Anna May Mangan’s Writing News

I went to the Old Vic last night to see Dancing in Lughnasa . It was performed in the round on the say so of Artistic Director Kevin Spacey, and even though I booked discounted last minute seats I ended up in the front row and so close to the set that if I stretched my legs out they became part of the action. 

The play was OK; slow in places and overly intense in others, I thought. At least I think I that’s what I thought but don’t take my word for it because I was entirely distracted by the man sitting to my left. He was alone and on the aisle seat and before my bum hit my chair he’d told me that he is Andrea Corr’s UBER fan. Last night was the twelfth time he has seen this particular production, her London stage debut, and  he has tickets for six more performances before it closes next month.

 The guy was a dead ringer for the  Pilsbury Dough man and in the interval  he told me the only person he loves as much as Andrea Corr is his 86 year old mother. He spoke all Andrea’s lines  along with her under his breath  and applauded  each time she (and he) spoke by private silent clapping of his forefingers. If she moved stage right he leant against me to track her. This pressed me against my husband and him against his neighbour and so on until the whole row of ten was sitting crooked.  Fan Man crooned and sighed and gasped and trembled every time Andrea faced him, and on the couple of  occasions she was within touching distance he gave a low moan and closed his eyes.   Fan Man was a lone  standing ovater at  curtain call time  clapping with all his might with his arms held high above his head and stamping his feet and calling out “Yew! and Yo!”

Now I am very keen on George Clooney, and I honestly don’t know if he would arouse my inner maniac if I actually got to meet him. I do know someone who did, though. She is a sensible woman who wears German shoes and only has one handbag . She works for Passport Control at Heathrow. After a Snowball or two at Christmas she snorts with disgust, ”I’ve met them all and let me tell you those stars are nothing special”.

 BUT she did end up dealing with Gorgeous George at Heathrow recently.  Holding his passport she looked into his smoking eyes and ditched twenty years of training and propriety in a nano second by saying ”May I ask you something Mr Clooney?”  He answered “Yes” .  Then she blurted  ”Can I touch you?” and he answered with that deadly crooked smile of his, ”Sure. Go right ahead”. She reports that he speaks slow, and low.  What’s not to love?