a theatrical afternoon

Yesterday was a great day: It was one of those days where I felt lucky to live here, in this great city, and to ave such a great girlfriend. Mind you, now that I come to think about it, what we actually did doesn’t actually sound all that much – we just went to the theatre and came back via the river, yet at the same time it was one of the loveliest afternoons I’ve had in a while.

Going to the theatre as actually John’s idea: he doesn’t work with us regularly, but when e does, he’s one of those PAs eager to go out and have fun. He suggested going to the theatre during the week, and we agreed it was a good idea. Mind you, I hadn’t heard of the play or the playwright, so I had no idea what to expect. I just saw it as an afternoon out with the prospect of a beer or wo afterwards, which was good enough for me.

However, it turned out to be much more: John took us to a small theatre in Soho, which reminded me instantly of the theatre spaces at university: small and intimate. I decided I liked it. The show started shortly after we had taken our places, and what unfolded before us in the following ninety minutes turned out to be a complex, absorbing narrative. The Life and Sort of Death of Eric Argyle was only written last year, and as such is a highly contemporary piece. It reminded me of the work of my friend Ricardio, I suppose, except that in this play the narrative had slightly more structure. That is not to say it was absolutely liniar – in fact I found it rather confusing, so much so that I bought the text after the performance. There were one or two things I think I missed, so I look forward to reading the text. It will also probably teach me a few things about writing, as it seems to intertwine prose and script in a way I haven’t come across. Watching it yesterday, my mind was intrigued, at times bored, suddenly stimulated, bored again, and in the end captivated. In one sense the play is about writing itself, and spoke to me directly as a bogger. In short it was everything one would want in a play, and it whetted my apetite to go to the theatre more, as well as reminding me how much I need to get back into fiction writing.

We came back via the river. Our initial plan was to go up into town that way, but we had left it too late and took the tube instead. it was on the boat that I wrote yesterday’s poem, and then, after eating at the dome, we were soon back here, and shortly after that I was curled up in bed.

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