Last week we took ourselves off to Stratford Upon Avon for a few days. We had a lovely time. Really lovely. We went to Shakespeare’s Birthplace which was excellent even though I can normally live without guides in period costume invading my personal space. I think this goes back to a very scary experience at Wigan Pier Museum which had a Victorian Schoolroom with a terrifying school teacher. It’s a miracle anyone ever leant anything in Victorian England. Anyway, I digress. We also saw a play – as you do. We didn’t do a Shakespeare. There were only tickets for Cymbeline, which I know less than nothing about, except that there are not a lot of laughs. So we decided against that and I was quite glad, Especially, when queueing in Lakeland, (Thanks for asking – I got a really nice stir-fry pan – with a lid. I love Lakeland) I heard a lady telling the cashier that she had been to see Cymbeline and that she came to see all the Shakespeares but that this one was bum numbing. (Don’t blame me – her description) We went to see Cervantes’ Don Quixote with David Threlfall and Rufus Hound.
To my shame, I probably know less about this than I do about Cymbaline apart from some vague childhood memory of Peter O’Toole bellowing “To Dream The Impossible Dream” at a windmill. (This may not be an accurate memory) I’ll be honest. It was a stellar night. One of the best nights at the theatre – ever. Funny, sad, inventive and not too long, which was important because our seats were sort of stools that we had to perch on like Andy Williams in those 60’s TV specials. We had a lovely meal in the RSC as well to complete an excellent night.
On a tiny tiny low note. When you have done what we did in Stratford, I’m not sure what else there is to do. We spent a pleasant enough hour sitting by the river watching Spanish children trying to torture the swans and then crying when they got a nasty nip back. Entertaining enough but I’m not sure we would have been able to keep our kids happy if they had been there – especially as HOH and I seemed to bring the average age down to about eighty. I’m not expecting Vegas or the Grand Canyon in a balloon or anything but I think we more or less felt that we had covered anything when we left. Besides, we had to go. We had a date in Bristol on the way back. At IKEA – oh yes, oh yes. Told you it was an excellent break.