My 7 Super Shots

As I am not quite travelling yet and therefore don’t have much to report, I thought I’d take part in HostelBookers 7 Super Shots.  It’s given me a chance to look back at old photos and remind myself of why I’m embarking on a long trip as I remember the good times, the sunny times and the harder times. So here are my 7 shots.

A photo that takes my breath away

A view of the Bahamas from the plane. The colours, the fact that humans can fly above the clouds (or at all)…

 

A photo that makes me laugh or smile

She’s going to hate me for posting this, but this is my favourite photo of Debbie ever. It was taken at the Columbia Flower Market in London. I smile when I see it because I can hear her laugh from over the ocean.

 

A photo that makes me dream

Cheetahs make me dream- don’t they make you dream? And also the sun was setting and being there felt like a dream and thinking back on it feels like a dream.

 

A photo that makes me think

Taken from the TGV from Avignon to Paris. It makes me think about time. You know- how things just go by so quickly? But somehow aqueducts from Roman times remain strong.

 

A photo that makes my mouth water

Tiramisu, gelato, cappuccino. Delicious times in Boston’s North End.

A photo that tells a story

What are these two up to? Where have they been? Where are they going? And what’s up with the beards and hats? San Francisco

 

A photo that I am most proud of (aka my worthy of National Geographic shot)

Driving away from the Serengeti (Tanzania)- a family of giraffes walking through the strangely-coloured landscape.  My favourite picture from that trip. Maybe ever.

I’m not sure if you’ve done this or not yet, but I’d love to see your shots! I hereby nominate the following awesome blogs to post your photos if you like:

1- Ooamerica

2- Plan A

3- Folk & Fables

4- Kiwsparks

5- Where’s my Backpack?

London (!) Ontario (.)

After rising at a ridiculous hour for a Saturday, I met up with Trenna, my friend who, it turns out, had been up shooting all night long and hadn’t actually slept yet. So no complaints about 6am on a Saturday from me.

We were awake to take the bus to London (Ontario) to embrace harmony and understanding (ie: see Hair).  And we weren’t the only ones on our way to the great metropolis: we literally got the last two seats on the Greyhound. We puttered away, leaving a dozen people in the dust. I hope they got to where they were going.

The Toronto bus station is depressing.

After some lunch at the Church Key and a bit of window-shopping on Richmond Row (I found a shop that reminded me exactly of my favourite one in Norwich), Trenna went back to our hostel for a much-needed nap and I walked around.  ACBB is a cute, friendly, and central house, though lacking in heat and hot water this weekend.  They gave us extra blankets, though, and it ended up being a relatively toasty night.

Seller of stuff.

London getting ready for a race.

This is a tree. You can find it in London.

Other native plants of London grow neon and sturdy.

On my walk, I found the Canadian Medical Hall of Fame attached to the tourist office. I got to read all about important Canadian medical pioneers and learned a great deal in the short time I was there.  Did you know that the “Drake Clip,” used to cure aneurisms, was designed by Dr. Charles Drake, the Chairman of the Department of Clinical Neurological Sciences at the University of Western Ontario (ie- a Londoner!)? Note: when you Google “Drake clip,” video clips of songs by that Degrassi kid come up first.  

The first pace-maker.

Covent Garden Market.

But enough with pictures of London- we were there for Hair, long beautiful hair (long, straight, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty, oily, greasy, fleecy, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen, knotted, polka dotted, twisted, beaded, braided, powered, flowered and confettied, bangled, tangled, spangled and spahettied hair!)

Hair at the Grand Theatre in London, Ontario.

I didn’t know anything about Hair, really, except that it was about hippies letting the sunshine in. Turns out it has nothing to do with Five Man Electrical Band’s song “Signs.”

The play’s script is messy and makes no sense (which is fine because it just kinda made me feel like I was stoned too), but the songs were mostly amazing, the performances rocked the house, and the set/costumes/look/atmosphere were great.  We were given daisies at the end and then dragged on stage to dance with the cast singing Let the Sunshine In.  I can put that on my resumé, right?

We left on a high and waited like groupies at the stage door.

Leaving with flowers in our hair.

And we took more embarrassing pictures:

Posing with posters- this makes us real “Hair-heads,” right?

Me and Paul (poster version)

Me and the über-talented Paul Dunn (star of the stage!), drinks-after-the-show-at-the-Church-Key version.

Things I learned about London, Ontario:
-There is vomit under the bridge. A lot of vomit.
-You will wait a long long time if you respect traffic lights.
-They name things after London, England (from the Thames to Covent Garden).
-Their parking lots are colourful (see below).

