loo is no problem. Over the day, they traipse in and out, get stuff done, sand a bit here, paint a bit there. They're coming back in to paint the interior window frames while I'm in Europe.

So far they're replaced two out of the three sashes. Tomorrow, I'm moving my work desk into the spare room and working in there while they replace the sash in the window which I sit next to. 

They're no trouble. They clean up after themselves. We get to have a chat now and then. It's all good. 

The only person with this nose out of joint is the toddler, also known as the cat, also known as Lucifer. 

Normally, Lucifer's day starts by annoying me as I try to get working in the morning. He demands treats, sits on the keyboard, scratches at my legs. Around lunchtime, he takes himself off to bed and sleeps all afternoon, getting up for dinner around five p.m. After that, there's a bit of in and out, until he goes for another sleep. Then during the night, he quietly claims the place for himself. 

However, with the tradies in place, he's been sticking to my side with glue. If he meets one of the guys, he gives them the death stare before going to hide somewhere. 

Or he sits at my side in the windowsill and scowls. Or he curls around my legs begging for the blokes to go away. 

He's just a toddler. 

It's very cute. 

They'll finish the last window tomorrow. I keep telling him that, but he doesn't understand. Far too much a creature of habit. 

Today's song:

Theatre Review: Romeo and Juliet

 The Play: Romeo and Juliet

The Theatre: The Fairfax Studio at The Arts Centre

The Company: The Bell Shakespeare Company

Closed 29 July in Melbourne (Playing in Sydney 2-27 August at the Neilsen Nutshell - Pier 2/3)

Stars: A solid 4

My need for regular Shakespeare was stated on Saturday. The Bell Shakespeare Company do this so well. Also, after over 20 years of being away from regular viewing with the Royal Shakespeare Company in London, I can manage to not cringe at the Australian accents - in fact, it's grown on me. 

As Romeo and Juliets go, this was solid - and relevant. Staged in the Fairfax Theatre, the set was simple - with fairy lights and two small podiums. Being the Bell, they're inventive with their use of the space, using Turkish carpets to create different settings. It was charming and inventive. 

The cast was cut down, but wonderful. As with all Bell Shakepeare casts, they're fun and full of energy. 

The standouts for me were Rose Riley as Juliet - she's going to be one to watch. Firm, but ethereal. Lucy Bell's Nurse was right on the mark. Bell stalwarts, Robert Menzies and Blazey Best were also great in their respective roles as Friar Lawrence and Mercutio. 

I loved the constant action on stage, the ever-changing scenes, which brought life into so simply. My one reservation was when the cast brought some of the audience onto the stage to dance at the Capulets party. It was a little bit uncomfortable, but it only went on for a few minutes. 

My other small reservation about this was the trigger warning outside the doors of the auditorium. Um, doesn't everybody coming into see thing know that the protagonists top themselves? One by poison, one by a dagger. Ah, the world. 

In all, this is another solid outing by the Bell Shakespeare Company. If you're in Sydney, it's worth hunting out. It's playing up there until the end of August. It's worth a look, if like me, you're in bad need of some Shakespeare. 

Today's song: 

It has to be done...

 The plans for my trip abroad are continuing at a pace. 

• The writer's retreat is paid off in full. 
• I've got my flights
• And my travel insurance
• And the first and last night's accommodation in London sorted. 

And knowing I'm in London, and knowing how good the theatre is over there after a week of Melbourne Theatre, I had a look at the listings to see what's playing around the traps on my last night, the night before I take off to Paris. 

And there it was. 

ANDREW FREAKING SCOTT!!! Doing a one man show of Chekhov's Uncle Vanya!!!

Who is Andrew Scott?

This is Andrew Scott. 

He's and Irish actor - and he steals the scene in everything he's ever been in. Think of Gethin in Pride. Think Moriarty in Sherlock. 

Oh, and best of all, think of the Hot Priest in Fleabag - probably the role he's best known for. 

He turns up all over the place. And when he does, you know what you're going to see is good. He's eminently watchable. 

Just seeing those clips of him in Hamlet from a few years ago, the stage craft, the emotion.... it has to be done. 

As stage actors go, I'm going to put him up there with a young Ian McKellen, Kenneth Branagh and Alan Rickman - all superb. He's up there. 

And did I tell you that as much as I hate Russian Literature, I love Uncle Vanya. For anybody curious, Vanya on 42nd Street is streaming on SBS On Demand. 

So as somebody who loves good theatre, this has to be done. 

I've got my ticket. One in the cheap seats. The cheap seats are still 120 quid - double that for Australian dollars. But it's bought and paid for. 

I might need to sell my left kidney to afford it, but, as I keep getting told, life is for living and you should do what you love. 

I'm jumping up and down so much, my boobs are giving me black eyes. 

Today's song: 

Sunday Stealing: The Swap Bot Questions

 Another day of theatre. Another day of appreciating what Melbourne has to offer.

