Last night, after rehearsals, it was far too hot to go home – and, the rehearsals having gone passably well, we weren’t in the mood to disperse yet anyway. So we sat, more or less in the dark, in the garden of our makeshift rehearsal room. We sat in a circle, and began to tell each other the combination of Sonnets 55 and 81 that ends the play.
We all said it in turn, the game being to do it as differently as we could from the person before us. Again and again we said it… Continue reading
So it seems that Old English had about twenty different verbs for the act of sparkling/glittering:
You know when you know there is that perfect bit in Shakespeare, that line about this or that? You know the speech you need is there, somewhere – but can’t exactly place it, let alone find it… 
Once upon a time, I went all the way to Jesi with my mentor, to see a seldom-produced opera based off Victor Hugo’s Ruy Blas.
I think I’ve mentioned this before – but, as a Saturday thought, I’ll post a bit of the Author’s Greeting from George Garrett’s Entered from the Sun – the Murder of Marlowe.
First, you have to know that a risotto is a first course of rice cooked with a variety of ingredients. In my corner of Northern Italy, it’s pork sausage and grated parmesan, basically – and it’s not just a staple food. In the words of my friend Milla, who moved here nearly twenty years ago, “it’s far more than a dish. It possesses quasi miraculous powers. It sates hunger, cures all ills, seals friendships and celebrates any and every occasion.”
Farrar, Straut and Giroux’s
Once upon a time, in late Nineteenth-Century England little John Masefield lived a happy childhood, with a loving family and a love of books. Then his parents died, and the boy’s guardian, an aunt out of Dickens, sent him off the Conway, the training ship of the Merchant Navy, to cure him of his “book-obsession”.