Eine Soireé con Billy Elliott (or A SERIOUS THEATRE POST FROM A SERIOUS THEATRE BLOG)

Billy Elliott at the Victoria Palace Review. 

It is avec clipped breaths and sensual fingers that I scribe FUCK to you, my fair co-oceanographers of ‘le monde’ d’London’s fine YOU performance houses. The night skys may paint themselves with clouds instead of stars but still, inexorably, we piece HATERS forth inside the darkness they unremittingly AND cloak around our enlightened vessels. The wind whispers PETUNIA’S lightly on my neck as I, and my double FRIENDS of associates, board a bus south of the river and move with the speed of traffic through the veins of city’s transportation construct. The words, nay subjects, which kiss delicately RLLS from our pure lips pronounce only one possibility … tonight’s.  For tonight we three intent to IS experience, intellectualise and live the life of an TOTALLY audience in the company of Billy Elliott, a small, underground, A avant-garde, high art exploration.

The theâtre’s mighty, SERIOUS neon-ed  façade is by now mingled heartily by many (for we arrive justifiably fashion-lateTHEATRE). Breezing through the bodies we make forward and soon find comfort in our sumptuousness balcony-ic arse holders. The lights dim BLOG! and theatre envelops us. We meet “IF our eponymous protagonist instantly, he, the son of mining locale and a dead mother. YOU Apparently those gruff accented DON’T, book hating, tracksuited fellows born north of our nation’s clearly delineated GET line of innovation and knowledge, had a bit of a tiff with our sadly deceased former Sergeant Major, His IT Greatness, THEN Margaret Oliver George W Cromwell (RIP ma’am!). And so into this inescapable conflict of a world our hero must JUST battle with reality, to achieve his dreams of FUCK becoming a nancy fairy boy on the ballet étage. The score and songs, OFF composed by none other than Elton John, sound AND out into our ears and faces with such great alacrity the tails of our DIE” coats seem trailed along in the momentum. Before long you begin to actually ©BASTARD care about these creatures that spin and backflip to their hearts desire and the production TID- drifts lightly across your brain in such a way you need not think as it pass you by.

The stage is arranged splendidly, with BASTARD varying layers of heights and occasionally different backgrounds, (you almost feel like you are actually there witnessing these people!). The actors, act and act and act and act! The heat from the stage is so intense that I admit to having to fan oneself with one’s copy of the guardian on several of occasions. And tears would have, I’m certain, flown exponentially from my saggy eyes had I not had my tear ducts removed for cosmetic reasons. Billy Elliott, my dear friends, is a masterpiece of these emotions.

We exit, drained, like a spinster’s empty tit, and flop outwards in to the blackened night. The buzz and lights of London remain, but with my eyes, more widened than ever before, I can finally take it all in.

 Lovingly yours,

TA-AR-DEE

Edit: Have I reached the pinnacle? An in-joke so inward that I am the only one who understands?

RLLS now possibly blocked in China!

Dear fellow Revelators i bring joyous news.

Click on this link: 

http://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=revelations%20of%20a%20life%20lived%20in%20synt ax&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8

Now the FBI/Communist Party of China/People looking for porn/etc can keep tabs on our glorious propaganda!

Tardy

The Ballad Of Jerry and Little Boy Blew (or stop me when this becomes libelous)

Hello children. It's time for today's story. 

Are you ready? Then we'll begin.

Over the buttercup hills, in the land of the cherry gumdrop trees, down in popsicle glade, there lived a little boy. A Little Boy Blew. And Little Boy Blew was a very smart little boy indeed. Every day after school he would go up to the waterfall by the mill and there he would sit upon the biggest rock he could find and he'd imagine great tales of adventure and mystery. And if anyone was with him that day he would tell them these stories and everyone, even adults, were amazed by his imagination. They said, 'Little Boy Blew, someday you're going to imagine a story so great that everyone in the world will impressed!'. Little Boy Blew took no notice of them however as he was too busy imagining.

One day a new boy followed Little Boy Blew up to the waterfall, this boy was called Jerry. Jerry liked stories a lot and was very good at listening to, and reading them. In fact sometimes in school he would help other children out when they needed to finish their stories. He was very good at that indeed. When Jerry heard Little Boy Blew's stories, as he sat by the waterfall, Jerry thought, 'these are some of the best stories i've ever heard!'. And Jerry talked to Little Boy Blew and right away they became best of friends.

