Manchester
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If something comes to under the banner of ‘winner of the Shelagh Delaney new writing award’, you know that it has to be something special. Rayla Clay (and the following day), written by Drayla Kasheen, and directed by Roni Ellis, is something special. I have to remind myself that this is new writing, which has
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When little, on a family holiday to Austria, my Dad, a professional pianist, wanted to take me to Mozart’s birthplace in Salzburg, now housing a museum to the incredible composer. It was sadly not to be for, upon arrival, we were told that I was too young to gain entry (lest I maraud around, climbing
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Art is food for the soul. There are different ways you can feel connected to art, if you feel so inclined, of course. There’s no pre-requisite for how you’re supposed to react or indeed feel when you experience a piece of art. That’s if you feel anything at all. And there are levels of immersion,
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This week has been rich. Rich in reminders of what keeps me living in Manchester, nearly 25 years after moving here. And it will be no surprise to regular readers (hi mum) that a mainstay of these reasons is the cultural offerings the city bestows. Over the last week, I’ve been lucky enough to experience
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It feels a treat. Plays at the Royal Exchange Theatre in Manchester feel like they’re not there by accident. They’re there by design. I know what I mean and I’m sure frequent flyers of this theatre’s offerings will do so too. By the time you’re sat in the round looking down, ready to see how
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Can’t drive, won’t drive, refuse to drive. I’ve a whole story about a wing mirror and a driving instructor that was part tutor part devil-man egomaniac in charge of a set of dual controls. But that’s not for now. What I’m saying is that as a result, I am the girl on the train/tram/bus. And
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It’s that time again, the popular PUSH festival has returned to HOME for a biennial celebration of North West creative talent. As HOME reliably (and accurately) tell us, over two weeks (our) stages, screens and spaces will be dedicated to showcasing fantastic works from around the region, as well as offering opportunities for creatives to
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Let’s start on a positive before I get lambasted for the abhorrent festive oversight I’m about to confess to. Christmas films I have seen (not exhaustive or including, to my shame, those afternoon ones on Five where top exec who relocated to city returns home to twee town she grew up in, for Christmas, falls
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The football pools. I was too young to partake at their peak but that doesn’t take away memories of the pools man knocking on the door every week and the parental mad dash to find the coupon, and random shouting out of numbers, each corresponding to a fixture that weekend…each a prediction of a score
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It’s Wednesday afternoon, in Manchester. I’m fresh from the office, taking a late lunch to catch a matinee show described as a love letter to Birmingham, exploring Black masculinity through Beyoncé lyrics, techno raves and the deeply intimate relationship between a man and his barber. And I already know this particular lunch break is going
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I was a little devilish last night. Provocative, even. But for the greater good, you understand. Seated in that glorious cavern that is 53two, underneath the arches on Watson Street, I scrambled to get a pre-performance shot of the set, uploaded to my Instagram (I don’t deal in shortening names – no Instas, no Maccy
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I have to admit there have been times when commuting, I’d have longed to be put out of my misery. But that’s not for now, that’s for my local rail service feedback form. I’m a so-called Agatha Christie fan. I say so-called because in all these years, I’ve not read this book and I’ve not
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I just spoke to my mum, who asked me, “Are you going out tonight?” “No, I went out last night to see a show at the Kings Arms. You know, the cat pub” “Oh yes. How was it?” .”it was really funny, I haven’t laughed quite like that in a while.” “Ah excellent – what
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Coffee and iPhones and printers and festivals and hammocks and hypothetical letters. The Aldi middle aisle? Maybe, but also just a few of the topics that singer/songwriter, satirist, Chris Tavener treated us to at that glorious little theatre space upstairs at The Kings Arms last night. Thanks to my outrageous decision to spend the first
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As I sat in a beautiful space, having taken my place ‘in the round’, easing into the latest production to grace the Royal Exchange Theatre in Manchester, I was privy to an unexpected and potentially earth-shattering statement. Reader, it threatened to swipe the metaphorical rug from beneath my very feet as I heard the line
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Jesus Christ Superstar indeed. I loved it. Absolutely loved it. Hoping for a more sophisticated, somewhat less basic lead in to a blog post review of my theatrical experience of a production in the Greater Manchester area? I choose childlike exuberance on this occasion. My regular reader will be more than au fait with the
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Frankie never wanted to be a star, and after a chance encounter with a director, she finds herself transported to the ruthless world of Bollywood. As she climbs the sparkling staircase of stardom, Frankie must confront what she is willing to do for fame and fortune. Can she stay in the Bollywood family and still
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Tis a strange thing. Strange but true. I get a frisson of excitement, a soupçon of a thrill, when I enter a theatre space and the set is sparse. There’s no particular science here but it usually equates to good, honest theatre. A statement as broad and sweeping as they come. But there’s nowhere to
honorary manc 