The Bard of Tysoe: Royal & Derngate

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Showing posts with label Royal & Derngate. Show all posts

Sunday, 3 July 2016

I might have sav’d her, now she’s gone forever…

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But his flaw’d heart (Alack, too weak the conflict to support!) ’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, Burst smilingly. ...

Wednesday, 20 April 2016

That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows…

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Yesterday, sat in the wonderful, Escher -like foyer of the Royal & Derngate , I wrote that I was… Returning… to see the all-imp...

I have a journey, sir, shortly to go…

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Initially lured by the phenomenon that is Michael Pennington, simply being King Lear , I now know that I will be returning to the marv...

Sunday, 3 April 2016

Contending with the fretful elements…

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Michael Pennington (King Lear) – photo courtesy of Royal & Derngate I will have such revenges on you both That all the world sha...

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EVERYTHING YOU WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT THE BARD BUT WERE AFRAID TO ASK:

The Bard of Tysoe: Copeland, Cumbria, United Kingdom; Originally an amateur musician… — yet having worked in IT and marketing communication for a quarter of a century — both as manager and consultant; as well as writing for the Guardian… — the Bard retired for medical reasons; and now devotes his life to keeping as healthy as possible by putting one foot in front of another (badly, but semi-frequently); watching the world, with all its vagaries, go by (in great puzzlement); capturing what he sees (in words and pictures); and trying to leave a trail of happiness in his wake. What matters most to him are beauty, truth, cats, and fairness — in whatever myriad forms they occur — and he despises inequality, greed, fascists, and hate. His favourite occupation is thinking; and he was (therefore) — for a handful of years — the Orchestra of the Swan’s ‘writer in reticence’. You are now, though, most likely to encounter him staring into space, with a thoughtful grin beneath his wonted hat and dark glasses, walking stick in hand, somewhere in the quieter parts of the Northern, North Western, and Western Fells of Lakeland. (He resembles nothing so much as a badly-dressed Herdwick.)

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