Naomi's Style Tips: Nov
There’s been a Youthquake at the Textiles and Fashion Museum//Flappers and Frauleins//Guilt free Christmas shopping. November is about dressing up, banishing the blues and finding a dark corner to be naughty in.
Theatre Review: Shunt: 'Money' Words by James Cowan
Hello there Rioters,
This will be my first posting as a theatre critic for you lovely people and what a first it was!!
I have not had the chance to experience a ‘Shunt’ before and having heard many a rave (sometimes 'raving') review it was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that I made my way to the darkened ex-tobacco factory on All Hallow's Eve to experience ‘Money’.
Silas Wynd's Little Shop of Horrors and Halloween
At the end of the summer, I paid a visit to Viktor Wynd's home to hear about the plans for his Little Shop of Horrors. Work was underway on the Mare street property that had been secured for the latest Last Tuesday Society project; stocking everything from taxidermy to antique surgical equipment it is the antidote to IKEA, the antithesis of the bland, beige interiors we've become used to.
Fiona Halliday reviews 'The Turn of the Screw'
The list of supernatural operas – ‘The Flying Duchtman’, ‘Der Vamypyre’ ‘Der Freischutz’ and ‘Bluebeard’s Castle’ - make the Saw movies look about as exciting as slipping into a coma.
Naomi's Style Tips: Oct
October tips bought to you via Paris, where its terribly un-Paris like to be on time to anything….
Review: Ligeti's Le Grand Macabre, or Supersize Me by Fiona Halliday
It was the launch of the ENO’s Opera season last Thursday. People settled themselves into their boxes, all extended neck and self-importance, honking and espying like the wintering geese returning to the bald fields of my home village. (It’s autumn. Everything takes a turn for the wistful.)
Hussey and The Climate Road Show - Blog 5 ‘The Actions Begin’
Yesterday I took a 'walk' in a cornfield. This is the life, I thought, as the fresh air swirled about my cheeks. Every night I collapse into my tent and listen to the trees rustle. Fortified by cider and the nightly fireside singsong I pass into deep, dark sleep.