It's theatre, dahling.

Boys In The Band was a lot of fun, only marginally enhanced by the bottle of wine I'd consumed over dinner. The American accents grated a little, a few in the audience commented that they would rather have heard kiwi accents, but it was true to its New York setting. Larger-than-life characters reminded us all that this is the sort of play actors *love*, where they can indulge in camp overacting and get away with it. The set was cute: a long table down the middle of the theatre, with the small audience seated all around, very intimate. The much anticipated nude scene failed to materialise, which was a bit of a relief as one of the actors who would have to take his clothes off was my friend Edwin. (During the curtain call he winked at me, which provoked much rolling of eyes and comments of "You're SUCH a tart" from Alan, Duncan and Paul, who naturally assumed I had been flirting with him.)


And in other news, gosh what's this? A parcel? And where am I sending it to?