Two down, one to go.

I am really excited to be able to report that we are now down to just one Shakespeare play that we have not seen on stage.  That’s Henry VIII still outstanding. The RSC seems to be including The Two Noble Kinsmen as having sufficient of Shakespeare’s writing to count, but we haven’t decided what to do about that, yet.

This weekend we bagged Cymbeline and Pericles Prince of Tyre. Last summer at the Globe we decided to check what was going to be on at the Jacobean indoor theatre during the winter – it’s officially the Sam Wannamaker Playhouse – and were thrilled to discover that they were putting on a series of Shakespeare’s late romances.

We saw Cymbeline first and Pericles the next day; we enjoyed Pericles more. They are similar in lots of ways – unlikely plots, amazing coincidences, people reviving from apparent death, separations, near miraculous reunions, lost and found daughters – and in changes of tone, from near pantomime to deeply emotional. But we felt that Pericles was the better production.  The first two acts of Pericles are by George Wilkins, and you can hear when Shakespeare takes over and the verse suddenly becomes much more flexible. Wilkins is tum ti tum ti tum.

It was really interesting seeing how the indoor theatre worked, too. It’s even more uncomfortable than the Globe, and I shouldn’t think that there’s a single seat from which you can see all the action all the time. There is a little light coming in from the windows, but they are in the corridor round the actual theatre space, and so it’s not much, especially in winter, and there are shutters if they want to completely darken the theatre.  There are six large chandeliers which can be raised and lowered, almost to the floor if necessary, and candles in sconces on the pillars around the playing space. They use beeswax candles, you can tell by the smell, and therefore the light is brighter than you might expect, with a lovely golden glow, and no smoke. Occasionally the candles have to be trimmed or relit after being quenched and the stage hands and cast are remarkably quick, efficient and unobtrusive. No doubt they have special “candle training”. 

 Sometimes the theatre is darkened and an actor uses a sconce with a couple of candles, held in one hand, to illuminate their face. I’m surprised no one has set fire to their wig! They also use a pearly make up at times, which apparently is authentic. I dread to think what they used to get the pearly effect in the very early seventeenth century. I have a sinking feeling that it was probably mercury.

It was all quite an experience. I couldn’t help thinking of the woman, Ruth someone, who does Victorian, and earlier, reconstructions on television. I remember her saying what a help the corset was in supporting her back for a lot of the jobs she had to do, and for the sitting up straight. (Not, of course, if you try for an eighteen inch waist.)  Anyway, I’m thinking of getting myself some authentic stays before our next visit to the playhouse. 

My New Year's Resolution

I don’t really bother with New Year resolutions. I struggle to think of anything I think I might actually keep, for a start. But this year I swear I’m going to keep my one resolution. I am going to give up trying to grow tulips outside on the terrace of the flat.

This is quite a wrench as I do love tulips and they come in such gorgeous colours and varieties; I like the black Queen of the Night ones and the greeny white ones and the little parrot ones and the tall red ones – I would just  love to have them in flower outside my kitchen.  But, unfortunately, squirrels like them just as much as I do.

I’m talking about Canadian Grey Squirrels, here, of course (we still call them “Canadian” because you have to blame someone for the destructive little devils).They’ve completely supplanted red squirrels over most of England. In fact I’ve only see a red squirrel a couple of times in my life, whereas the grey variety are pretty hard to miss. They empty a bird table in ten seconds. If you put out fat balls, they run off with the whole thing the minute it appears. Bird feeders, even those designed to be squirrel proof, might prove a problem to them for a few days, but then the wretched animals will find a way to snaffle all the nuts and seeds at one go.  If you bang on the window they gaze indignantly at you. “Can’t you see I’m working here?” The only way to scare them off is to run outside yelling. This is likely to lead other people to be alarmed, in fact much more alarmed than the squirrels deign to be.  Especially when one runs out in one’s pyjamas.

Unfortunately squirrels are very fond of tulip bulbs. Daffodils and hyacinths are poisonous, so that’s OK – I would positively encourage the squirrels to eat those, but sadly they know better. When we were in our old house, I used to cover the soil over the tulip bulbs with a thick layer of dried pelleted chicken poo. That kept them off!  It smelt horrible, but it lasted all winter, was presumably good for the bulbs, and the garden was big enough for it not to be a problem for us. The terrace isn’t that big, and pots liberally covered with chicken poo so close to one’s windows are not appealing.

Phil was so fed up with their cheek, he sent for a squirrel trap. Unfortunately he hadn’t considered what he would do when once he caught a squirrel. It’s against the law to release them, so if you catch a squirrel you are faced with the choice of killing it or keeping it as a pet. The second option appealed to neither of us. Phil thought he could kill any he caught, but I pointed out that the RSPCA says that the only humane way to kill a squirrel is with a sharp blow to the head. Well, that was never going to happen. The squirrel would be rocketing about the cage shrieking while Phil tried to beat it to death. So we got rid of the squirrel trap.

After it had gone, a neighbour, a pleasant elderly lady, confided that she had a squirrel trap. Having caught a squirrel, she introduces one end of a plastic pipe into the cage. The squirrel runs down the pipe and into the sock she fixes at the other end. Then she whams the sock on the ground. One dead squirrel, humanely killed and already in its shroud. This made us realise we are not cut out for hunting.

This autumn just past, I went into the market for something else entirely, and was led astray by the tulip bulbs. I chose a lovely selection, four varieties, two to bloom together in one pot, and another two to bloom a little later in the other. I also bought some strong plastic netting. I planted the bulbs and covered the pots with four layers of netting, held down with pegs, and secured by plastic string tied tightly over the netting and round the top of the pot.

All seemed to go well. The squirrels paid very little attention to the pots. Then one day, just before Christmas, I came back from a day out to find the netting and string vanished, the pegs cast aside, and every last single tulip bulb eaten. So I really do give up. I can’t stand the disappointment any more.