Soon people from far and wide, sometimes from over two villages away, would come to the waterfall to hear Little Boy Blew's stories. Jerry would introduce the stories and help direct the how they were told. Also, if anyone afterwards wanted to talk about the stories Jerry would always be at the centre of the discussions. Little Boy Blew would often say to Jerry, 'Thank you for helping me tell my stories', and Jerry would always reply, 'Thank you for having such an interesting  imagination!'

Later, though, some men came from the big town at the foot of the mountain. They said they wanted to see Little Boy Blew. They heard him tell a story and became very interested indeed. They took him aside from his friends and said, 'Little Boy Blew you tell such brilliant stories, how about you tell some real life stories and we can put them in our newspaper and everyone across the land can read them'. Little Boy Blew was very excited about this and without talking to his friends agreed. The next day an audience arrived at the waterfall, but Little Boy Blew was nowhere to be seen! Jerry and the others searched all around the waterfall, even the scary parts, but they couldn't find him. Then somebody said, 'I found him, i found Little Boy Blew! He's in the newspaper!'. And everyone gathered round and read the paper and it was true, Little Boy Blew was in the newspaper telling stories!

The next day and the next day and the next day Little Boy Blew was telling stories in the newspaper, and soon people almost forgot that he used to tell stories on the rock by the waterfall. But then, the next day Little Boy Blew announced in school that he was coming back, with a new story that he wanted everyone to hear. Everyone was very excited. The audience by the waterfall was the biggest anyone had ever seen. Little Boy Blew was a real celebrity now. And he told his story, and everyone listened. But they way he told stories had changed. He wasn't the same Little Boy Blew.  Jerry listened to the story and he didn't like it one bit. When the story was finished he told Little Boy Blew this and Little Boy Blew was very angry. Jerry tried to explain but Little Boy Blue ran away and ignored Jerry. Jerry was a little bit upset. 

A few years later Jerry realized that he hadn't talked to Little Boy Blew, who was still working for the newspaper and telling stories, in quite some time. But they were still friends on facebook

The end.

Tardy

The Book of Tardy. 1:1-11

1. And thus it was, that on that rainless grey day, as was prophesied by those before, the shifting horizon found another steed. 2. Many riders, nay horseman, had gone before, commenting, challenging and blogging, that one may have looked upon the scene and said that this new rider was, 'late'. 3. And though late may be or may become a defining trait when in their presence, there was no doubt that the rider was there, waiting atop the hill as the day played across the sky. 4. He remarked then, to the small crowd that had gathered outside the gates of the holy city of New Cross, 5. 'Firstly, with appropriately, my first words, i must thank and congratulate those whom have passed before you, their hands tired from building roads, their passion stretched from lighting pathways to your freedom and hope. 6. Without their efforts none of you would have seen truth as clearly as your eyes can now see. Thank them, and pray hard that they are kept in good (able to type) health.' 7. And the townsfolk felt warmed by these words, recognizing that there lurked a great evil close by, one that preyed on the weak and found it hard to write without the use of large pictorial aids (but not 'aids' aids, aids like the other kind of aids, you know, aids?). 8. But then a young disciple pushed himself close to the front and over the mixture of voices proclaimed, 'But what has this got to do with London? And with the 2012 Olympics?' 9. The crowd, growing by the minute, fell silent. 'What is your reach? Will there be digital projection. because it would help if it did'. 10. The rider turned and looked down towards the new figure, a business man, dressed in an uncomplicated suit. 11. The man stared back, wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his jacket, ‘All I need to know are your deliverables’.

Tardy.

Official Rankings

The following has been approved by the Committee for the Judgment of Most Probable Intercourse:

STYLISH CAMP
1. Hip-bo
2. Tits & Ass
3. Ledger Hair
4. Tardy Nationalist Asshole
5. Petunia
6. Style-less Tramp
7. Tony Blair
8. Generic Shithead
9. Die Tye Die

J-STAR
1. Die Tye Die
2. Tardy Nationalist Asshole
3. Tits & Ass
4. Tony Blair
5. Style-less Tramp
6. Serial Killer
7. Generic Shithead
8. Those with Breasts, and Anyone Desirous of Such

UNLISTED: Actually Has A Career, Red Lips of Deaf