Leave it out, mate. Ahm tryin to ave a shit and aave a read of Sunday Sport when I get anuvva call off some PR. I tell yew this much, yew gonna find out ow I got my name if you don get aht of my grill.
Right. I ad a nice stroll up the Royal, Gawd bless er, Mile. Full of ponces. Perfumed ponces. Singin and dancin like its a oliday. Made me late for a very important meetin with a man abaht a dog wot needed shootin. The Fringe is a right mug's game, no mistake.
I ain't seen so many shows this week, but I ad a butchers at that Jefro Compton's Capone Trilogy. It's tasty. Ends up wiv a geeza geetin his tongue all electrocuted, and I like Compton's attitude a sight more that the attitude Ah've been coppin off the staff at certain venues. Give em a lanyard and they fink they're Special Forces.
Anyway, Compton does a nice line in gangster action. I used to watch them film noirs, picked up a few moves. Plus Jacobean melodrama... makes sense. It's all about the blood, the burds and the bollokins. I would've liked a bit more of the old Newingtons over the walls, but ee got the atmosphere bang to rights: the city going all Stoke and the bottles runnin thins tight and nasty.
Am I Avin It? Avin it like ya mum's hoop, son.
Theatre and Culture from Scotland, starring The List's Theatre Editor, his performance persona and occasional guest stars. Experimental writings, cod-academic critiques and all his opinions, stolen or original.
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