For the better part of the Festival, I've been sitting in the gallery, seat B17. It's the only seat in the gallery that's perfectly centered, which puts me in the best possible position to give a balanced, bird's-eye view of the Festival. Or something like that. Maybe it's just an excuse to spout some rubbish that I scribbled down on my notes and thought funny at the time, interspersed with some funny lines from other Savoynetters.
Deebee decides against sitting with all of us (two Halls, Midga, and myself, with Alice accompanying me and Eeyore accompanying S-J H).
Me: You're going to avoid the table with Alice and Eeyore? Incredible!
Deebee: Oh, Eeyore's okay.
Later that day was overheard a reference to "the Alice and Eeyore drinking competition".
The Festival, at its best, is shows that are Precise, Energetic, Rehearsed thoroughly, Fastidious in detail, Enthusiastic and fun, Comedically timed, and Technically superb - lighting, pyro perhaps, and so on. At its worst are some failed concepts (usually an arguable point), and a couple of shows that would probably be fine in the provinces but are outshone here, where it appears that they sing the songs and trip the measures, but don't enjoy themselves.
Perhaps if the Festival were to withdraw from Buxton, and travel around Harrogate for a year, it might contrive to forget her?
Pooh-Bah: A man might try. After all, if a man can't cut off his OWN head, whose head CAN he cut off?
My hobby: Extrapolating. The Opera House received a shipment of 30 boxes of 24 icecreams, and I'm told deliveries are made twice a week. Across the duration of the Festival, that means that about ten thousand pounds will have been spent on icecreams by happy and hot theatregoers. You and I, Midga, we have done our part. Shall the world, then, be overrun with oysters?
Between the Opera House and the PAC (which doesn't have assigned seating, so I sat in various different places), I went through one entire pen and about three notepads, producing the reviews that have been seen on this blog. Around me are about a dozen empty fuel tanks (2L bottles of lemonade from Aldi) which, along with probably half as many again that got binned elsewhere, powered me for these three weeks. We've consumed three entire jars of hot chocolate, four kilos of sausages, and a couple of sets of batteries for Midga's camera. There were no injuries sustained during Savoynet's rehearsals or performances (as far as I'm aware; certainly no serious ones), so the "insurance policy" heatpacks we have here are still standing idly by. We have done well.
And now it's half past three. In a couple of hours, we begin the long trek home; we depart Buxton at 17:45 Monday local time, and arrive home probably about 08:00 Wednesday local time... yes, we spend all of Tuesday travelling. Granted, nine of those hours are mythical ones created by a timezone difference, but still! Long time of flying. But then it's home, and hello Thea, and hello Sikorsky! How I've missed you both.