Barbarians at the Barbican

If only I spoke French.
I went to see ‘Andromaque’ by Jean Racine, at the Barbican. Full house, very intelligent, stark staging. Beautiful acting, but it was like watching two comics from the Fast Show pretending to be French. There were sub-titles but I always take a dip between 7-8 so I nodded off.
When I woke up I didn’t know why Oreste was howling, why Hermione was wailing, why Pylade and Pyrrhus were dashing about and don’t get me started on Cleone and her hair….
I left at the interval determined that any grandchild of mine would have a dual education so she could understand what her grandmother hadn’t a clue about.
Jim arrived home and I was on the telephone in front of Question Time.
I had travelled from the Barbican on the Circle Line. Three brainless barbarians talked very loudly like they owned the place, which I suppose they did given they were the descendents of St. George. They were wearing lary red and white St. Georges fancy dress, the three of them smelt of beer, stale rolling tobacco and ignorance.
They were making loud noises about three young barbarians who out did Catherine Tate and Matt Lucas’s Vicki Pollard.
Sitting diagonally opposite each other they shouted across the rest of us in back slang and Sarf London patois. So aggressive were they I could see everybody assume the look-ahead-and-dont-bother-me-pose.
I knew that was the subject for tomorrows programme. What do you do when you are sitting on the tube between patriots and idiots?
I have eaten too much cheese and had too much pineapple juice. That’s what stress does for you….