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There’s Daggers in Men’s Smiles

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Good morning lovely people

Edinburgh is in the thick of “Ralph Fiennes” mania.  He’s appearing in Macbeth at Ingliston until 27th January.  We thought he might be promoting a new supplier, (a bit like Michael Bublé with ASDA at Christmas) but no, it wasn’t a bargain butcher it was the real deal; Shakespear.  This was definitely money well spent.

I was distracted throughout the play. No it wasn’t the very handsome, main actor or the immersive “war zone” theatre set at the Royal Highland Centre. It wasn’t the frosty temperature outside. It was surprisingly sweaty inside, probably due to having more ducks down in the hall than in a Canada Goose factory. The couple behind didn’t help. We think they might win a BAFTA for sucking on their boilings. Daughter no 2 said it felt like Dolby sweet surround sound. No, the tragedy, not the treats, reminded me of what was being reported by the Horizon scandal on Fujitsu. This isn’t much ado about nothing or a comedy of errors and sadly all will not end well.  Shakespear couldn’t have made this scheming up. Fujitsu has finally admitted they knew the system had flaws before it was put into operation. Worse, they knew for years that innocent people were being convicted and jailed. Daggers in men’s (and women’s) smiles indeed. This isn’t a miscarriage of justice, it’s criminal.  The families will have a little peace knowing the truth. Those responsible must be as tortured as the Macbeths. Their brilliantly acted torment will be being felt by many now that the noose around the guilty parties is getting pulled tighter. Shakespeare might be 400 years old but boy is he still relevant.

I’m far more a music and dance girl than a theatre gower but the lines “Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?” or “All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand” stuck. There is no prize, not even being king, worth living with blood on your hands. It’s beetroot season and I do share the visual often.

Speaking of beetroot, it’s a sad day when your dog has gone to the vet and like everyone else in the family, has been told to go on a diet. Victor and I are cutting back and doing dry January. One small glass of Frascati a day. Nonna G is going on a diet too, only because she hates being left out. We actually think it’s Nonna that’s been sneaking the most treats to Rocco. The poor wee thing thinks he’s in the doghouse. He’s been dreaming of a pound of flesh from the merchant of Venice. We can all agree the Postmasters and Mistresses deserve metric multiples.

Keep well, keep wrapped up and thank you Shakespeare, or maybe it should be thank you Ralph.


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