Tonight, taken by a sudden pensive and melancholy mood, I stood on my balcony staring moodily into the bushes that line the fence between our block of flats and the next one. As is often the case when you sit quietly and stare at the foliage in Australia, I started to notice tell-tale signs of movement; there was something alive in there.

I have a long established tradition of only doing plays where the main characters die at the end: The Cripple of Inishmaan (sort of), Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, Jesus Christ Superstar - there’s a distinct pattern here. Somehow we even managed to do it in the Taming of the Shrew. So what I thought was “I really need to branch out and try something a little more light-hearted."

It’s been a long time since Kim and I have done a show together. Last time we shared a stage was Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, which was a while ago now. So it’s been a real blessing to have a chance to act together again, this time in Nash Theatre’s production of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew.

A few reflections on the ongoing significance of Pentecost for the 21st century Church in Australia.

Salt and pepper, a speckled spray
even Gandalf the Grey
So many names to hurt, malign and injure
But whatever I’ve been called
I’m just grateful I’m not bald
And I thank the Lord I’m not a freaking ginger

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