London interlude

My spanking new Friends of the Globe card is now clutched tightly in my grubby little paws, so it's farewell to the garage clean-up for the day, while we eagerly away to grimy old London in the early sixteenth century for some real-life rumbustious entertainment.

Yes, I am completely won over by the seductions of the Globe.

My only observation is that we, the audience - probably made up of tourists, middle-class theatre goers and Eng. Lit classes on a day out from the private school - are far too well-mannered and tied to our safe and social culture of post-Victorian primness.

We should escape our manners and bring a little frankness to this theatrical exchange. There are plenty of bawdy jokes in All's Well that Ends Well to set the scene for us. An occasional loud ruckus, boiling over from some background disorderly folk engaged in lewd conduct, spiced up with some choice obscenities and a passing of the piss bucket, would serve me well: I could then truly join the pitful of penny stinkers, belly pots and bosom barers for a good afternoon at the theatre proper.

Shark, Squirrel and Tiger put their noses in the air and say primly, not likely. They are here for Helena and Bertram, and to see the stage and costumes and maybe titter at the sight of Parolles with a bag on his head.

Shark says she wants the audience to stay nicely in 2011 thank you very much, where everyone says after you; where it is safe and there are clean toilets, and where there is a Pizza Express right next door for the after-show dinner. Here we can puzzle out why Helena likes Bertram in the first place.

Pah. This is not Jane Austen, I say. Let's face it, the love interest in this one is a bit far-fetched and probably not going to sustain the analysis. Let's enjoy the vulgar instead. How many of Shakespeare's audience came for the filth and the fight?

For which I get, mother, stop slapping your thighs, do up your blouse, and stop offering round that thermos flask, because no-one's ever going to accept your offer and wee in it.





Hmm. I shall just have to go into town on a Friday night instead, and take up a street-side seat outside the Slug and Lettuce.