Juliet, Naked, by Nick Hornby, Reviewed.

Nick Hornby is one of those writers I hadn’t previously read, for no other reason than that there are so many to choose from these days. I came across Juliet, Naked on a local charity stall and, knowing I’d be in hospital for minor surgery for a day and would therefore be a captive audience, paid the small fee requested. I’d seen the film version of his About A Boy and thought I’d probably find something in his writing to appeal to me.

I’m glad I picked up the book. The ‘Juliet’ of the title is an album of rock music worshipped by the heroin’s obsessive live-in lover. And the ‘Naked’ refers to a more recently discovered album from the same performer, but in its raw state. It is, cleverly, the couple’s different perceptions of these two music collections that act as the catalyst for the events and revelations that make the story.

As a study of relationships, it’s a brilliant piece of work. That the characters are peculiar is a given, but they are real people for all that. Hornby has lived with these people, in his head if not in fact. He understands them, loves them, loathes them, laughs with them, cries with them. And the reader is sufficiently convinced by the portrayals to empathise with them.

The northern seaside town is so well drawn that I could believe I’ve lived there. As a northerner who spent some of my childhood in such a place, I was instantly at home. The American experiences in the book took me to places I hadn’t been and convinced me equally of their reality.

The interplay of the characters with their sometimes tenuous, sometimes profound connections, came across naturally and with emotional depth. There were passages where I laughed out loud, places I smiled and nodded my agreement, portions that had me grinding my teeth with frustration at the stupidity of man. All in all, a book I thoroughly enjoyed. I shall look out for his other novels now and I readily recommend this author to all readers.

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To Touch Type or Not?

The "QWERTY" layout of typewriter keys became a de facto standard and continues to be used long after the reasons for its adoption (including reduction of key/lever entanglements) have ceased to apply. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Several centuries back, when I was a young stripling with grandiose ideas and the energy to consider them achievable, I started out as a freelance photo-journalist. At the time, my first wife and I occupied a semi-basement flat that nestled beneath a Tudor farmhouse. It had once served as a hatchery for the chickens that the farmer’s father had bred. The current farmer had lost interest in fowl, other than a small number kept for the production of fresh eggs for the family. So, we lived in a relatively idyllic spot, paying rent and offering my services on the farm as a labourer for a minimum wage. My wife taught at a local school.

I took a touch typing course in preparation for the coming times when I would produce hundreds of articles, stories and features each week and become an editors’ dream. That course, where I joined the ranks of many women of various ages as the only man, took place in a classroom in a building far enough away to require me to cycle the distance. It was spread over a fortnight, weekday mornings only, and we used manual typewriters to take the lessons. This was long before even electric typewriters were around. I had, at home, an ancient upright Olympia machine, manufactured in my birth town of Hull.

The lessons went well with the disciplinarian female teacher sternly ensuring we all moved along apace. By the end of the fortnight, I was proficient and typing at around 70 words per minute. Experience would soon increase that speed.

Then the farmer, who was an odd and rather impractical character, announced that we’d better be prepared to move at short notice since he was seriously considering selling up and moving the whole family to America.

This edict came the Sunday following the end of my, for me, expensive course. After discussions with my then wife, we decided that freelancing, with its unknowns and vagaries, was not promising enough in this uncertain situation. On the Monday following, I’d been mucking out the stables and returned to the flat to discover I needed some paper for a photographic article I was preparing for Amateur Photographer magazine. I walked the couple of miles into town in my smelly wellies, intending to make this a quick trip so I could get on with the article. As I strode down the street leading to the photographic shop I usually frequented, I passed another shop, which also sold cameras, along with many other items of technology. Sellotaped to the glass door was a hand written advert for a sales assistant.

The man behind the counter was friendly as I approached. I nodded to the doorway and mentioned the advert. He looked me up and down, taking in my torn jeans, scruffy tee-shirt, manure-coated boots and the odd strand of straw in my shoulder length hair.

‘Sell me this camera.’

I handled it quickly, familiarised myself with its features and explained them to the man as if he were a customer with little technical knowledge.

‘Okay. Tell me about these binoculars.’

I did the same again, suggesting he might like to take them outside and view the street to get a better idea of their magnification and range.

He listed six items on the shelves behind him. ‘I’ve bought those and given you fifty quid. How much change do I get?’

I told him without hesitation.

‘When can you start?’

I told him I could start after lunch if he wished.

‘Tomorrow will do. Eight o’clock sharp.’