Now on to the weekend questions, thanks to Bev at Sunday Stealing. 

1. Does love come from the brain, the heart or elsewhere?

I like to think that love is an all over experience. I've never thought about where it comes from - it just is. 

2. Have you ever given a shot?

Do you mean have I given an injection? Plenty of times. Other than vaccinating animals and looking after a friend's diabetic cat, I used to give myself a needle everyday. It's no biggie. 

3. Can you lick your elbow? (Come on, didja try?)

No - it's impossible to like your own elbow. Everybody knows that - and no, I didn't try to do it. 

4. If I was going to be talking to you for 10 minutes, what would be something really interesting you know a little bit about but would like to know more??

There are far too many topics that I would like to know about. Can you talk to be about how I can finish my bloody novel? That would be good. 

5. What do you think of the Sopranos?

The television show? It was a bit too violent for me back in the day. Never went back to it. 

6. Have you ever had a crush on your teacher?  How about your boss?

Yes, to both. Not saying any more. 

7. Have you ever seen a movie in 3D?

Of course. My favourite 3D movie experience was Scorcese's Hugo. The 3D effects were done brilliantly - it's really subtle. A movie buff's movie. 

8. How difficult do you think it is for immigrants to come into your country?

They are making it harder and harder here in Australia. For a country that prides itself on it's multiculturalism, we can be VERY hard on migrants. Unfortunately, it seems to depend on your ethnicity as to how hard a time you're given. 

9. Do you have what it takes to go live in another country, maybe for years, where you don't speak the language as your first language?

Yes. Thankfully, I'm a polyglot - I pick up languages pretty quickly. I moved to Greece for a few months about 20 years ago. It was a good experience. 

10. Have you ever died in your dreams?

No, thank goodness. I don't dream much anyway. 

11. What book should our political leaders read and why?

There is a really good book edited by Louise Swinn called Choice Words. It's about abortion and a woman's right to choose. 

Also, Jess Hill's See What You Made Me Do, which is about domestic violence in Australia.

There needs to be more diverse voices in our parliament. But at least we don't ban books over here, even if the wowsers kick up a fuss every now and then. People who complain about books should read them first before complaining about them. 

12. What is your favorite glass object?

My Brok beer glass. It was pilfered from the work beer club I used to work. It holds about 600 mls of fluid. it's a great glass. 

13. Do you like to window shop?

Of course. It's the best kind of shopping. 

14. Are you more likely to buy one really nice expensive outfit or a couple of cheap outfits?

I tend to get my clothes either cheap or second hand, but I dream of one of those people who buys a small number of quality clothes. I don't have the body type for expensive clothes. 

15. If you could, would you wear everything once, throw it out and buy something new?

Absolutely not. Fast fashion is the scourge of the Western World. What a waste of time, money and resources. 

Today's song: 

Theatre Review: 2.22 A Ghost Story

 The Play: 2.22 - A Ghost Story

The Theatre: Her Majesty's Theatre, Exhibition Street

Until 20 August

4 Stars (with some reservations)

We went to see this on a whim. With the offerings around the traps at the moment, it was the only thing that appealed. A ghost story! Terrifying! Electric! Lots of blurbs with exclamation marks after them. Normally a warning sign for me but given time and budget constraints being a time poor single mum and her arty fart friend who sees most things, and knowing this was in preview, we decided to give this a go. 

I'll preface this review by saying we saw this in the preview period, and there's some things which need to be ironed out, but otherwise, this was a decent two hours of solid entertainment. 

I also have to preface this by saying that somehow we tuned up on the media night where every D-List celebrity and their rented Birkin bag was out in force. There were lots of pretty people floating about the place, dosing up on the complimentary cheap champagne before the show. We saw Anthony La Paglia, who's in town rehearsing for Death of a Salesman and Eddie Perfect. The other people looked like they thought we should know them. We didn't. We're middle aged Gen-Xers . We don't care. Taking our glass of pilfered free poo, we made our way to our seats in the nosebleed section. 

So, what's this about? 

The script has been Melbournised. 

Jenny (Gemma Ward) and Sam (Remy Hii) two upwardly mobile new parents have bought a house in the inner North for what seems to be a steal. The nonna who owned the house before them asked them to look after the place. Being inner Northern yuppy types, of course the did the place out, replacing the font nook with a coffee bar, ripping out the wall for glass windows. you know the drill. 

When Sam goes away for a work trip leaving Jenny on her own, strange things start happening in their daughters room. Footsteps, noises. All of these happen at 2.22 a.m. Jenny is scared shitless. They bring their old friend Lauren (Ruby Rose) and her new man, Dan (Daniel McPherson) to have a dinner party and try to get to the bottom of things. 

I will no say any more on the plot. There is a big sign saying "Don't tell the secret". So I won't. 

Needless to say, I clocked onto what was really happening about ten minutes into the second act. 

