Wall to wall rehearsals for...

the opening night on Friday

of 

Friday 1st August at 8 pm
Saturday 2nd August at 2.30 and 8 pm
Monday 4th August at 8 pm
The last performance is on the actual
date that Britain entered the First World War.

After the show we will ask the audience to join us 
at the newly refurbished
War Memorial opposite the village hall.
There we will join the rest of the country at 11 pm
to remember their bravery, hardship and for many
the ultimate sacrifice.

Me, I'm making a minor sacrifice by letting Ted
at every turn upstage me.

I wouldn't mind, but I've always cast myself the diva around here...
not any more!  He out sings me, out acts me, out learns his lines
better than me.  To tell the truth, I've definitely gone off him.

No, it is not a halo! It's our wedding venue.

Box Office - 01580 211204

Book now in order to see
George Clooney's body double
before he gets signed by Hollywood. 

Size matters...

OK!

Picture the scene...

Hampstead Heath...

Saturday afternoon...

Alright, I know it's hard to imagine.

Us on Hampstead Heath,

(Never forget this is a fib-free zone.)

On train and tube we travelled 

and I'd like to say we were due to

headline at the...

 however that would be a STONKING BIG fib!

After a night of thunder and God's greatest

light show on earth...

we decided not to take our boules, due in no small

part to the inclement conditions.

Added to which we didn't want to give the teeniest inkling

that I, not the mention Ted, were under serious consideration for the

the forthcoming selection for the Fifa (grease my hand... not a good ploy in Petanque) newly to be announced Petanque World Cup.

Now if you sense a whopper...

you could possibly be right.

What's this got to do with size?   You must by now, begin to question.

Fat lass playing away.  On Hampstead Heath, no less.

Plucked and primped I boarded the train, 

happy in the knowledge that from any angle,

ne'er a whisker would glisten in the watery sun.

Train up from Kent, I was happy; we took our place opposite a very elegant

lady of oriental face, tiny feet, toned arms and elegance oozing.

I hid my book under the table

'The Lost Daughter of Happiness'

the erotic and exciting tale of forbidden love 

by China's most acclaimed writer...

Geling Yan.

I was happier still when a lady larger than me,

joined us...

weightlifter arms,

strappy top, chins aplenty.

I smiled inscrutably, then returned to my book.

The rustle tore my attention away from the many and various

Chinese ways to please a man.

Focusing on Brit with arms and chins and sticky bun washed down with

lashings of Coke. I got to thinking the meanings of life.

Sad to say it didn't last long...

back to the book.

Self-rightously I stepped out of the train,

floating on a cloud of self-congratulatory

smugness...

Well that is until we stepped on to the tube,

where pert young bodies

encased in tubi-grip pink elastic, nubile brown young limbs

mocked me.

Hampstead Heath awash with burnished taut tums and lean

bronze legs rising ever muff-wards,

did, I ought to say slightly spoil my day.

It was super to see WSD and James

and I did beat them at

Petanque...

the French have lived to fight another day!

Chilled Saint Véran in...

hand I sit in the garden

amongst the ripples of green...

thinking all the while as I watch

butterflies...

flutter by...

birds bathing in the carefully collected rain water,

this organical gardening is the only way forward. 

The solitary bee houses have tenants,

the pond has an odd tadpole or two...

still!

The greenhouse, houses a passing

hedgehog...

that is if he/she isn't pipped at the

feeding-post by a mouse.

Life as I sit and look is good...

okay, all the regular gardener's

lawns look parched...

but we are giving life to the wild things,

that without their contribution

our planet would be a lonely 

desiccated dreary place to live...

or more importantly...

to die.

With hollyhocks as...

high as an elephant's eye...

I wish you a happy weekend.

Ted learning his lines, err... reading... err, double err...

snoozing.

First sweet peas that the little shit-

sparrows haven't nipped out the blooms of...

who said wild gardening was a breeze?

Toodle-pip!