I shook hands with Paddy and left to buy my photo paper from the shop down the road, where they sold only photographic equipment and materials. As I left Paddy’s shop he raised a hand.

‘Just one thing, Stuart. You will be wearing something suitable, won’t you?’

I grinned. ‘I’ve my birthday suit, or the one I got married in. Up to you, Paddy.’

He smiled. ‘The wedding suit, I think, don’t you?’

Thus began a short friendship (I replaced him as manager three months later when he became the area manager for the whole group of shops) and thus also ended my initial foray into freelancing.

It was three years before I found time to get back to a typewriter and we’d remained on the farm throughout the period. But the shop job allowed me to obtain a mortgage to buy our own home.

The touch-typing had long been forgotten.

Since then, because of other commitments, I’ve managed to type with two fingers and a thumb and can manage around 45 words per minute with reasonable accuracy.

Last week, I retired from employment. I bought some touch typing software, Individual Software’s Typing Instructor Platinum; the Full UK English Version. Amazon.co.uk delivered the software today and I’ve installed it and printed out the PDF instruction manual. I’m one of those unusual men who actually thinks an instruction manual is a useful device. Saves so much time.

So, I shall start the typing skills lessons tomorrow, once I’ve read the manual.

It’s my first week of retirement from employment and my first week as an intended full-time writer. Been a bit interrupted by a hospital visit on Monday for assessment and on Tuesday for surgery on an old knee injury. Not the time I would have chosen for the surgery, but pleased to have it out of the way. (In UK, we have the wonderful National Health Service, which means the whole procedure cost me nothing. The slight downside is that we have no choice over timing, but that’s a price worth paying for what is a superb and professional free service.) The surgery, anaesthetic and aftermath have left me less than fit and it’ll be a couple of weeks before I can start to drive again and lead a normal life. I also have to take regular rests for the next few days. But I’ll begin the touch-typing course tomorrow and keep you informed of my progress.

So, my question today is this:

Do you touch type or are you a one, two, three finger typist? How quickly can you get those words down? How accurate are you? Or, do you only write longhand and have some other to transfer the script to text?

Share your experience and thoughts here, please. I love to know how my visitors are doing.

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Retiring From the World of the Wage Slave

And joining the world of the full time writer, at last. Today, as you read this, I’ll be spending my last day as an employee in a large, open-plan office. There, no doubt, my colleagues will make some sort of fuss of me and my departure. It’s traditional. We rightly celebrate this ending of one stage of our working and social lives. Many find the change a wrench, an unwanted end to a role that brings purpose and financial support. For me, however, this ending is something I’ve craved for years. I shall, of course, miss some of those with whom I’ve worked for these years. But the work I won’t miss at all. The office has been a necessary evil for me; no more than a way of earning enough to keep my family from poverty in a world where priorities and systems mitigate against the individual and the creative artist.

Oh, I’m not complaining, though I would have the world examine its priorities and ask many questions about what it thinks important. I understand, from long experience and much variety in employment, that the world is not run for the majority of us. There’s a small elite, self-preserving and self-serving, that controls the conditions under which the rest of us exist. We are, mostly, a necessary evil for those who really run the world. We’re permitted to exist in order to provide the rich and powerful with custom to prop up their system of pointless production and consumption.

Okay; I hear you objecting. I hear your justifications, excuses, reasons and self-deceptive tormenting of logic that allow you to continue with your daily participation in the Big Con. But, from today, I no longer need to fool myself that what I do for a living is worthwhile, vital, essential or even in any way a positive contribution to the welfare of my fellow men. I’m now free to examine my position and understand the pointlessness and self-perpetuating selfishness that drives most employment. I cast off those shackles with glee. I leave that world of the wage-slave with huge relief and a feeling of hyperelation. See, I’ve even coined a word to describe my feelings of release and pleasure.

I’m aware that we’re constrained to compromise. The system is so deeply ingrained that, like religion, it underpins and acts as foundation for almost every aspect of our daily lives. Most are completely unaware of their real position in life. They go to work and do the job that brings them the money to allow them to go from day to day without having to consider the appalling realities of life. In common with most people, I’ve had to make these compromises almost every day of my adult life. I’ve been an employee for 49 years. I’ve been a writer for a little under 46 years, on and off. I’ve not been willing to compromise my writing the way I’ve been forced to compromise in my employment. As a result, I’ve never earned enough from my talents to break free of the chains of the wage-slave. Now, I can ignore the system as I write what I want to write, not what others might dictate I should write. I was never free to make such challenges as a wage slave, though I frequently bent idiotic rules in order to allow common sense and compassion to overcome greed, bureaucracy and injustice.

You’ll note that I’ve so far failed to define the system I’m condemning. That would take a book. And, at present, I have other books to write. But, one day, I’ll give my time and attention to that task. For now, I wish to luxuriate in the balm of freedom and opportunity that will now be my world. Pensions, to which I’ve contributed during my working life, will allow me to continue to provide for the material needs of my family as I step out on a road of self-discovery and enlightenment. A road towards aims I’ve had to hold in check for too long.

I recognise that much of this post will be incomprehensible, problematic, even mildly insane, and perhaps seen as insulting, to some readers. But I’ve had to bow to the will of others for so long, and the sense of freedom that this new stage brings demands an outlet. So, I apologise if I've offended. Those who know me well will understand my meaning. Those who’ve read my work will have at least some comprehension of my position. Time will reveal whether what I believe, feel and care about, proves to be something worthwhile or simply consists of the mistaken conclusions of an overactive imagination.

I started this piece full of the intention to celebrate a stage in life that many face with dread. My tirade against the world of conventional work came as something of a surprise, in spite of acknowledged feelings, and may well have tossed a little water on those celebrations. But it was something I needed to say, and to say publicly. For now, I cheer, shout ‘hooray’, smile, laugh and soar with pleasure into the realms of the unknown that we call retirement.

I shall not, of course, be stopping work. In fact, the real work now begins. But what work it will be, what joy, fulfilment and sheer delight I will have in it. And, who knows? Perhaps I may even sell a few more books. I certainly intend to write more of them.

Watch this space.

The Ipcress File, by Len Deighton, Reviewed

As Deighton admits in the preface to the Silver jubilee Edition that I read, ‘Like many inexperienced writers I expected far too much from my readers.’ And it’s this assumption that that the reader will ‘be aware of every tiny detail and allusion’ that makes this book, at least initially, a less than easy read. Of course, the film and the reputation of the book gives the reader motivation to stick with it. Without that motivation I can’t be absolutely sure I’d have got past the first few chapters. However, I’m glad I did.

This 1960s spy story has far more depth and character development than the Bond novels that were more or less contemporaneous. The use of the unreliable first person narrator was risky but actually worked well, adding an extra layer of uncertainty to the described events. I can recall being similarly fascinated by the literature about brain-washing at the time, as a teenager. And this central theme lifts the tale out of the usual spy story genre. It is, of course, a thriller. But it’s a thriller with heart and emotion. The reader cares about the characters. The action is driven by those characters rather than formula driven. 

There are places where aspects of the story are almost incomprehensible, dialogue sections where the identity of the speakers is all but impossible to ascribe, passages that appear meaningless until later in the book, when they fall into place. All this adds to the general air of confusion, uncertainty and mystery.

Deighton introduces female characters with personality, strength and intelligence and improves the story no end by so doing. His male characters are varied, detailed and credible. His depictions of the worlds of the high-ranking military, politics and the intelligence community come across with great authority, as though he was personally involved in each of these spheres of activity. I can only assume that his research was meticulous and involved many personal contacts. Unless, of course, he was so steeped in the burgeoning spy literature of the time that he absorbed the most striking and probable aspects of these worlds and was able to apply his own brand of fiction in such a way as to make them utterly believable.

The Ipcress File (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m unsure how I missed this in my earlier days of reading. Certainly, I read most of the Bond novels through my teens and early twenties. I did, of course, catch the film. But I’d forgotten that until I began reading. I must try to see it again. For the book, I can say that I enjoyed it as a thriller with real character. I shall probably now read more of the author’s work as and when I come across it. If you haven’t read this one and you enjoy action combined with wit and emotionally complete characters in your fiction, then I recommend this book to you.

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The Place of the Map in Fantasy. Can You Help?

A fantasy without a map? Can you imagine it? I can’t, except for those unusual fantasies that are set in real places known by most of us, of course. But an epic fantasy, a swords and sorcery, a dragonworld; without a map? I can’t see how it would work. Readers would be lost in an invented world for which they had no key.

I’m currently editing volume two of an epic adult fantasy. The story actually started with the map I drew of the world I intended to invent. That was a long time ago. Other things have interposed themselves between the initial concept and the completion. But I’m well on the way to completing the second volume now and will then start on the final book. But I intend to publish volume one as soon as volume two is complete. I’ve hung on for this time because I know, from experience, how frustrating it is for a reader to start reading a series only to discover it is never completed. I can publish volume one and two in the full knowledge that volume is under way; something I hope will give readers the confidence to honour me with their loyalty.

But, to get back to the map. Mine was drawn on a piece of A1 sugar paper (that’s 22¼ by 33¾ inches for our American cousins, who don’t use A sizes for paper) in black ink. That has aged over the years until it has grown fragile and discoloured; an effect that makes it look like ancient parchment and lends it an air of authenticity. But, for readers to fully appreciate the land I’ve drawn, it would be best for them to experience that map at full size. Will I be able to convince a publisher to include such a large piece of folded paper within the covers of a printed book? Will I be able to attach such a large image to a digital format for ebook readers?   

Tolkien, Richard Adams, George Martin, et al made good use of maps in their work, of course. An invented land needs boundaries, scale, routes and, of course, names of places to give the reader some guide to the setting of the action. So, I believe the book will be incomplete without the map. My problem is in managing to include it. I’d appreciate any observations, thoughts, ideas or suggestions from all those out there with experience and/or imagination. Thank you.

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Passages in Men’s Lives, by Gail Sheehy, Reviewed

I bought this book a short while after its publication (1998), when I was suddenly made redundant at the age of 51 and a few days before Xmas 1999. It was clear I faced some fundamental changes in life and the blurb on the cover promised me help at this difficult time. However, I didn’t actually read it. I found a new job, moved house and settled down to a new phase of life, forgetting the book. That, in retrospect, was a mistake. So, why have I extracted it from the shelves now?

In a few days, 13 to be precise, I will spend my last day at the office where I’ve worked, mostly part-time, for the past 13 years. I’m going to retire. It seemed a sensible approach to prepare myself for this major change and the book still appeared a worthwhile resource. I’m glad I read it. As it happens, my retirement, far from being the negative or fearful phase so many men dread, is for me a welcome event; something I’ve looked forward to for a number of years.

But this book, written largely for an America readership, has given this particular Brit insights into other phases of my life and shown me where I’ve made mistakes and where I’ve been more than averagely successful or fortunate in my life choices.

Gail Sheehy breaks down the passage of a man’s life into various stages. I find myself at the penultimate step she describes as the Influential Sixties. Much of what she says is encouraging and, whilst some of the research she relies on has been overtaken by new findings, her observations mostly remain valid. Men are notoriously reluctant to discuss personal aspects of life, unwilling to visit the doctor when ill, more inclined to bulldoze through difficulties than analyse them through discussion, and prepared to suffer great stress and pain rather than admit to some physical failing that might diminish them in the eyes of their peers or their partner.

Had I consulted this book at the time of that redundancy, when 14 of my fellow workers were also abruptly made the victims of poor company results that were entirely outside our control, I might have avoided the 10 years of ME/CFS that have plagued my last years of employment. The loss of self-esteem and reduction in self-confidence that assails a man under the imposed loss of work is not generally understood by those who’ve never experienced it. I know now that my reaction, submerged by the necessity of going out there and finding another means to support my family, was a period of low-level chronic depression. Untreated, because it was largely invisible to everyone, it ate at my auto-immune system and, with the typical onset of a viral infection, I fell prey to that much misunderstood condition of ME/CFS. Had I acknowledged my depression, had I even allowed it to surface enough to be recognised by my amazing and supportive wife, I might have accepted the need for treatment and spared myself the consequences of submerging my feelings and thereby attracting a debilitating illness. This much I have concluded from this book. And I make it clear and plain here for those men who read this review: Don’t do what I did. It’s not wise, it’s not big, it’s not clever and, more importantly, it’s not the best thing you can do for your dependents.

The author has worked in the field for many years, carried out a huge number of interviews, surveys, discussions and studies. Her words make sense. I found solace, gentle condemnation, understanding, hope and the promise of better things to come through the application of her wisdom. That I came to this advice late and therefore lost some positive experiences is secondary to the fact that I feel, now, much better prepared for the coming years. I was already looking forward to this new stage in my life; a chance to spend more quality time with my wife, an opportunity to really get down to the writing I’ve been engaged in only partially for the past thirty years, a return to my love of image making through photography and, perhaps, new for me, drawing and painting.

There’s advice here for the corporate man, the business tycoon, the blue collar worker, the single father, the professional, the creative man and, indeed, any and every type of man. If you’re still under 40, read it now, before you reach that particular watershed. If you’re past that point, read it now, before you waste more time and poorly-directed effort by going in the more destructive direction most men seem to take when faced with unexpected change. I don’t generally read self-improvement books, which are mostly written to improve the bank balance of their authors, but I’m damned glad I read this book. I can truly say that it has improved my prospects for the future.

I was looking forward to retirement, which Gail Sheehy so rightly says should be renamed ‘redirection’, before I picked up her book. But I now face that change with an improved sense of what I might achieve, discover, attempt and enjoy in the coming years. If you’re a man, I urge you to read this fascinating, insightful and wise piece of guidance to help you through those inevitable changes that occur throughout our lives as men. And, if you’re a woman, I urge you to read it so that you may gain a deeper understanding of what drives and influences a man during those Passages in Men’s Lives.

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Why Do You Blog?

Those of us who class ourselves as bloggers engage in this activity for a variety of reasons. I’d love to know why you do it, or, if you have a particular viewpoint, why you don’t.

So, as usual, I’ll start off with why I do it.

There is a pervasive theory that a modern writer needs a platform. It’s unproven. Some even go so far as to say it’s rubbish. The jury, as they say, is out. But it’s the reason I started blogging, along with running a very extensive website. The website died a natural death when technical issues prevented me from updating it. I still play with the idea that I will resurrect the website. And, since I’m due to retire from the day job in the near future, who knows? I might find the time and the energy to do that. However, it was very time consuming and seemed to make no impact whatever on my book sales.

Does the blog help in book sales? Who knows? I get stats and detailed analyses of the activities that stem from the blog, but none of these show any direct correlation between blogging activity and book sales. However, I do think it’s important for an author to have a place potential readers can visit and find information about his work. The blog is a useful platform for that.

But long ago it ceased to be a simple author platform. I spent a year or so interviewing other authors, giving them space to promote their writing. Those interviews proved very popular with visitors, but, again, they were very time consuming and ate into valuable writing time. I spent a good deal of time in producing a daily word spot where I explained correct usage by giving examples for many different words. I love language and words so this was a labour of love. Once again, however, it took serious chunks out of my writing time.

These days, I do a weekly post on writing and/or reading as a way of stimulating discussion on topics that interest me and that, hopefully, engage my readers. I post reviews of the books I have read, in the hope of encouraging the act of reading in general terms. That’s why my reviews are so varied. I read widely and I’m interested in a good many things. Some folk seem interested in only a narrow area of reading, but I feel that such a concentration on a single genre is hardly likely to introduce a reader to new topics and ideas, so I diversify. I also keep a table of details and links to Writing Contests (see the tab above), which I update fairly frequently. It’s another time hungry occupation, but, as I use it personally, I thought it made sense to offer it to readers here as well.

And, from time to time, I allow my passion for a subject to encourage me to let off steam. Usually this is on social issues. I’m passionate about injustice, believing that justice (not the law, which is narrow and frequently stupid) is what potentially might allow most people to lead lives with equal opportunity. I’m something of an idealist, but I have pragmatic leanings.

Will I continue to post along the above lines? Probably. But my world is about to alter in fundamental ways that must impact on my abilities, freedom of expression, time and energy, so who knows what changes will accompany that move from regular employment (albeit part time) to active retirement? I shall, in future, be doing one job instead of two. And I hope that such concentration will allow me to produce more and better writing. It’s certainly my intention. Time, of course, will tell.

So, there you have it. The reasons I blog. Care to share yours? Just as a matter of interest: to those who blog on topics that merge with my own, consider this an invitation to approach me as a guest blogger. If you have something to say that I can accommodate on here, I’m very willing to consider it. You can contact me very easily through the link at the top of the page that says, ‘contact me here’. Please do. And, for the rest, please leave your comments below.

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World Book Day UK

English: Flag of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) Español: Bandera de la UNESCO Français : Drapeau de l'UNESCO Deutsch: Flagge der Organisation der Vereinten Nationen für Bildung, Wissenschaft, Kultur und Kommunikation (UNESCO) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

About World Book Day

World Book Day was designated by UNESCO as a worldwide celebration of books and reading, and is marked in over 100 countries around the globe.

World Book Day is a partnership of publishers, booksellers and interested parties who work together to promote books and reading for the personal enrichment and enjoyment of all. a main aim of

World Book Day in the UK and Ireland is to encourage children to explore the pleasures of books and reading by providing them with the opportunity to have a book of their own.

