claytoncast

So alarmingly, and even though we have just finished a week where traffic reports have mentioned roads closed because of snow, our thoughts are turning to our summer holiday which begins next Saturday. Regular readers will know that for the past four years we've been to an idyllic villa hotel in Turkey. We had decided that this year it was probably time for a change. The last thing you want a holiday to be is routine, and beautifully relaxing though our time in Turkey was, there had come to be a certain institutional feel about the pattern of our two-week holiday. We were worrying where to go when fate took a turn. In December we will be heading off to Thailand for a wedding, and so decided to make that the main holiday of our year. We couldn't of course do without a break in the summer, but it necessitated a little rethinking on where we would go and how much to spend. So we are off to the Canary Islands, or Fuerteventura, to be more precise.  Fuerteventura is al...

Moving on. It's been a busy week. A trip to Paris, two days in Amsterdam and a trip down to my favourite village in Oxfordshire - Blewbury. Paris was a quick overnight trip to perform a forum theatre at a partner conference for a large international law firm on Monday morning. Brilliant working with my colleagues Marianne O'Connor and Jack Downton (He of the Abbey fame!). A trip to Amsterdam to work with 13 young lawyers on their presentation techniques and follow-up from the day's tuition I did two weeks ago, and a trip down to the village of the Blewbury to say goodbye to an old friend. Tony Loy was one of the guiding lights in the amateur dramatic scene in Blewbury. I first was invited down to Blewbury in 1989 to direct "The Comedy of Errors" in their garden theatre. A production which led to my first as a professional director. It was a magical summer; long hot weekends, a great and enthusiastic cast and very many happy memories. Tony was my Drom...

 So as Bank holiday Monday  dawns clear and with at least a modicum of sunshine, here in darkest south-east London  we are in the grips of an addiction.  It started a month or so ago at Easter. We made a visit down to Devon to see Richard's parents and his sister and her seven-year-old son were also present for the weekend. They are the culprits. Both mother and son are fully registered addicts. They gave us the habit, one innocuous Friday evening in an Exmouth crack den looking remarkably like my in-laws lounge. They introduced as to the time wasting, finger swiping, money spending, and ultimately frustrating pastime that is, Candy Crush Saga. It's an insidious little game of making sweets fall and break in a certain order in order to gain points, clear the jelly, and let the ingredients fall. That may not make sense but then neither really does the game. There is no point to it other than you win a level and then you go on to the next level. No ultima...