The Corn is Green

Last night we had a storm so there is forest fall all over the yard, but it is mighty warm, and that’s some compensation. We call these winds that come from the southwest Pacific, the Pineapple Express because it is fragrant warm air from Hawaii way. And the storm has cleared the sky. When I went out for wood to light the fire early this morning, the sky was ablaze with stars.

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Yesterday morning, when I woke up, I was relieved to be travelling to the big island on a day when it wasn’t raining. My vision is so poor that when there’s rainfall, the light reflects off all the wet surfaces and it makes driving pretty nasty. That will all end soon, however, when I have my cataract surgery on the 21^st. Anyway, my plans changed.

At 9:10, the hospital called to cancel my pacemaker appointment. Five minutes later, I would have missed the call because I left the house at 9:15 to walk with Sheba and our friends. I was glad about the cancellation because it gave me the day to chill after feeling so wasted on Thursday. I felt fabulous all afternoon. It was dark and cool but there was no rain, so I had a lovely long spa, I read the book I’m enjoying (The Piano Tuner) and napping. I have lots of leftovers on which to snack and eat at mealtimes.

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Maybe you know this, but I didn’t: the Great British Bake Off puts the complete recipes for many of their challenges online, including what looks like all the technical, and 100s of bakes by contestants.

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The Corn is Green absolutely stupefied me. It kept on hitting me with twists and turns in words wrapped in a fascinating plot and driven by incredible cleverness. I’ve often been called intelligent by friends, not extraordinary, and this playwright, Emlyn Williams, is magnificent.

For one thing, there’s a chorus, as were in Greek dramas. But this chorus sings Welsh hymns and songs; some of the lines are in the Welsh language. And the writer is a character in the show, and how that character moves through the script makes me want Emlyn Williams to win a Nobel or Pulitzer prize.

Another thing: Nicola Walker. I was sick of her and all her cold, tough persona. I always saw the same character and I got bored. Well, she is front and centre in this production, and she it just fucking brilliant. Everyone is the cast feels perfect. And when the God-sent, clever writer’s script is developed by experts in stage design and direction in a production for The National Theatre, I get goosebumps watching it, and I cry at the end.

It's got everything, including unwanted babies. Ring a bell?

I spend a lot of time trying to choose a movie to watch. I want one every night because I don’t like TV. I wanted a guarantee of a good time last night, so I signed up for a month of National Theatre.

The first thing I cared about was the theatre. Life is a blur, until a day I often talk about, when my new adopted father and mother took me to our new home. When we came over a hump on the driveway, I saw the garage as a theatre with a wooden curtain and hinges for a curtain. That is, to me, the first inkling of individuality—a sacred moment. 

The second sacred moment was when I had to say out loud to the doctor, that the noises I was making was me trying to speak French. I didn’t know for a long time, how disconnected I felt to people. Then, as my life progressed, these two things about be earned their sacred status because they were the start of my story. I inherited no story, and rejected the one offered me through adoption. There’s only ever been me, and I’m childless. End of story.

Take a story like that, add the production values of the National Theatre, add a personal link to the production narrative and my passion for theatre, and I am hopelessly hooked. I hope you watch and enjoy The Corn is Green.

The world's biggest and smelliest flower,
Rafflesia Arnoldii,  native to West Sumatra.
It smells like rotting flesh. Nice eh?!