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Billy Elliot – Birmingham Hippodrome – 24 April 2017

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April 28, 2017

When deciding to review this show, I was dreading what I might have to write. You see, never have I attended a show with so much favourable feedback as in the case of Billy Elliot. My God, everybody loved it, giving rave reviews. But what if it was another dud for me? That certainly happened with the Commitments.

No such fears. From the opening segment with The Stars Look Down, I was drawn into the stage. And this was no mean feat as I wasn’t in the best position to appreciate the view and acoustics back in Row T of the stalls.

With a book and lyrics by Lee Hall, plus music from Elton John, the show is based on the 2000 film of the same name. Billy Elliot tells of a 12-year-old boy set against the backdrop of the 1984 miners’ strike. Rather than attending boxing lessons, Billy stumbles into a ballet class and finds he has a love of the dance.

Now the writer in me first looks to the script, and this one was epic. Clever, natural dialogue which slaps you in the face when you least expect. Best line of the show. “Susan Parks, you look like a spastic starfish.” Oh yes, how I love blatant political incorrectness. And the music and dance was … fantastic. This is a show which truly ticked all the boxes.

Of the musical numbers, Shine stood out immediately. Then we had the spectacular of Solidarity with Billy and the Ballet girls amidst the conflict between miners and police. One, however, which really entertained was Expressing Yourself with the dancing dresses. At the start to Act Two, I can’t emphasise how much I loved Merry Christmas, Maggie Thatcher. Thatcher masks, puppets, and finally, a giant ogress nemesis of the 1980s miners. And my favourite song lyric. “Oh, my darling, oh, my darling, oh, my darling Heseltine. You’re a tosser, and a wanker, and you’re just a Tory swine.” Sung by children. Brilliant.

On the dance front, we were treated to an amazing segment of Swan Lake in which Billy dances with his older self. Electricity was as it says in the name – electric. Towards the end, we had the poignant farewells as the miners return to work and Billy says his goodbyes. Many a tear in the house. Then the finale topped off a great evening of spectacular choreography, voice and performance.

On the night, Billy was played by Haydn May with Amy Rhiannon Worth as Mrs Wilkinson. Dad was Martin Walsh, Tony (Scott Garnham), Grandma (Andrea Miller), Mr Braithwaite (Daniel Page), Michael (Elliot Stiff) and Debbie (Lilly Cadwallender).

Billy Elliot was directed by Stephen Daldry with choreography, Peter Darling and musical supervision from Martin Koch . The producer was Sally Green.

So, everybody else loved it, and as much as I enjoy being the dissenting voice, I can’t on this occasion. Billy Elliot was out of this world.

 

Cheers.

 

Antony N Britt

 

 

 

Antony N Britt

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The Sunday Roast – Food for Thought

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March 3, 2013

Keep celebrity meals off the menu.

March 3 - Pasta © David Britt

Look, there’s a picture of a plate with far too much pasta on it …

Arrrggghh!

One of the biggest gripes people have about social networking sites is over folk, friends and family who persistently post what it is they have just had to eat. It’s annoying. We don’t care. However, when you are a celebrity, it seems your entire world falls prey to the media so when somebody like Katie Price tweets that they have had a Sunday Roast (a real one), papers like The Sun (Monday February 25 – page 11) think it’s newsworthy enough to re-tweet it in their scummy paper.

May 6 The Scum

Yes, she’s a celebrity … We still don’t care. Why should we be remotely interested in what some model has just had for tea? Go and do a proper journalistic job and report on a government who discriminates against the disabled, or a Pope who covers up child abuse, or even the fact I witnessed police responding to a call by having to catch a bus (Really … it happened). We’re also not interested in what some failure of a soccer manager has been doing, or if he’s shagging some netball star (Friday – front page of The Sun). We also don’t need to know if some second-rate comedian has been sending smutty texts (Front page, Tuesday) Neither do we don’t want to know what he had for tea, either.

For Christ’s sake, report on the bloody news!

No smoke without fire?

