I went last night, with the drama school nieces ™ ® ©. Curtain up was delayed for half an hour. An understudy had to be dusted off because an actor was ill. As we milled around waiting (my credit at the bar was good) in the foyer, my home-girls kept bumping into people they knew from their first encounters with theatre in their hometown. I, with hours of chatting with Peter in my back pocket, was never short of tuppence to throw into the conversations. Whisper it, but I started to feel that, thinking of the play we were about to see and the Sherman co-production currently playing at the National, we were at the very epicentre of the Cardiff renaissance.
The play itself? I loved it. Also, turned into my dad. Didn't want to know what part the understudy was playing, then happy when I couldn't work it out. Yet another life lesson from the old fella.
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