Another day, another blogger. Not yesterday. I went to Stratford again despite my horrific cold and I should get good marks for repressing my cough for the sake of the audience. Lots of water and (ugh) Halls lozenges. Lear was good, though not worthy of the rave reviews I hear it has been getting. How many Lears have I seen? Lost count. Martha Henry was the best Cordelia I have seen and Jim Blendick the best Kent (a different interpretation). I didn't like the lighting of this Lear; it was too dark and therefore sometimes hard to hear or focus. And some of the directing was too pat, moving from set piece to set piece, nicely arranged, but too self-conscious. Everyone screamed a lot when Gloucester's eyes were put out.

Colm Feore was good. I think he must have taken some extra voice training to enable him to to do the wild competition with the thunder and lightning (which Stratford does bang up), and to howl. One of my favourite moments in Lear is the final scene between Lear and Cordelia. Bill Hutt was very touching in his.

I was feeling well enough to enjoy it. I'm glad I went. Tired, though. Still tired. Going back tomorrow, for Man of La Mancha and I'll be gone overnight, without my Little Mac. Will you miss me?