This is a solid play and very entertaining. Neither Gemma Ward or Ruby Rose are known for their stage work, but they are good. Remy Hii is NIDA trained, and this shows through. Daniel McPherson was relatable as the cashed-up bogan tradie who they let know is not good enough for the refined Lauren. 

There are some pretty cool effects too. 

In all, this is a solid night of entertainment. The two hour run time makes it not too long or short and you are on the edge of your seat for a bit of the show. Is it terrifying? No. Is it electrifying? In places. As somebody who doesn't like being scared, I was fine. 

What I will say is that if you're triggered by noise, you might want to have your dimmer earplugs available. I'll say no more than this, but it does get a bit loud in places. 

This is worth a view. 

Today's song: 

Things I Learned in Yoga Today

 Friday lunchtime yoga is becoming a staple activity. It's a great way to start the weekly wind down. Even though I'm very crap at yoga, I enjoy these classes. The instructor, Jess, is very encouraging, which is something. She hasn't thrown me out of the class yet, which is a bonus. 

I learned a few things today. 

Firstly, don't try to do yoga when you've put on hand cream in the last hour or so. It makes things very slippery. For a lot of the class, this is fine, but trying to get stable in Downward Facing Dog is an absolute killer. I won't be doing that in a hurry. 

Second thing I learned in yoga. It can find all of the small, niggling injuries you don't even clock. Once again, in the Downward Facing Dog position, I'd get myself into position, only to find my left hamstrings were squealing at me. I put myself back into Child's pose, then try again. Nup. Ping. 

Thing is, I walk around, no problem at all. Jog a few steps. Again, no issue. But stretch the buggers out and you really know it's there. I got home, shoved an ice pack on them and did about five minutes with my bang-gang machine (the tympanic massager - get your mind out of the gutter). They will be fine. Serves me right for doing 150 kg leg presses last night.

The third thing I learned today - when you tell me to switch my head off, don't expect it to happen. It's like being told to not scratch an itch. Never happens. 

It's something to work on. 

Right, off to the theatre. This should be fun. 

Today's song: 

Vale

Sinead O’Connor was the rebellious friend that you wanted to have in your life. The girl with the traits you wished you had the guts to grab by the balls and take on as your own. Somebody who you could admire and relate to and wish you could have her world view – although at the time, you didn’t quite know why. 

She wasn’t just a singer.

She was an iconoclast.

She sang your pain. 

She sang about the pain of generations. 

From my cloistered little life in the late 1980s, there was a recognition that this woman spoke to you, and for you. Because as much as you wanted to, you would never shave your head or rave about the despair you were feeling. You were far too caught up in your parochial little world framed by a Methodist upbringing in a blindly conservative state, where women were advised to not drink beer in Front Bars, and it was a virtue to be nice. 

The album, I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got was required listening. I’ve listened to it thousands of times. Yes, there’s the 90’s standard, Nothing Compares 2 U, penned by Prince back in the day. It haunts everybody.  But there are better songs on the album. 

The mention of Sinead O’ Connor takes me back to a coffee shop off one of the Rundle Mall side streets, where the coffee was bottomless and the newspapers national – and free to read. Mariah and I would meet there regularly. I remember her telling me about how she understood one of the songs. She had just started a new relationship with a new bloke, a refugee, who’s stories were horrific. We didn’t know about horror. This was Adelaide in 1990. Other than the 17.5% interest rates and the unavailability of work, all we knew of was sunny days, studying while on the hill at the cricket and lazy evenings down the beach. Our innocence was blinding. 

Sinead provided another view to this soon to be more complex world. I look at the lyrics of this song.

“England's not the mythical land of Madame George and roses

It's the home of police who kill black boys on mopeds

And I love my boy and that's why I'm leaving

I don't want him to be aware that there's

Any such thing as grieving..” (Black Boys on Mopeds)

We were innocents. Sinead was not. She was our gateway to the wider world. 

Over the years we’ve watched her battle through life. Seemingly barking mad, she got up to all sorts of stuff, majorly pissing off all and sundry. She was one of the first people to publicly condemn the Catholic Church – and she could do this with the knowledge from within the Magdalene system of institutionalised punishment for those who didn't stay in their lane. She protested. She complained. She was out there. Her struggles with mental health were sizable and noted. She was ordained as a priest at Lourdes. She converted to Islam in 2018. A tortured soul, I could only admire her chutzpah. 

"Everyone can see what's going on

They laugh 'cause they know they're untouchable

Not because what I said was wrong

Whatever it may bring

I will live by my own policies

I will sleep with a clear conscience

I will sleep in peace..."  (The Emperors New Clothes)

And now, she’s no longer here. May she rest in power. May she rest in peace. 

Me, I choose to remember her as the screaming banshee woman who sang for a generation. She provided the voice I didn’t know needed to be heard. 

Today's song: