As You Like It

Shakespeare. Outside. Rain. Wellies. Cold. Mittens. Live sheep. Brilliant.

Please note the sheep

When one thinks of an outdoor, summer production of Shakespeare, the mind tends to conjure up an image of rather suave-looking, tweed-adorned country-folk, grazing on a spread of sweated brie and other fine cheeses. The sweet and balmy summer air casts a calming and jovial spell upon the spectators as they sup well-chosen vintages.

In reality, it was me, Mam and a few others, in waterproof trousers with a packet of Jelly Babies. 

One redeeming feature though, was that it was held in the grounds of this beauty. (Took the photo in black and white to make it look a bit more mysterious and that.)

The Bowes Museum (just past Barney)

I jumped in and ruined everything. But I was dead excited.

Front doors on steroids.

That place is a bit magical, really. During the day, those muscled, oak doors are opened and you are able to wander round seemingly endless rooms of art and history, and there's even this whoppin' silver swan which occasionally descends from the ceiling to the sound of many 'oohs' and 'ahhs.' There's also a crackin' tea-room where they serve 'Mad Hatter Tea', the sound of which just gives me butterflies.

But anyhoo. The Shakespeare was round the back, under a massive tree. And despite the downpour, it was beautiful.

Smokin'

There were many merry songs and a man playing a lute in the little tent to the left. He was good. I really have to commend the actors too - they were sloshing around in the mud and even nose-diving in their pristine whites (the old women sitting behind me had something to say about that). But they did it all without a single slip (of the tongue).

'The Forest of Arden'

Mud-wrestling 

I couldn't get a picture of the sheep, but they were REAL ones and their sporadic baa-ing really helped the atmosphere along.

Kinda want this house

Pretty Bowes

Even though we thought we might be miserable sitting in the rain for three hours, it was a yummy eve'. We sat, wrapped up in our innumerable layers, Jelly Babies in hand, whilst letting the words of Old William (and the persistent rain) wash gently over us.