PHWOAR!!! Look At The Silver Sealed Bag On That!

The Co-Op have got their knickers in a twist over those naughty old lads mags it seems. Issuing an ultimatum to the publishers that they require a "modesty cover" for the filthy things so that they can continue profiting from selling them.

It would seem that some of the customers have had a grumble about seeing Kelly Brook's melons on the shelf while they test their plums for firmness in the fruit and veg aisles. If indeed there have been complaints. It could be that the whole thing may be engineering a bit of publicity for them or even they might be reacting to pressure from feminist campaigners, who are very active at present with many of the governments plans for online security over porn.

It would seem that the Co-Op are however doing a cover-up at present in many stores in any case:

So with these black covers over the mags it must be that we are dealing with a new species of children with Superman X-Ray powers and if that is the case no ladies bras and panties are safe from viewership even your granny.

However I get silly as is my want, this is a very serious business. I cannot help but see an outrageous double standard against us menfolk. I have not myself made a point of purchasing fashion magazines, but I believe you ladies do and I present exhibit A, an old cover of Vanity Fair:

Explicit but maybe not quite so suggestive I grant you, but that leads me to exhibit B, a much more recent offering from W magazine:

A little more suggestive maybe? However of course this is in the name of Art and that means we can get away with anything doesn't it!

I suspect that if Kim wants to get her knockers out again the Co-Op will be fine if its on a ladies lifestyle magazine, but if those breasts dare go near the cover of Esquire, Front, Nuts or any other of those filthy rags, its the silver bag treatment as them there breasts are going to corrupt our children!

Another mag that should be banished from the Co-Op shopping aisles is Rolling Stone, a serial offender if ever there was one, whether is be the cast of True Blood almost presenting their goods or Miranda Kerr keeping a good cover in front of the shrubbery:

So Co-Op if you are truly planning on protecting the fragile minds of the children that come in your store for their lollipops, I believe you are going to have to spread your view a touch wider, or maybe perhaps have a good think whether this material really does cause damage at all.

In the meantime I would be grateful if you could cover-up all that Justin Bieber material on your shelves. I really do find it quite offensive!

Theatre Review: The Hothouse by Harold Pinter at the Trafalgar Studios, London

This weekend saw my very first experience of a Harold Pinter play, the world famous playwright who I literally knew nothing about. I presumed some highbrow theatery stuff, all stuffy and indigestable. I know not why, I just for some reason assumed too much. Famous theatre playwright I thought, not going to be entertaining stuff for a commoner like me. It'll be like wading through treacle!

How wrong I was! Funny, sharp, cool, black (very black) and just so much fun! A literally endless cascade of glorious dialogue creating a somewhat open play which could be interpreted in many ways. To find yourself laughing so much at a play which contains torture, death, rape and murder seems strange and when leaving the theatre I heard many discussions about the contents, many not getting it, many not liking it. It could certainly be a play best not viewed if you do not get very black humour, fortunately I have no problem at all with this type of material, and got it very much.

The cast were superb throughout. Leads Simon Russell Beale and John Simm bouncing off one another wonderfully. The quiet, but yes, sinister Gibbs (Simm) being the perfect foil for "Colonel" Roote (Beale) as the over the top, blustering buffoon who knows none of his patients and lacks understanding of the left from the right. Both leads are excellent in their respective roles, but I did fear for Mr Beale's back as he lay bent over his chair in one of the clever freeze frame moments.

John Heffernan playing the roguish Lush was highly watch-able whether if be for his snow observations or magical cake moments (you OK in the front row now?). While Harry Melling as the (very) unfortunate Lamb gave a glorious physical performance in his role as the socially afflicted and obvious target of Gibbs. The third of the main supporting roles was Indira Varma as Miss Cutts, who crawled and sexually taunted the men throughout the play. And yes Miss Cutts, I do find that you are feminine enough!

The two tiny roles of Tubb and Lobb played by Clive Rowe and Christopher Timothy (thankfully without a cows bottom in sight) were well played in their all too brief appearances.

The set design, much like the last few plays I have seen was once again exemplary, clean efficient and not too cluttered, with the added fact that the front few rows are effectively on the stage, the whole thing was a glorious viewing.