Pretty parking lot.

Trenna is an alien.

Guest blogger: Pilgrimage to the British Museum (and the Royal Academy)

Thank you, Elise, for allowing me to ‘guest post’ on your fabulous blog.  [Elise's note: It's amazing having you pop over for a visit from your own fabulous blog Brevity is the mother of invention]

Like Elise, I have been travelling locally recently, in short, to London, half an hour’s train journey from home.

I’m not one for paying to get in to exhibitions, I usually go to the free ones, or peruse the collection. But for Christmas, I was given a ticket to go to the Grayson Perry exhibition at The British Museum – so I had to go, of course (and I wanted to). I was a bit nervous; because all I knew about Perry was that he wore dresses sometimes. We arrived at the British Museum – such a gorgeous building inside and out.

Love this view on a sunny day!

After our packed-lunches, we tripped up the curvy stairs to the exhibition. The first thing we saw was this bike. I over-heard a mum (or auntie) telling a little boy that Perry is a ‘very funny man,’ and felt reassured.

Alan Measles sits in his pope mobile on the back (Photo courtesy of The Guardian)

Inside we separated and I did what I always do – I read all the notices and all the labels (as well as looking at the art). I instinctively read all the writing – but this time I was squatting down and scribbling whole passages into my notebook. I even sketched something (very poorly). I couldn’t tell you my favourite piece, because the exhibition was more of a piece of art in itself than a series of pieces. I loved it. There were discussions about the sacred, about shrines and souvenirs, maps and craft, with an eye to provenance, authenticity and age. The exhibition is called “The Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman” and as well as being generous, beautiful and dense with collected information – it was funny. And he’d compiled the whole thing with great care – everything had its place. “A relaxed, humble, ever-curious love of stuff is central to my idea of being an artist,” Grayson Perry, 2011

So we topped the day with the British Museum and tailed it at the Royal Academy of Arts for the David Hockney “A Bigger Picture” exhibition. We paid for this one too – very unlike us – but if you’re paying for one, why not go nuts and pay for two?

As an aside, I’ll explain that I live in a small village about fifty miles north of London. It takes between 35 and 50 minutes to get to Central London by train, but I just need to step off the train at Euston and I start spending money, so I try to save up the things I want to do and do them all at once.

So, after a short visit to the Turners at the beloved National Gallery, and a cuppa, we wended our way to the Thames’ South Bank – the beautiful bit with the twinkly lights – and refreshed our weary bodies with hot dinners on a boat/restaurant, we headed to our 9pm booking at the RA. We were tired by then and bone-cold. We tried to get in early to the exhibition, but they wouldn’t let us, so instead we read the leaflet sitting on the stairs.

I couldn’t resist this chandelier.

The thing I’d heard about this exhibition was that the pictures were ‘so life affirming’ and ‘huge.’ The pictures are made up from loads of canvases stuck together. Hockney focuses on the seasons in one spot – what happens to the trees, and the fields inside a year – why that matters and how it makes sense. It’s hard to explain on paper what the exhibition does to you – it’s spacious, you are almost in the pictures. But at the same time you want more space to look at the pictures from a distance. The picture that struck us the most was the one below from the Woldgate Woods series – one view in all four seasons, and ‘A Closer Grand Canyon,’ 1998.

"Woldgate Woods, 21, 23 & 29 November 2006" Oil on 6 Canvasess (Copyright David Hockney/photo: Richard Schm Photo courtesy of Yorkshire Telly.

If you’re in London, go and see it. You like me, might be tempted to download the ipad app that he used for one of his series of pictures. I had a go, but perhaps I ought to leave it to the experts!

 

For more amazing words and images by Debbie, check out her blog about her life as a writer and artist in beautiful Bucks, UK: Brevity is the mother of invention

My favourite things of 2011

Bye bye, 2011! You’ve been good to me in small and surprising ways.

It’s been a good one- full of friends, travel, and new experiences. Here are a few things that I’m super-grateful for that happened in 2011:

Travelling to Boston with a good friend to see Josh Ritter

Getting to know people whose work I'd admired from afar and getting to work with them on a real professional play in a real professional theatre. Photo: Paul Dunn, Richard McMillan and Eric Goulem in After Akhmatova at the Tarragon Theatre

Getting a kick start on my writing at Playwrights Workshop Montreal for a workshop led by my hero, Carole Fréchette

I got a new nephew!

