Saw this very funny farce at the Hampstead Theatre yesterday, In The Club. Tightly written, slickly directed and faultlessly performed, the whole production is a joy to watch. The racist UKIP Yorkshireman is a real tour de force as is the over-sexed MEP, the member for everyman.
I find myself contemplating the nature of love: is it a sharp biting need or is it a slow burn affection or is it both or neither? What is the difference between devotion and habbit? All very unsettling thoughts. Am I perhaps a malcontent, never happy with what I've got simply because I have already got it? I am not sure that these things are within one's own control.