So to my first Harold Pinter? Wonderful, enlightening, not what could ever have been expected. All in all a glorious two hours of entertainment. Just as long as you like your humour dark, very dark.


The Hothouse runs at Studio One at the Trafalgar Studios, London until Saturday 3rd August.

The Hothouse, Trafalgar Studios

FOR SALE: NORTHAMPTON GUILDHALL

• This lavish building in Northampton is a centrepiece of the market town at the heart of England.
• Constructed between 1861 and 1864 with an in-style extension built in 1992 this building has over the years had several not very careful owners.

• Presently full of hot air and self importance, it is important for the pension pot that there is a quick sale with no paper trail.
• The interior is of quality appearance with plush seating and many water coolers which upon sale will be topped up with quality mineral water.
•  The local facilities include a pub, a nightclub, another pub, another nightclub, some boarded up shops, some more pubs, some pound shops, toilet facilities in shop doorways and a couple of charity shops.
• Also although not actually on the property there is a rather splendid defunct water feature to the rear of the building which when powered up is able to sprinkle liberal amounts of urine deposited the previous evening from the local revellers.
• Another local feature is off-road rallying provided due to an innovative "pot hole" feature.
• As part of the purchase a statue titled Sekhemka will also be included which we are also not allowed to be selling either. However like they say this is democracy... 

Theatre Review: Passion Play at the Duke Of York's Theatre, London

Why my blog became all serious and high-brow I do not know, but this weekend I had the pleasure of being in London once again and saw the simply superb Passion Play at the Duke Of York Theatre.

Like the recently viewed Beautiful Thing, this is an old play given another airing. First performed in 1981 and written by Peter Nichols. It presents domestic woes in the form of a most stylish and inventive format. The two main characters (the married couple Eleanor and James) represented on stage by dynamic alter-egos, wholly revealing that persons innermost thoughts.

The reason for these alter-egos so appearing comes in the gorgeous form of Kate, a sexual predator and "old" man eater, who having buried her previous conquest sets her sights on James, via of all people his wife Eleanor. Devouring and consuming him via her stunning form and rampant persona, the alter-egos appear. First James' and then even more dramatically Eleanors'.

Stoking the fire between the couple is the form of the wronged wife of Kate's former conquest, Agnes. Bitter, twisted and purely setting out to reveal all the devil that is Kate's wrongdoings.

Representing all these characters are what can only be described as a tour de force of actors. When all on stage, the words, the emotion, flow from these stunning professionals is a wonder to behold. From the gentle and silent emotions, to the shear all out shouting carnage of the second half. It really is a joy to behold.

Really to single out a single one of the performers would be cruel in the extreme. Zoe Wanamaker as Eleanor is of course the star name that most would recognise, and in the role she really is superb, from the quiet moments to the heavy moments, with the superb comic timing in between, there really is nothing to fault.

However as her alter-ego Nell, Samantha Bond has all the mannerisms of Zoe Wanamaker, but the lines that Zoe's character would not dare to say. Well at first maybe. Samantha in the second half puts in so much emotion when things turn nasty, you would be fooled into thinking that you really are witnessing the disintegration of a marriage before you.

Tony Award winning Owen Teale as James shines throughout and has the better of the rapartee with his alter-ego Jim, played by Oliver Cotton. These two work together so well despite for the best part of the play them generallly not talking to one another. Oliver provides the best of the comic moments, frequently just with his physical actions while the others talk.

Kate slinks and slides across the stage in various form of dress (and undress) in the glorious shape of Annabel Scholey. She epitomises confidence and sexual tension as James (and pretty much anyone) would struggle to resist her charms given the chance. It is a performance of confidence despite finding herself on stage with the powerhouses around her and can only be applauded for holding her own in the surroundings.

The smallest role of Agnes, is played with bitterness relishly by Sian Thomas. Setting the fire of the whole of the second half with her intercepted mail.

I would also like to mention the ensemble, lesser heralded, and wordless, Kelly Burke and Matt Weyland give their all to delivering the set and playing their multiple roles with delicateness.

The production itself from director David Leveaux and set designer Hildegard Bechtler is complimented superbly with the use of the dynamic stage, with revolving and sliding of the set to excellent effect, right down to that very final moment, it comes up trumps. The music usage to also done with panache and style, with crescendos of music used excellently throughout.

