The end

Having bogoffed all three parts of the 'Wars of the Roses' at the Rose some time ago and having seen the first two of the three parts, I decided that I wanted more. By that time there was not all that much left, but I was able to get a seat in the circle for part 1, 1100 on Saturday morning past.

The Rose, being a modern theatre, albeit something of a replica, it turned out that being a bit off-centre in the dress circle, rather than in a centre front stall, was fine. I even had the sense that the actors were talking more to the circle than they were to the stalls. In any event, they came across better than they had previously; perhaps they had got themselves all cranked up for the Saturday three parter and were well on top of their game for part one, first thing in the morning. Certainly more power than they had bothered to whack out for the Thursday matinée of the first part one. Or is it all in the ear of the hearer, rather than in the mouths of the actors?

Being a little early, started the proceedings by inspecting the fish at the bridge over the Hogsmill. Present, but not in great numbers. They may have not cared for all the noise being generated by Thames Water with work on top of the bridge.

Continued by inspecting the audience, some of whom were carrying the picnic bags which suggested three part marathons. Rather younger and rather more serious looking than that at the aforementioned matinée, tendencies towards a Wigmore audience from a starting point of WI. Or Probus, the gang which many an old gentlemen has claimed to be far too young to join. See reference 4. Having tired of them, I drifted onto the décor which included what appeared to be an early twentieth century fireplace screwed to the wall of this early twenty first century building and a couple of bays done out in all-bar-one style, that is to say with well spaced shelves tastefully stocked with bottles, crockery and bric-à-brac, the sort of thing that graces the better class of charity shop. Or a dealer stall at a Hook Road car-booter.

Richard III, having fluffed the ambling wanton line (see reference 3), did rather well as a foppish Alençon. Playing that much closer to his base character clearly suited.

Suffolk much better this time around (see reference 1). As was Margaret. As was Henry himself. He kept up the irritating, childish mannerisms, but he did work up some real power when (contrariwise) his weakness led him to concur with the disgrace of Gloucester. He was a failed force, but a force nonetheless, for good among the ebbs, flows and swirls of evil all around him. Or, perhaps more prosaically, a world in which all his nobles cared about was the power and the glory. And the fight. Perhaps also for their lineages and the money needed to keep them up and running. An age before the nation as we know it had come to pass. An age of nations, which might have done away with over mighty subjects, but which brought plenty of problems of its own. Look no further than eastern Europe or the Balkans.

I read this morning that Henry was around 40, a noted founder of educational institutions, at the time most of the play was set, so was certainly no child. But this was also the time of his mental breakdown, so what should that give us? Do people regress to childhood when they break down? It sounds reasonable enough, but it is a matter of which I have neither knowledge nor experience. And not something that I think FIL would have been very good on, despite his knowledge etc, derived from near half his life having been spent in the trade. Would the bard have known better, have been able to intuit better?

I noticed a small number of slight changes in the staging, in the positions of actors and actresses, from first time around. I had thought they all worked to exact spots, marked off on the floor in chalk, but who knows; it might just as well be faulty memory. I also noticed a lot of references to liming for birds, presumably a common practice at the end of the sixteenth century - one which I don't suppose the animal rights people would much approve of these days. I must ask google if someone has counted all the references up.

By the end, I was very pleased to have gone for a second helping.

Having been collected, we thought to do the gourmet beefburger place nearby, but were put off by the noise and the crowd, so tried the Persian restaurant next to Stein's instead. The Narenj, alleged to be Persian for a certain sort of orange, and quite like the word for orange in the Canaries. All Aryans together I suppose. Staff all very pleasant, quite possibly real Persians, at least they reminded me of the Persians at LSE in my undergraduate days. Food generally good, although I made a mistake with the main course, attracted by the mention of lentils in the menu, but unimpressed by the amount of tomato purée and something called a dried lime in the dish itself. Persian salt was claimed to be a sovereign remedy against cancer, a factlet which does not seem to be sustained by a very light skim of reference 5. Persian tea came in little glasses and went down rather well.

Out to continue the bogoff theme at TK Maxx where we were able to buy a very decent dressing gown - perhaps there called leisure wear - at a what seemed to be a very knock down price. The only catch was an irritating white logo (Ralph Lauren) very firmly sewn onto the front of the thing. The patch which would be left after removal would probably look worse than the thing itself so I will just have to get used to it. My jacket from Dax has the same fault, albeit on a smaller scale, despite my having paid the full price.

Closed the visit to Kington with a visit to the rather foodified market, in particular to the cheese stall noticed at reference 6. From which arose some confusion about the three ages of Comté. The young lady on this stall was very firm that the Comté on her stall, which looked and tasted very like the young Comté on his stall, was actually the middle aged Comté. I settled for a chunk of her middle aged, but on closer acquaintance I now think that it is older and drier than his stuff had been, despite being from the same manufacturer in France. So old remains bad in my table of Comté. And one more confusion to be worked through.

PS: on the way to bogoff, on the waterfront, there was a small boy, perhaps two years old, very excited about discovering how exciting the world was. Swans, puddles, fag-ends, the whole lot. Very engaging but, I imagine, hard work.

Reference 1: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/part-one-of-three.html.

Reference 2: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/part-two-of-three.html.

Reference 3: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/part-three-of-three.html.

Reference 4: http://www.probusworld.com/.

Reference 5: http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4581363/.

Reference 6: http://www.psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/tea-ceremony-1.html.