I find it slightly disturbing to turn 89. I remember getting that old Zenith radio around 1938 and thinking how marvellous to hear voices coming out of this square wooden box, and here I am all these years later, writing this blog which will go out to you and anyone who cares to read it courtesy of Word Press and because its written on a laptop computer and that is what it does. And what is also strange is that I take it for granted this will happen. A lot of years have passed between that Zenith radio and the MacPro lap top and in my personal lexicon I am the link between them.
We didn’t have a phone then and now I have this phone that would probably sit up and beg if I got the right app. Now that I am visually impaired I wondered aloud on Sunday how I would find my phone if I mislaid it because of its jet black colour. Looking into black and looking for black is an extremely frustrating exercise. One of the people listening said there’s a little thing which you can set up and when you lose your phone you can press it and your phone will ping to let you know where it is. Really? A kind of phone minder? The idea works for me.Of course if I lost that and the phone, things might get a bit tricky and we might end up in a full–on all stops out high drama queen performance and that would probably not be good.
Losing my temper is something that happened then too. I used to be pretty good at it. I think maybe now I have replaced that drama with flashes of high irritation but they doesn’t last long.
However, I am not irritated, I am fucking angry over the Pop–up Globe’s intention to perform an all–make version of Taming of the Shrew. The title alone is an insult. And It’s one of Shakespeare’s worst scripts so you’d wonder why these paragons and upholders of authenticity chose it. Maybe because its authentically bad?
I assume that the all male cast who are doing it because it is authentically Shakespeare will get right into the spirit of it and not use toilets but just an authentic hole in the ground or a pot? They will not shower, no no, they’ll wash themselves out of water from an authentic jug once a week or maybe once a month because in those times it was regarded as dangerous to your health to wash yourself too often. Their teeth will of course be authentically allowed to rot.
And hurrah hurrah they can congratulate themselves for carrying on the good old authentic misogynist tradition of theatre.
Remember the lines from that song of Robin Archer’s? That good old double standard raise it high raise it high?
Its certainly flying high over the Pop-up Globe. Made me think of another song of Robyn Archer’s. Dicks don’t grow on Trees. Maybe not on trees but they’re certainly blooming at the Pop-Up Globe right now.
