What's Occurring?

 I've never been a regular blogger, but the past month or so hasn't been easy as my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer after a routine mammogram a week before Christmas and is having surgery next week. I know things are going to be difficult for a while longer, but it really makes me appreciate our wonderful socialist NHS service. I'm also extremely grateful for all the kind comments and words of encouragement from the members of the Virago Modern Classics group on LibraryThing- truly the loveliest corner of the internet. Christmas somehow was more enjoyable than expected, and I'm very grateful for all my presents, including new boots (very useful for keeping my feet dry in the recent snow), some jewellery, plenty of chocolate and three new Persephones (Fidelity, Manja and my own copy of my Persephone favourite, Saplings). I also got a copy of Paul Morel by D.H. Lawrence from my cousin (Lady Chatterley's Lover is the only one of his books that I've read- because I wanted to find out what all the fuss was about), which is apparently an early version of Sons and Lovers. The Oneworld Classics edition is lovely, and reminds me a bit of the Persephone Classics. I'm finding myself coveting several of the books they publish, especially the Russian titles.

In terms of books read, I was really annoyed by Hilary McKay's Wishing for Tomorrow: The Sequel to A Little Princess ('the' sequel? Surely it can only be 'a' sequel unless officially sanctioned by the author). It's quite extraordinary in the way in which Miss Minchin's abuse of Sara and Becky is completely glossed over. Is anyone supposed to buy into the idea that Maria Minchin only turned into a tyrant because she was so much cleverer than a Victorian woman ought to be? Funny that, as Frances Hodgson Burnett herself tells us that Miss Minchin was 'not a clever woman.' If McKay thinks that she, Lavinia and Lottie could live happily ever after in a little house together, that's fine, but I hope Miss Minchin burned in hell. The Brontës Went to Woolworths by Rachel Ferguson was a zany delight- what is about books with 'Woolworths' in the title? (Our Spoons Came From Woolworths was my favourite read of the year). So surreal and yet so deadpan- wonderful. I've finally broken the ice with Elizabeth Taylor as I really loved The Soul of Kindness. A brilliantly delicate, incisive depiction of a woman with a serious Lady Bountiful complex and completely oblivious to the misery she inflicts on others.

One of the highlights of the festive season was Charles Court Opera's production of Dick Whittington at the Rosemary Branch, a panto that truly is a cut above the rest. It's all gloriously un-PC, with sweets and bits of play-dough thrown into the audience, which must violate all sorts of health and safety regulations. Panto is much scarier in a tiny venue as there's a far greater possibility of being singled out by John Savournin's (pictured) Dame, but fortunately (for female audience members with chronic stage fright like myself), her tastes lean towards dads and granddads (I just about passed out with embarassment when my father was chosen as the object of her affection). Apart from that, I loved it, it's such a pleasure to have an entire cast who can sing beautifully, act and tell jokes effectively (not as easy as it sounds). My favourite bit was A Weekend in the Country (one of Sondheim's wittiest and trickiest songs) from one of my absolute favourite musicals A Little Night Music being transformed into A Voyage to Morocco.  Loved Idle Jack doing the Henrik bit at the end. It shows that this panto really is the ultimate in class and wit, and I hope there were other people who got it. There was also a delightful duet for Dick and his cute Welsh lady love Alice (modelled heavily on Stacey from Gavin & Stacey), In Milton Keynes, to the tune of Somewhere That's Green from Little Shop of Horrors. It really annoys me that it's always the same pantos that get all the attention in the press: The Hackney Empire (yes, Clive Rowe is amazing, but once you've seen one of their shows, you've seen them all), whichever one has a 'serious playwright' doing the script (this year, Mark Ravenhill at the Lyric Hammersmith) and the one with the most ludicrous celebrity guest star (Pamela Anderson has to take top honours this year). Still, column inches in the broadsheets hardly makes or breaks a show.

I finally saw Bright Star in early January- what an anti-climax. I was expecting to love it as the subject matter is right up my street and it was being hailed as a masterpiece left, right and centre. I personally found it bit of a nicely designed and shot anemic bore. I'm afraid pretty cinematography doesn't compensate for insipid acting and pedestrian dialogue. The beautiful black and white cat was by far the most engaging character. Still, I'd rather watch that ten more times than It's Complicated once more- dire would be bit of an understatement. Absolutely nauseatingly smug, grotesquely unfunny gastro-lifestyle pornography, full of the most thoroughly unpleasant, self-indulgent spoiled brats with tons of money and no sense. The only time I vaguely cracked a smile was the bit with John Krasinski in the pink pyjamas. I don't know what Meryl Streep was thinking.

I have to admit I nearly started hyperventilating in the office when checking What's On Stage and saw that Shirley Jones is making her London debut. It's hard to express just how intensely I admired her when I was 13- her beautiful voice and radiant performances in Oklahoma!, Carousel and The Music Man made me fall in love with the musical genre. I think I also wanted to be her. In recent years, her politics (supporting George H.W. Bush and his son) and some lousy career moves have left me less than impressed. However, a celebration of her wonderful musical talent in person is something I wouldn't miss for the world. Now, that's something to look forward to.