Discovering so many things and approaches with a group of amazing directors during the Directors Lab North's inaugural year.

Putting on a play with the beautiful Janelle Hanna at the Toronto Fringe Festival

My sweet potato sprouting into a gorgeous plant all by itself

Getting one of those 9-5 jobs and getting to work with this crazy lot.

Celebrating love at beautiful summer weddings and dancing the night away with friends from all over the place.

Getting to see old friends, amazing plays, and a double rainbow in London.

Finding this red-panda/racoon/okapi in my coffee cup. It was magic. I didn't wash the cup for days. Best thing ever.

Winning chocolates and Molson caps at a Christmas pub quiz.

Escaping it all with the whole darn family and catching the rays in Cuba.

I wish you all the best for 2012- love, discoveries,and beauty. And I hope our paths will cross on an adventure or another soon!

xo Elise

Last day in London, first Hamlet preview

(sort of continued from my last post)

DAY 7
LONDON

On my last day in London, I spent the afternoon wandering around Greenwich, an area I’d never been to before, despite having heard that you sometimes spot foxes there.  I didn’t see a fox.

It was market day, so I wandered around the stalls, ate an Ethiopian lunch and watched people.  Then I spent far too long trying to decide what to bring home from Lush Designs, a tiny shop full of amazing lampshades, cushions, and clocks.  I ended up with more tea towels than a wandered should rightly own.  But they pack light, right?  If it weren’t for a flight back to Canada, and the fact I have no house to put it in, I would have also bought this amazing lampshade:

Lampshade from Lush Designs

It was sunny, lovely, calm and bright.  A beautiful day to meet a friend for tea, go to the candy shop, and visit the university grounds.

Listening to someone practice piano while watching someone read outside the music building in Greenwich

A beautiful day to get lost, and I proceeded to get lost. Greenwich station had somehow disappeared. I never did find it, but somehow ended up at Deptford Bridge station. If you can figure out how I missed Greenwich station, please let me know.  You may refer to this map.

View Larger Map

I got back to central London in time to get terribly lost there looking for the Young Vic without a map (luckily I had some foresight and had bought a weekly tube pass, so I could guiltlessly- though a bit humiliated- hop on the tube to go one stop and find my way from somewhere I knew).

Those extra-long escalators in the tube stations?  Have you ever wondered what would happen if you fell down them?  I have, many times.  And it happened.  Not to me, but right near me.  What happens is this: there’s a scream.  Everybody gasps.  There’s frantic “shut it off! shut it off!” yelping.  And then a woman gets up, smooths her dress, and, red-faced but totally (outwardly) fine, rushes past the “are you all right?” questions and onto the platform saying “that was quite a shock, wasn’t it?”

I fell down the Guy-Concordia escalators 4 Montreal winters ago.  I still have a dent.  I won’t say where.

But back to London.  I finally found the Young Vic.  I just had to follow the cool vibes and Michael Sheen’s face like bread crumbs.

If you've got Michael Sheen, use him

The Young Vic is a very very cool theatre

In the middle of writing this post, I Googled a bunch of review of this Hamlet, just to make sure my opinions were right and that all the critics agreed that this play absolutely rocked.  But, um, looks like that wasn’t the consensus.  What kind of critic says Michael Sheen’s Hamlet is “too Blair-like?”  Boo to them.

Michael Sheen in Hamlet. Photo credit: Simon Annand

I thought it was the best ever.  First off, I got a ticket upgrade (thanks, Graeme and Sharon!), and I was sitting next to this guy.

I heard things I’ve never heard in the play before.  It was fresh and weird and modern and absolutely entrancing.  And I’m sure it wasn’t just the pre-show wine or freaky way we had to enter the auditorium by going through the maze-like backstage/mental institution.  For a better description of the whole experience, read this.  The 3.5 hours flew by.

Ok, fine.  I didn’t love that Horatio was played by a woman, no matter how good or inspiring an actor/director she may be, and not by Nicholas Farrell.  He should always be played by Nicholas Farrell.  Always.  Eileen Walsh can play Rosencrantz whenever she likes, though.

I ended the night at a smashing pumpkin party (the party was smashing, the theme was pumpkins) and a midnight snack of egg and bacon sandwiches and gin and tonics.

Photo by Hannah. Sandwich by Andy.

I left before the sun rose to catch the bus to London Bridge and the train to the airport. David Nicholls’ One Day turned out to be the perfect book to read on the cramped plane back from London.

