Twelfth Night

The much-loved head of English at P's school is retiring after 21 years of service and in his honour, the staff staged a (much-abridged) production of Shakespeare's dark comedy, "Twelfth Night" this week.

Philip was cast as Antonio, the sailor. He spent weeks learning complicated chunks of text and Ben proved to be a worthy practice partner (dare I say, often reciting the lines with more applomb than his dad). I think that maybe Shakespeare may have gotten under the young lad's skin (something to do with him shouting, "The gentleness of the gods go with thee!" when I left for Sainsbury's the other evening). That's my boy.

P was initially directed to play the role with a very broad South African accent. This predictively evolved into a very camp South African accent.
We went along to watch the second performance on Tuesday night. Nico drove all the way from Cambridge and will bear credible witness to the fact that his brother did actually act and did actually act very well. He received some of the heartiest rounds of applause and as our friend, Robin, summed it up, was "worryingly convincing" as a gay, love-lorn sailor.

You've got to admit. He's come a long way since I plucked him off the beach, made him put on some shoes and get a haircut.

Just loving the look, dahling: especially those tattoos.