'Let lost be lost...

Let gone be gone, and not fetched back'

I am fully aware I live a hermit existence, happy to let today's 
world pass me by.

Mars bars for example, all the years we all used to trough

the calorie-laden choc bar, until one day, a bright spark came 

up with the idea to turn them into frozen choc ices.

Jaffa cakes, I read only the other day you can now 
buy the size of a pouff. 

Theatre going, a rare expensive treat
for the chattering middle classes.
That is until now, or perhaps it isn't a recent thing, 
it may have just not impinged on my parochial outlook?
I dunno?
Must be a new thing, bring the theatre
to the great unwashed, instead of sit with half empty shows?

Roll of drums
'National Theatre Live
Best of British theatre broadcast
live to cinemas around the world'

'People' by Alan Bennett

Yesterday found me sat in our local  upmarket flea pit;
a church turned into a cinema with comfy seats. Beverages
to go, wine even, egg sandwiches perhaps a step too far?
Flapjacks, crumbs down your cleavage, champagne, two steps too far!

The youngest in the audience by a country mile, I sat
grey haired in a sea of grey.  My two chums, a pal of eighty eight and a lady
of diamond dripping indeterminate age, were, I hoped not too shocked
by the second half which included the shooting of a porn movie?

Alan Bennett is my all-time favourite squeeze,
my love for him knows no bounds.
Ted knows in the pecking order, he plays second fiddle
to my curmurdgeonly Yorkshire heart throb.
When we next meet, (alright in my dreams) I'll conveniently forget to tell him I've just
become a volunteer for the National Trust. Best not queer my pitch
before I set his heart racing! 

'The very idea!'

His views on the National Trust are let's say interesting.

The play is set in a crumbling pile in South Yorkshire,
the National Trust hover hoping to acquire the decaying dump.
The main players are
Lady Stacpoole, June her lesbian archdeacon sister and completing the trio
Iris, Lady Stacpoole's dotty femail companion.

In her moth-eaten fur coat all Lady Dorothy really wants is
a hot bath and to be warm. 
The dotty duo whenever alone, launched into song, which was  
an unexpected surprise.

Diving under the seat for my pal's flowery stick
I couldn't help giving it a majorette twirl, singing the Pet Clark song
 that finished the show, before reluctantly handing it back.

Note to self...
think I'll suggest it becomes compulsory viewing
for all National Trust staff and volunteers!