The bad, the good, and the fishcotheque

(sort of continued from my last post)

I’ve been back from London for weeks now, so I think it’s time I wrap up my wrap up of my short time there.  Soon.

Rainbow spouting from St Paul's Cathedral. This happened. For real.

DAY 6
LONDON 

If you didn’t know, there’s an astounding amount of theatre going on at all times in London.  And it’s not even that hard to find.  First stop: the Soho theatre.  I love this theatre.  I do.  Their literary department sent me the most lovely, respectful, encouraging rejection letter I’ve ever received.  And their stationery is damn cool.  So I got a ticket to whatever show was playing that afternoon.  The girl at the box office hadn’t seen the production but told me that there was real grass on stage.  Sold!

The Soho theatre looks slightly depressing on this picture but actually looks pretty neat in real life

Real grass on stage is awesome.  It looks nice and smells like spring. But it doesn’t necessarily make for dynamic, interesting, moving, or logical theatre.  The grass was really cool, but the play made me angry and offended because of its lack of content and point.  And sad at the potential in the staging, what with the good (but embarrassed) actors and real grass.  I’m going to give this theatre another shot next time I’m in town because I can tell that this bad experience was a fluke.  I can just tell.  Because they’re so nice and actually read scripts you send them.  The one they picked this time was a total miss, that’s all. (The play in question is no longer running- so you’re safe to go check out whatever it on now!)

Collaborative street art in London

Luckily, I had another show booked that night which I liked much, much, much better. After grabbing my backpack at my friend’s (I’d been switching couches, air mattresses, and beds all week), I proceeded to get quite lost in Dalston looking for the Arcola Theatre.

Something I learned in London: the A to Z may be indispensable, but make sure you have a recent edition.  Sometimes things like theatres move.  And overground lines get built.  I was lost for a long time, lugging my pack around dark alleys looking for the Arcola Theatre on Arcola Street.  It moved last year. Check their website, Elise, geez.  Thank goodness for friends with extra mobile phones who lend you said phone in case of stupid situations such as these.  Thanks, Emily!

When I found the Arcola behind a construction site mere steps from where my adventure had begun, we were treated to an intense, beautifully staged production of Speechless, a play based on a real case of selectively mute twins. 

A Shared Experience production, Speechless is co-written by Polly Teale and Linda Brogan.  The reason I had to see it (at full price, bought in advance- that’s commitment) was that Polly Teale also wrote Mrs Rochester, a play I have only had the chance to read (mouth agape the whole time at its intelligence, risk, passion, anger, and skill).  Through that play, I was introduced to Jean Rhys and her outstanding novel Wide Sargasso Sea- a novel you should read right this second.  So I had to see what else I could learn, what journey I could be taken on.

Speechless felt a bit like a roller coaster ride.  It was: laugh, cringe, weep, and feel extraordinarily uncomfortable while at the same time wanting to jump on stage and give the characters (all of them) a hug (and then maybe running away).  The performances were spot-on.  It’s the kind of piece I wish I could have been part of.  As an audience member, I learned so much and made me want to know more about the twins, their lives, London, immigration, psychology, education, and the Royal Wedding.  I can only imagine what it must have been like to sit in on those rehearsals.

After such an intense night and waiting for the bus in the rain, we went for plates of very white chips at Fishcotheque. As one does.

Up next: the final chapter of my week in London (promise)

Poetry, plays, and pubs

(sort of continued from my last post)

Did you know that it’s now hip and trendy to play ping pong in bars? I hear they do it on Entourage.  I’m not hip or trendy, but I’m not a liar either, and you know what? Playing ping pong in bars is pretty fun (I did it once for my friend Michelle’s birthday).

In London, I didn’t play ping pong in a bar. Instead, I went to pubs for poetry readings and plays.  Does that make me cultured or just old?

DAY 4
LONDON

On my fourth day in London, I finally had the chance to hear Conor McPherson speak (ok fine, I admit I timed my visit to be able to attend this particular event).  The National Theatre has a great series of Platforms where you get the chance to hear interviews, talks, and quizzes (!) about theatre, with theatre people (like Enda Walsh! Dominic Cooke! Ciarán Hinds! Simon Callow! Ralph Fiennes!… I really wish I lived in London sometimes).

The auditorium was packed for the interview with Conor McPherson, and hearing him speak about his interest in history, the paranormal, and Ireland was absolutely fascinating and the 45 minutes went by in a flash.  When he was asked whether he himself believed in ghosts, he replied “I only have 5 senses,”  but in a really eloquent way.