Well, if there is going to be any white papal smoke billowing in the near future, you can be sure it won’t have been ignited by the head of the British Catholic Church. As if religion could be even more discredited, you have the most senior catholic in the UK, Cardinal Keith O’Brien, accused of sex crimes. Amazing, but should we be surprised?

We do need to be careful and not judge people, as most of the church hierarchy do when denouncing homosexuality. However, Keith O’Brien is innocent until proven guilty. Anyway, he won’t be found guilty, his track record of famous friends will stand him in good stead.

March 3 - Cardinal Keith O'Brien with Jimmy Savile

Oh shit!

Which Direction shall I take now? The only One I can.

Karaoke boy-band, One Direction, are furious. Their fans have been fleeced and scammed by bogus con-tricksters who set up ticketing scams.

A bogus company … conning folk? Well, One Direction would know all about that. Pretending to be a music act and misleading the audience into thinking they have any talent while hoping we won’t notice their instruments are mysteriously playing themselves.

June 24 One Direction

Okay, there’s a picture of the darlings, just to please the fans who I’ve just upset.

Rewriting history … Hollywood style.

It was a fun week at the Oscars with Ben Affleck film, Argo, winning three of the awards.

Best picture, best adapted screen play and best editing. Well, they certainly edited the truth.

Once again, the British have been removed from history and painted in a bad light by making out they failed to help a group of Americans during the Iran crisis in 1979. As it happens, we are told in reality, the British Ambassador risked his life to aid the evacuees.

But it’s not the first time, is it?

Braveheart, Saving Private Ryan, then there was U-571. That load of baloney credited the Americans with bravely capturing a submarine, cracking the enigma machine and thus, winning the war. In fact, it was the British who got hold of the thing and the codes were solved by intelligence officers at Bletchley Park.

I saw a small article this week that former Doctor Who, Jon Pertwee and Bond author, Ian Fleming, both worked for Naval Intelligence during the war, training commandos. No doubt if a Hollywood version is ever made, Pertwee and Fleming will be replaced by Errol Flynn and Ken Kesey, and even though the latter was only 10 when the war ended, it wouldn’t stop them.

As for Argo, I know sometimes you have to make a fictional account for artistic purposes, but don’t try to pass it off as being the truth. It’s insulting and embarrassing.

Dishing out justice.

Poor old David Compton of Darwen, Lancashire. Never been in trouble with the law and he gets into some for trying to maintain it.

A young neighbouring 11-year-old yob decided it was funny to pelt Mr Compton’s house with stones. David took exception to this, caught the kid and frogmarched him home to speak with his parents. Now if that were my son, I’d be furious. There is right and there is wrong. Some things you just don’t do. But did this pond-life of a family chastise their son? No, they reported Mr Compton to the police.

I think you can see where the kid learned his moral values from. Justice, eh!

March 3 - Kitchen Scales © Antony N Britt

Yes, I know it looks random but I wanted to insert a symbol of the Scales of British Justice, and these kitchen scales were the only ones I had.

So … what is the future for this Roast?

Going to be starting a new job soon. Can’t do all the hours I imagine I’ll be doing and still keep up my current writing output. Some things will have to go. Don’t know … Perhaps the roast will have to either be drastically reduced in size, or go to once every few weeks. I certainly would like to write more on other stuff as well, so watch this space. Or maybe I could just pad the Roast out with pictures of everything I have eaten all week.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – A Day at the Races … In My Local Supermarket

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 4 Comments
February 10, 2013

Horsing around.

I’m so blooming hungry, I could eat a horse. However, if I can’t get hold of a Findus Beef Lasagne, a bacon sandwich will have to do.

Feb 10 - Findus Beef Lasagne

You really have to watch what you eat, these days. I like a lasagne. I do a mean one of my own, all made from scratch. However, if I felt a little lazy, I know I could always put my hands on one of those ready meals. Don’t particularly like them, but they serve a purpose. But things are not as they seem. According to mass hysteria, lasagne ready meals, in addition to containing cheese, peppers, pasta and many other unhealthy substances, now come with added, Champion the Wonder Horse.

