I've always enjoyed live theatre, and am something of a ham. Last night I was afforded the opportunity to see a show. I won tickets in a local radio giveaway for a production of Ladies' Night, which was staged at a venue in Newcastle, which is about a ninety minute drive from where I am currently domiciled.
If you haven't heard of it, it's a New Zealand play and is kind of a precursor to The Full Monty, having a plotline entailing unemployed men taking up stripping. I saw a production of this in 1991, with a troupe of Kiwi actors. Without giving away too much - but if you consider this a spoiler, you should consider not breeding - the second act of the play features the 'show' the characters perform. The Kiwi cast I saw years ago were aged twenty-something, and all obviously professional dancers. The production I saw last night has been tweaked a little in making the characters a tad older.
Ladies of a certain age will be interested to know that one of the actors last night was American Chris Atkins, whom you will recall from classics such as The Blue Lagoon and, um, The Pirate Movie (this latter movie might qualify as classic bad shite). To tell the truth, I didn't like the former either. There was controversy and brouhaha in its release because the Brooke Shields character was depicted as experiencing menarche. I didn't care; women get periods and as far as I was concerned, those who had issue with this should just get over it. I had not wanted to see the movie, but was holidaying in Nelson Bay with my mother, and catching up with other relatives, when some younger cousins who needed supervision begged me, 'Will you take us to see The Blue Lagoon, Simmie? The girl gets her periods in it!' The word 'periods' came out as 'peeeeeeer-reee-yods', such was the impish exuberance and frisson being experienced by my younger kinfolk. Being a kind older cousin, I took them to see the movie. And was bored out of my skull. But then again, I have never been a 'chick flick' type of gal.
My friend and I enjoyed the show last night, and if you're wondering: Chris Atkins is still immensely cute, particularly without that ludicrous perm he sported in The Blue Lagoon. Finding the venue was quite easy - just take the Expressway, go along Newcastle Link Road, blah-blah-blah. This was significant for me because my navigation skills are total pants. I was so proud of getting to the venue in plenty of time and without wrong turns. It was the freaking venue that proved treacherous to navigate! It was a labrynthine maze with corners and nooks where corners and nooks should not be. We were directed up a staircase that apparently led to a cupboard (but turned out to be the rear entrance to the auditorium). I had to collect our tickets, and decided it would be less trouble to text my friend (who was purchasing the refreshments at the bar), than try and weave through people and architectural booby traps. It was a Wonderland-type hive of deception and false hope that would seen Lewis Carroll jizzing himself.
Obviously, I did not get home until close to midnight, and I had a cup of tea and a snack when I arrived. So it was an exceedingly late bedtime for your blogger. I was not rostered today, and harboured hopes of a lazy day with a nap. No such luck. I discovered my youngest was scheduled to perform a duologue at the local Eisteddfod this morning, and I had time to dress, bolt down coffee, and drive to venue. He and his partner did very well. Hashtag proud-but-exhausted-mum.
My friend and I enjoyed the show last night, and if you're wondering: Chris Atkins is still immensely cute, particularly without that ludicrous perm he sported in The Blue Lagoon. Finding the venue was quite easy - just take the Expressway, go along Newcastle Link Road, blah-blah-blah. This was significant for me because my navigation skills are total pants. I was so proud of getting to the venue in plenty of time and without wrong turns. It was the freaking venue that proved treacherous to navigate! It was a labrynthine maze with corners and nooks where corners and nooks should not be. We were directed up a staircase that apparently led to a cupboard (but turned out to be the rear entrance to the auditorium). I had to collect our tickets, and decided it would be less trouble to text my friend (who was purchasing the refreshments at the bar), than try and weave through people and architectural booby traps. It was a Wonderland-type hive of deception and false hope that would seen Lewis Carroll jizzing himself.
Obviously, I did not get home until close to midnight, and I had a cup of tea and a snack when I arrived. So it was an exceedingly late bedtime for your blogger. I was not rostered today, and harboured hopes of a lazy day with a nap. No such luck. I discovered my youngest was scheduled to perform a duologue at the local Eisteddfod this morning, and I had time to dress, bolt down coffee, and drive to venue. He and his partner did very well. Hashtag proud-but-exhausted-mum.
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