Then they announced he would be singing books and things.  And when it was my turn to get my copy of The Veil signed, I turned into a blubbering idiot.  I wasn’t my cool, hip, and trendy self.  I was starstruck (which happens a lot, but I’m usually pretty good at hiding it… not this time!)  and managed to say crap like: “You’re my favourite playwright” and “your career is so inspiring.” Stab me in the eye.  He was lovely and didn’t tell me I was an idiot and to get out of his face.  That was nice of him.

After that, I popped over to Clerkenwell, to the Betsey Trotwood pub, to see and hear a handful of extremely talented poets read.  Feel free to play the following song as you read the rest:

I arrived downstairs- a grotto-like room under the pub- at the end of the first half, just in time for a cider break and a little catch up with a few friends I hadn’t seen in ages.  I feel so lucky to have heard Anna Selby read some of her poems (you can see her reading some of her poems here) and to have caught up with Liz Adams (and finally got my copy of Green Dobermans!)  They are poets who make me understand poetry.

Sandwiched by two beautiful poets

DAY 5
LONDON

Wednesday was the day that I discovered pub theatre.  A bit more fringy than the National Theatre (in that I’d never even heard of it before- but that’s because I’m an ignorant tourist), the Hen & Chickens Pub Theatre is a 54-seat black box above a Victorian pub on Highbury corner, where the Mighty Boosh started.

Hen and Chickens. I didn't take this picture. I should take more pictures.

What I saw was a moving, funny, surprising production of Sense, a play by German playwright Anja Hilling, directed by Melanie Spencer, and featuring a strong, well-cast group of young actors (including Joseph Wilde, a fantastic actor/writer you should probably hire for your next project).

Structured as a series of interlinked stories, each scene of Sense explores one of our 5 senses through dialogues between teenagers about love, friendship, youth and fear.  And because these are teenagers in Berlin, they are somehow cooler and more interesting than any of us, even at their most awkward, angry, disappointed, or nerdy.

Charlotte Spencer and Sophie Streer in Sense. Photo by Steven Kelly

I don’t know why I was surprised at the exceptional talent on stage and professionalism of the production, but I was a bit.  Not really fair of me.  But as soon as it started, I knew my preconceptions were totally off.  Well-observed, dark, and funny writing pulled off in a sharply directed, beautifully designed, cohesive production.  And then downstairs for a pint!

The cast of Sense. Photo by Steven Kelly

For more about Islington and pub theatres, have a listen to this Guardian London walks podcast about Islington’s pub theatres.

Flowers in London and The Veil at the National Theatre

(sort of continued from my last post)

DAY 2
LONDON

Stranger things

On Sundays in London, theatres are dark and most people have the day off.  On Sundays, people who live in Birmingham, pretty villages and even Ipswich can more or less easily swing down to London for the afternoon.  So Sundays in London are the perfect time to meet up with old friends at trendy Australian cafés in Clerkenwell, exchange birthday presents from the past 4 years, and bum around Farringdon vintage shops.  Sundays in London are perfect for visiting the insanely crowded and colourful Columbia Flower Market and sitting in an old pub’s back garden, sipping half pints of cider and lime and soda.  And then maybe go home and watch X-Factor and Downton Abbey.

Columbia Flower Market

DAY 3
London

Bright and early on Monday morning, I boarded the red double-decker bus (I am getting better and better at buses in London and I’m not afraid to boast about that) to the National Theatre, yet again.  The lobby was full of excitable teenagers and, for a second, I thought that maybe I didn’t stand a chance of getting a ticket for that night’s performance of Conor McPherson’s The Veil.  But turned out they were there for a theatre tour and I sauntered up to the box office and got a £12 front row ticket for the play I’d flown across the Atlantic for.  Phew. Sometimes it’s better not to book ahead.

With that out of the way, I skipped all the way to the city for coffee with a friend I met literally 10 years ago when I was backpacking around Scotland on my very first solo trip. Life has zigzagged both of us across the globe and back again since our rainy road trip in search of fairy glades on the Isle of Skye.  But here we were, at the not-so-glamorous Cafe Nero with its nothing to write home about coffee (but good enough to write on this blog about, I guess).  Time, eh?  It goes by.

A new play! Conor McPherson! The National Theatre!