To mark the day, school children are entitled to receive a World

Book Day £1 Book Token (or equivalent €1.50 Book Token in

Ireland). The Book Token can be exchanged for one of eight

specially published World Book Day £1 Books, or is redeemable

against any book or audio book of their choice costing £2.99 or

more at a participating bookshop or book club. The World Book

Day £1 Book Token will be valid from 25 February to 24 March 2013.

Click on the link in the title above to learn more. This is intended only as a taster.

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February Is Over; How Did You Do?

The first monthly analysis of my time, following the example of the earlier weekly stats.

Target was eight stories submitted for contest and magazines. I achieved four, two to each. Halfway there, so not a complete loss.

Six books read and reviewed. A reasonable success, considering I had aimed at one per week. So, ahead of the game here.

Four blog posts written and posted. On target for this one.

Five Chapters of the fantasy edited. Not as much as I would have liked, but a reasonable amount of work.

Three short stories written and two of those completed. Not too bad.

This was always likely to be a difficult month, as will March in all probability. I’m still engaged in the day job and this is the busiest time of the year for us, as we approach the end of the tax year and prepare for the next. So, those days in the office have been trying. But only a few more weeks to go. I finish the part time employment in March and my last day at the office will be 21^st March. It can’t come soon enough.

I’m relatively satisfied with my performance, though I would have preferred to have done more of the fantasy and submitted more stories. I spent a fair amount of time on various problems outside the writing but associated with it tangentially. I’m in the process of swapping ISP and that is not going at all smoothly. And my virus software has been causing me some problems, which have taken up a good deal of time and emotional energy. But, all in all, I’m happier with the proportions of my time spent on the various aspects of my writing life. Of course, I would have preferred to be able to spend more time in actually writing, but that will improve starting April, when I will become a full time writer. Whooopeee!

   

So, how did your February go for you? Achievements? Problems? Excuses? Triumphs? Set-backs? Tell us all about your progress, please.

The pie chart, explained:

'Writing' - initial creation of stories, blog posts, reviews and longer works.

'Editing' - polishing of all written work to make it suitable for readers.

'Research' - discovery of info for story content, market research, contests and blog posts.

'Reading' - books and writing magazines.

'Networking' - emails, Twitter, Pinterest, Facebook and Google+ activity.

'Admin' - story submission, blog posting, marketing, organisation and general admin tasks.

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Donkeys’ Years, by Michael Frayn, Reviewed.

First produced at London’s Globe Theatre in July 1976 (coincidentally the year in which my novel, Breaking Faith, is set, and a year of drought and heat wave in UK), this three act play is another demonstration of Frayn’s very British humour.

Although described simply as a play in three acts, this is much more like a farce, in the true British, dare I say English?, tradition. If not actually a farce, it could be taken as a parody of the style. It has all the ingredients: sexual misunderstandings, English sexual reserve, hypocrisy disguised as custom, bedrooms and, of course, the loss of clothes for the female and trousers for the male. I imagine the reader would have to become watcher in order to determine whether this is truly farce or the parody I suspect.

It is, of course, full of humour, poking fun at the stuffed shirts of academia, politicians and the servile subclass of those who serve such pretentions. There is much repetition, which, on the page can be a little wearying but on stage would work a treat, given good actors. The action is confined to a single location for each of the three acts and this serves to emphasise the claustrophobic and sheltered nature of the attitudes encapsulated by the cast. These are people who have no understanding of what most of us would call the ‘real world’. Privileged, spoilt and elevated beyond their natural abilities, they posture and pose their way through life completely unaware of the priorities faced by ordinary people outside their favoured circle.

The thread of lust, disguised as admiration until alcohol allows for honesty, permeates the play. The single female representative is the focus of all male attention, apart, of course, from that of the gay vicar (another stock character of English farce). There is little concern for the damage done to either lives or property by their barbs and actions. The level of achievement for most of the protagonists is well above their natural abilities and is an effective way of pointing out how birth and class can elevate beyond desert.

So, a social statement, but one so well submerged in humour that it may be missed by the less attentive. And the humour is brilliant. It had me laughing out loud and frequently, much to the distress of a fellow worker who shared the small room that serves as a temporary sanctuary from the busy and noisy office in which I perform my day job. The jokes come thick and fast, many derived from simple misunderstandings made clear to the audience but hidden from the characters.

I thoroughly enjoyed this play and would definitely attend a theatre for a performance.

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