Overall a superb production of what on paper sounds like a complicated play, which given your full attention in reality is never truly complicated. Worth your time without doubt to see a collection of actors at the top of their game performing a fast and excellent script.


Passion Play is on at The Duke Of York's Theatre, London until 3rd August
www.passionplaylondon.com

Theatre Review: Beautiful Thing at the Arts Theatre, London

I felt the need to resurrect my blog after a couple of months of hibernation, and the perfect opportunity came following my viewing of an absolutely superb play on Saturday. As it happens I have spoilt the punchline of whether the show was any good already, but matters not, let me go back to the beginning.

I was due to be in London on Saturday so I rooted about looking for a play to see while there and it turned out I managed to find one featuring one of of my favourites, Suranne Jones. So I booked up, with genuinely no knowledge at all about what the play was about (I am want to do this whenever in the city).

Following buying the tickets, I did a little google, cleaned up the mess and then checked on the internet what the play was about. So, a play, a film and now a 20th anniversary version of the play. A play about two gay boys, an interesting theme, that I am going to be blunt here, I would not have chosen to go and see. Many I suspect would do the same.

All of them and myself could not be more wrong to prejudge. It was a sweet, witty, and thoroughly entertaining play.

Leading the cast as the mother of one of the boys, was Suranne Jones (lovely) as Sandra, and in a roll, somewhat out of type for her, she exelled, maybe with a suspicious hint of dodgy dialect, but that didn't matter. The roll had all the best comic lines, with some gloriously fruity jokes. Suranne genuinely seemed to be having a ball in the role, and we all did watching. In the performance I saw, there was also a most wonderful corpsing moment for Suranne when there were issues with a shut door, or lack of, let's say. A wonderful moment, that of course is "non-professional" for the snooty types no doubt, but part of the joys of a live performance.

As the two boys, Jake Davies and Danny-Boy Hatchard (the latter in his professional début) both excelled in their comic and serious moments, Hatchard particular was perfectly able to get the real tears flowing when they were needed on a number of occassions.

Zaraah Abrahams and Oliver Farnworth both had less to do in their supporting roles, but by no means did either come up short. Abrahams was fun and frivilous in her role and got to do a couple of nice singing performances, while Farnworth got the obvious pleasure of having Suranne all over him, so I hated him! Well of course not (yes). He had perhaps the most caricatured role as Tony, but he managed to make it gloriously his own


The stage design I feel should have special mention as well. Incredibly simple, but because of this highly beneficial to the perfromances, allowing them to just get on with it. Pretty much just three doors and the occassional bed, made a nice clean environment for the actors to do their stuff.

Final mention though of course to writer Jonathan Harvey for a surprising, witty script. Certainly a product of its time, anyone not around in the early nineties might find themselves wading through many of the period jokes, but I was there and I got pretty much everything and enjoyed every moment.

So, to sum up. A wonderful play, which I am very happy to have accidentally came across in pursuit of one of my favourites. Something I would highly recommend anyone should see, without prejudice, no matter what side your bread is peppermint buttered in the romance department. What a terrible joke to finish on, that doesn't even make sense!

Just go and see it, but be quick in London, or you shall have to chase it around the country.

http://www.beautthing.com/

Binageddon - A Short Story

For @eigna2012

Monday

The lid lifted gently as it had done every day in the two weeks since its first appearance. At first Angie has assumed that some strange draft caused by the door could somehow miraculously lift it as she entered the toilets.
Simone has said otherwise when asked about it.
"You are insane Ang! How could a draft lift a large plastic lid like that" she had said.
Feeling more stupid than normal Angie had never mentioned it to anyone again.
However as always, like every morning, Monday was no different and as she entered through the door the bin lid lifted as if to say hello to her arrival.
Skirting around it to get to the cubicle she hurried inside and closed the door.

Tuesday

"Hello" the bin said. "How are you today?"
It didn't of course, but today it flapped up and down several times, as if it was having a conversation with the toilets only occupant.
Angie had wished that the firm had never had the toilets spruced up. The old bin had been an innocent old fashioned device that needed quite a hefty push on the foot pedal to get the lid up for disposal purposes. There had never been any chance of that having an impromptu conversation with you.
The toilets may well now have looked like they should have had Kevin McCloud perusing them, but for Angie, she pined for the old bin.

