Festival Goers

Blimey. What a shocker. My nice new trimmer ran out of line; all 15m of it gone. So that meant a trip to Screwfix. And re-threading the new one, which was quite a kerfuffle. In fact I then ran out of time - we’d a show to see up at the Traverse - The Sound Inside. I fear this may have been one that I chose, beguiled, seduced I was, by notices that it was originally a hit in New York and had received many Tony nominations, whatever they may be. A peek at reviews here suggested that this production maybe wasn’t that great. Gawd, I hated it. Neither character was remotely likeable, so I couldn't give a toss about either of them. And the oh so funny literary references which of course the braying section of the audience (they know who they are) laughed uproariously about. Not because there was some genuine humour there; no, just to show they’d heard of Dostoyevsky. Well, lookie here, I’ve read Dostoyevsky, yes, and Lermontov, and Turgenev, Pushkin, Gogol and Tolstoy. And Gorky, Sholokhov and Solzhenitsyn. Not forgetting Chekhov. So what.
The only thing that amused me was the rain afterwards scattering the festival goers. Come and wash these streets clean, please.