Viva La Revolution!

It is Saturday morning. I am preening myself in front of the bedroom mirror. This isn't a regular occurence because hair style or facial appearance along with clothing choice never usually gets more than a perfunctory glance at the best of times.

But today is different. Today I have shaved a fortnight's growth of stubble and today I am sporting a rather fetching 'Dirty Sanchez' moustache. I think it's quite dapper. I look like a German economist or a philosophy professor with a sideline in abstract art. For a fleeting moment I am confident in my looks and I even declare 'From now on I am going to be handsome!'

There is a snort from the bed. The Missus, apparently, is less than impressed.
'It makes you look wrong.'
'But you encouraged me to grow it.'
'And now you have I realise it looks rubbish. Shave it off.'
'I am not shaving it off.'
'But it looks stupid...'
'I am now a proud member of the moustache club.'
'...and by definition that means I'm stupid for marrying you.'
'Talk to the hand, sister, 'cos the ears ain't listening!'
'One: they patently are or you wouldn't have replied. Two: you will shave it off eventually because you'll get bored. You always do. So do it now and save yourself some time and save me some embarrassment.'
'I won't. I'm 'tached and I'm proud! And now I'm defiant. Look at my facial-haired defiance! The revolution starts here!'

The Missus rolls her eyes and sighs and leaves the bedroom shaking her head. It's not quite how I expected news of a revolution to be greeted...

Take Hart...

Miranda Hart's new sitcom, Miranda, is a prime-time show aired at 8.30pm on BBC2 so, boring old watershed rules being what they are, the usual stock-in-trade of much TV comedy, namely swearing and cruelty and slightly sick jokes, can't come into play.

Even more amazing is that in this world of post-Office cringing and post-Peep Show cruelty and post-Curb swearing the show essentially relies on some quite old-fashioned comic devices: namely jokes, farce and slapstick.

And it's really bloody funny.

A lot of the gags come from the basic premise that Hart is a bit androgynous. But there's also something quite charming about the way she sometimes turns to the camera to address the viewer and laugh at her own stupidity or at the desperation of those around her to help her meet a fella.

In feel it's a bit like those nice situation comedy series people used to watch in the Seventies and early Eighties (but without the casual sexism and racism).

Ex-EastEnder Tom Ellis and Patricia Routledge are among the supporting cast but it's Hart who's the real star of this utterly engaging and very funny show.

Episode two airs tonight. It's well worth a look.

I Spy...

The Boy has been away at uni for eight weeks and he is due to come home and see the new house for the first time this weekend.

What he doesn't know is that I have been following his fresher progress on Twitter and on Facebook and, even though the posts he places on these sites are for public consumption, I sill feel like a cyber-pervert-stalker trawling through them and looking at pictures of him and his new friends on either his page or on their pages.

In truth it feels like I'm a bit of a nosey-parker or a voyeur but I tell myself I'm only doing it so I can keep up with what he's doing. It's not spying... it's networking... it's concerned parental-type networking.

That's probably what peeping toms used to say...

Fireworks!

It is Hallowe'en and some posh kids are knocking at the door. Begging.

They are with their equally posh parents and they are giving the recent sweetie offerings they've culled from gullible folks a thorough going-over to ensure there are no additives and it's all organic produce.

Then something inside me just snaps...

And apparently the words 'I'm sorry but I'm not allowed near such pretty children as part of my parole conditions' is not the right thing to say.

It's political correctness gone mad...

The Power Of Yes...

David Hare's new play The Power Of Yes is the playwright's attempt to understand the banking crisis and the chain of events that led to the current global financial meltdown.

It features actor Anthony Calf in the role of playwright Hare as the flop-haired dramatist-turned-amateur-sleuth interviews all manner of bankers, journalists, financiers and stockbrokers to get to the bottom of what actually happened and why.

The rest of the 20-strong cast play the real-life banking and financial sector great and good that the real-life Hare interviewed to get material for this play and the cast dutifully repeat the quotes Hare pieces together to explain the whats, the hows and the whys.

Much like The Permanent Way, one of Hare's previous docu-drama verbatim theatre pieces, it presents both fascinating facts and a fascinating story with some salient points made and some serious questions asked about the real value of profits over lives and morals over money.

Sadly you do sometimes get the feeling that Hare is, if not preaching to the converted, at least supporting their views. And if the audience the night I saw the show was any kind of yardstick, you sometimes worry that such a play on at the National Theatre is just pandering to the Guardian-reading lib-lab alliance who still think the arts can make a relevant challenge and even change to the still monied hegemony.

But to assume that misses the point of David Hare. Hare is one of the few established writers whose name ensures that he can write for large institutions like the National Theatre. And when he does he uses the medium of theatre in an effecting way to ask intelligent questions about the institutions we hold dear.

And sadly there aren't many dramatists out there with that reputation and theatrical clout doing that at the moment. So we should value Hare and value what he has to say and, more importantly, value where he says it.

He really is a National treasure...