Wednesday

Debbie was doing her hair as Angie entered the toilets first thing. As always when anyone was in there first, the bin decided to keep quiet.
This was the main thing that had always unnerved Angie, why only when she was on her own? To try to reassure herself, she had decided that this was because of some highbrow science involving airflow with a second body in the room. In her gut though, it was just that the bin was out to get her.
'Did you see Dallas last night Ang?" Debbie said as she walked in. Directing her conversation to Angie's reflection in the mirror instead of turning to her.
'That Josh Henderson has his top off again' she continued. Debbie had always loved the bad guys and Dallas was her current favourite show. The jokes referencing "Debbie", "Does" and "Dallas" in the office seemed to be never ending.

Thursday

Flip.
Flap.
Flip.
Flap.
As usual, the warm welcome came from the bin as Angie entered during her morning break. Sneaking round as usual, and dashing into the cubicle, Angie slammed the door.
As the door slammed today however the lights flickered, flashed a couple of times and went out.
This was different Angie thought and dropped trembling onto the toilet. Coincidence? Just a coincidence she thought.
Just a power cut.
That was all, just a power cut, she tried to convince herself.
Then a rattle began to occur. Something outside the door was rocking, hitting the floor.
She knew what this was without a doubt and her trembling and shaking got worse. A warm red glow had also begun to filter under the door and the noise increased with every second.
After about a minute it got too much and Angie flung the door open screaming.
Across the room, the bin was shaking and rocking out of control as if Oscar the Grouch or Top Cat were trying desperately to get out.
There was room to run and run Angie did, screaming for the door.

Friday

The bin was gone!
As Angie entered the toilets at lunch after having avoided the toilet during her morning break the first thing she saw was the new bin. A different colour, a different shape, and more importantly not talking, not shaking and not coming for her.

The day had been good and as Angie drove her, Gary sang about Forever Love from her car radio and the steering wheel was tapped in tune.
Pulling up at home and climbing from the car, she fumbled in her bag for her door keys. After finally finding them, she walked up to the door and unlocked the door.
Pushing open the door, while struggling with the shopping bags, Angie failed to see the bin that rocked and shook as it moved towards her down the passage way...


Based on an original idea by @eigna2012 on Twitter.

Any similarities to real people or real events are purely a coincidence and of course are very unlikely to occur in real life.
Or are they?

Harry Potter And The Casual Vacancy

The following is an extract from the latest book by J. K. Rowling. Reader discretion is advised as it contains explicit content. Certain words have however been edited to prevent extreme offence.

Harry sat in the dorm at Hogwarts school and stared down at the table. Taking from his top pocket his Galleon credit card he scraped the white powder into a thin line.

Rolling a crisp piece of paper into a tube he lent forward and inhaled the substance quickly and crashed back in the chair.

'I feel like I am f***ing flying on a broom, man!' he yelled as he fell off the chair.

From the floor he looked up at Hermione, who sat in the chair alongside him. She had a worried expression on her face as she looked down at him.

'Hey babe', Harry said from the floor. 'Wanna bit of fun?' and he grabbed her thin panties between her legs.

'Feels nice and wet there, you must be ready for my magic wand, luv!'

He tore at them and Hermione gave a strangled scream of distress and got up to run for the door. Grabbing her leg, Harry pulled her to the floor and rolled on top of her as she screamed for help.

Just at that moment as Harry fumbled with one hand in his trousers to get his c**k out and keeping a finger of his other hand in Hermione's c**t, the door burst open.

'Get off her Harry, what the hell are you doing!' cried the flame haired Ron Weasley from the doorway.

Harry stared up at him as he lay on his side across the prostrate Hermione his erect penis visible to all.

'Keep f***ing out of it you ginger haired c**t, can't you see she's f***ing begging for it?'

At that same moment the door burst open once again and ducking through the door came Hagrid.

'Hey Harry! Call that a d**k, this is a d**k' he cried as he dropped his trousers.

'Oh my!' cried Hermione.

'Yeah babe, some of us are big in every department...'

The full book Harry Potter And The Casual Vacancy is not available in any good or even bad bookshops.