But The Veil.  I’d read a lukewarm review and I had prepared myself.  I tried not to expect another Weir, This Lime Tree Bower or I Went Down (one of the top Irish road-trip-buddy-gangster movies of all time).  I was hoping it wouldn’t be like The Eclipse, which caused sleepless nights even though I only made it through 25 minutes of this terrifying movie (not because it isn’t an excellent film-it is- but I like sleep and I like not to be terrified and I didn’t want to be terrified after this play since I’d have to walk to the tube in the rain in the dark by myself). But I didn’t need to lower my expectations.  I loved The Veil.  It was creepy and beautiful and spooky and hilarious and surprising and heart-wrenching.  I am not exaggerating when I say I laughed, cried, and jumped out of my skin.

Sitting in the front row, with no chance for a tall person sitting in front of me (I’m short, by the way), but next to a man from Los Angeles who was doing exactly the same thing as me (in London for a short time to see plays), I felt totally immersed in the atmosphere.  Cheesy as it sounds, I felt transported.

Ghosts and séances, pretty dresses and nightmares, unrequited love and disquiet souls… And, alright, I’m not going to lie: it was great to see Peter McDonald on stage as a tormented, love-sick, violence-prone, alcohol-soaked man servant.

Even in less than stellar plays (Resurrection Blues, ahem), McDonald is able to serve up all the depth, humour, and humanity you need to sit still and listen.  I won’t gush too much, but let’s just say that after I saw I Went Down (one of the top Irish road-trip-buddy-gangster movies of all time starring Peter McDonald), I may or may not have learned some html to make a silly fansite for him when silly fansites for actors were the norm (oh, back in 1998).  Or are those still around and I’m just old?

If you are in London and are up for a little travel back to misty, magical 19th century Ireland for a good ghost story/love story/family drama/spiritual investigation, don’t miss The Veil. You’ve got until December 11th.

Coming up: a play in a pub, one with real turf, one about selectively mute twins, and one starring Michael Sheen.  Also: cute cafés and getting very lost indeed.

London

This blog is supposed to be about travel and theatre. And guess what? I actually, finally, travelled for some theatre.  And where better to start than the theatre capital of the English-speaking world?

Gull in London

When I heard that Conor McPherson, one of my very favourite playwrights working today, had a new play on at the National Theatre in London (and that it was about ghosts in 19th century Ireland), I decided it was a good time/excuse to go to London.

For my next few posts, I’ll let you into the nerdy thrills of having a week free to fill with theatre in a city that does sleep (plays start at 7:30 and last call is still before midnight, despite newish rules), but also keeps all your senses, feet, and credit card tingly and well-exercised.

Pigeons and mannequin

DAY 1
LONDON 

When I plan trips, I sometimes get wrapped up, which makes me forget about things like packing toothbrushes and the existence of jetlag.  When a couple of my friends and I booked tickets for 13 at the National Theatre for the evening I arrived, we hadn’t quite factored in that I would be seeing it on about an hour of sleep in 33 hours.  So I may have missed some bits, even with the help of coffee, ice cream and the excitement of being with my friends on the South Bank.

The epic play (name a topic- it was covered) was the perfect mixture of dark, dreamy (nightmarish?), and slightly confusing to go along with my state of mind.  And because of this state of mind, I don’t feel like I can talk about this one properly.  I’ll just say that the set was amazing and there was a huge, talented cast.  It made me wonder what I would do if I was a set designer or director or producer with a real budget.

13 at the Olivier, National Theatre, London Photo: Marc Brenner

With the tag line “How are you sleeping these days?” and the promo focussing on how everyone in London wakes up from the same terrifying dream, I thought 13 would centre around sleep and dreams.  But the rich potential of these ideas were diluted by the ambitious (read: unfocussed) scope of the script.  Wait, was the sleeping and dreaming thing just a metaphor?  Nevertheless, the whole thing was mesmerizing, perhaps in part because of my own half-dreaming state…

Graffitied South Bank, site of pre-theatre skateboarder entertainment

5 things I love about London’s National Theatre

1- £12 tickets makes it accessible to everyone (i.e. me)

2- People go.  I have yet to see a play at the NT where there are more than a handful of empty seats.

3- The bookshop has an amazing selection of theatre books and knickknacks that would make any theatre nerd drool [I'd own it all if only I allowed myself to check luggage on the plane and didn't have a credit card limit]. Also, you sometimes spot someone like Fred Willard in the NT bookshop but are too shy and respectful to say anything so you just smile to yourself and think “whaa happen?” while trying not to stare.

4- They choose interesting, well-cast, well-directed, well-designed plays and give new writers a chance.

5- There’s ice cream at intermission and you can even bring it to your seat with you (this goes for most theatres in England- something I think Canada should adopt… and fast!)