Ha, Bloody Ha

To The Globe! …on Saturday evening.

I confess that I didn’t really understand The Comedy of Errors.

No worries.

I don’t expect the Bankside Luvvies to understand the finer points of a cricket Crap Match Report.

But I did have an ACE evening down at The Globe.

‘aint it always the same?

Yep, I hand over my grubby fiver, with the only expectation of being able to have something of a little Jacobean jig at the end once all the merry has been made.

If I’m lucky then I might even be able to keep up with the plot before the interval.

The Comedy of Errors on Saturday evening was meant to confuse.

That’s all part of the plot, isn’t it?

It started with a deliciously played out Elizabethan homage to Eric Sykes involving a large pair of underpants suspended on a washing line high on up above.

This was slapstick personified as one of the characters (um, forget who…) spent almost ten minutes without a word trying to rescue them.

Extreme, superb physical acting.

The pace then slowed down slightly as the rest of the storyline started to unfold.

A food fight just before the break got the production back on track. It wasn’t quite the groundlings interactive gore fest of #titus, but I did have to duck a stale bread roll being lobbed in my direction.

I then worked out that The Comedy of Errors is all about mistaken identity.


Two sets of twins, each caught up in the confusion of the mischief that each set creates. Tell me something I don’t know etc, but it was all new to me.

This was a short, sharp production. I was feeling particularly knackered, and so welcomed the hour or so each way with no arseing about in-between.

I found myself standing next to Mr. Farty Pants Man throughout the second interval. He was blowing away without a care in the world whilst I was trying to keep up with the plot.

I then noticed that he was wearing a couple of earpieces and was completely oblivious to the extra stage effects that he was creating.

Meanwhile the Jacobean romp stepped up a gear as a windswept Globe evening started to ease the unpleasant smells from Mr. Farty Pants Man.

The collapsing scenery was a nice touch and added to the slapstick.

All’s well that ends well, blah blah blah.

Which for me meant having a little jig as the actors did their thigh slapping and hand clapping thing on the big wooden stage.

Ah look: there are TWO sets of two characters, all dancing around together.

Well I never.

Their comedy, my error.

Good old Globe.