Neigh, I kid you not. We’ve apparently been eating horse meat for ages. I never realised the reason until now why every time I trotted to the supermarket, I felt this urge to but a packet of oats.

And of course now we have the veggie brigade sitting all smug saying, ‘I told you so.’ Maybe, but I bet there are a few non-meat things which are dodgy. I don’t care. I’m meat eater and beyond redemption. I have every respect for vegetarians, it’s just not me. Mind you, there is one thing which annoys – those people who claim they are vegetarian but eat fish.

Feb 10 - Question Mark

How the blooming hell is that being a vegetarian?

And now for somebody who couldn’t even find a horse.

Feb 10 - Richard III Portrait

So finally, we know it really is Richard III who’s been issuing spiritual parking tickets in a Leicester car park for years. What I want to know is how on earth did people actually forget he was there? I mean, they know the car park was built on the site of an Abbey and presumably records showed it to be his final resting place otherwise how would they have known where to look for him in the first place.

When they decided to build a car park on top of him, was it just an oversight? You can imagine the surveyors and their checklist.

1. Excavate large hole.

2. Lay tarmac and paint white lines.

3. Remove dead King of England.

4. Install pay-by-foot ticket machines.

And why do they call them pay by foot machines? I’ve never seen anybody pay by foot. You use your hands.

Sorry, I digress, but I still don’t see the need for fuss. They spend all that money and effort excavating the site to dig him up, now they’re talking about burying him again. Make your sodding minds up. And please tell me we’re not going to have the prospect of the taxpayer funding a state funeral. Don’t we spend enough on the royal leeches who are living without throwing money at dead ones.

What I found funny was the programme the other day which showed how a specialist has reconstructed the king’s face using scientific skills and technology.

Feb 10 - Richard III Reconstructed Face

Bollocks. They’ve just looked at the portraits of him. It’s not exactly hard to make an accurate reconstruction when you have a head start, if you forgive the pun.

Poor old Richard. I bet he didn’t envisage spending 500 years in a car park. I hope they gave him a disabled bay, what with having that hump.

“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.” If Richard said that today, somebody would hand him Findus Beef Lasagne. Still, it could have been worse. They might have built a public lavatory on top of him, then rhyming slang term would have taken on a very literal meaning.

The poor dear.

Posh Spice, Victoria Beckham, the girl whose only talent is the ability to make millions without having any actual talent, posted an interesting tweet this week. She’s a little stressed. Referring to New York Fashion Week, she commented that it was the silly season where everybody goes a little crazy, or words to that effect as seen below.

Feb 10 - Victoria Beckham

No, Victoria, it isn’t the most stressful of times. Living in poverty under Tory Government cuts and not knowing if you’ll have a house this time next month … that’s stress.

We’ll fight them on the beaches.

Can’t remember where I read this but apparently, German schoolkids are studying the British seaside resort of Weston-super-Mere.

Yes, the town which has to be the worst seaside town I have ever visited, is being touted as a good indicator of British holiday fun and is now in German school textbooks.

Feb 10 - Weston-super-Mere

Weston-super-Mere? I mean, the fact the town inserts the word, super into its name should be enough for them to be prosecuted under the trades description act. I went there once and that was enough for me. It has one attraction – the pier, and even that burned down and was out of action for a few years.

So why are we touting Weston as the hotbed of activity? A couple of possibilities. One, is to send the Germans somewhere nobody in the UK wants to go, and if they are there, we won’t have to worry about them nicking our deckchairs on the beaches we do like.

Second reason. They’ve waged war on us twice in the past hundred years. Promote this place as the high spot of summer activity and they’ll turn around and decide it might be better to invade Crete instead.

Just a theory.

Right, enough banter …

I actually write this on a Saturday and having just finished, I realised I need to do a bit of shopping. I’m out of burgers and lasagne. Therefore, I’m going to saddle up, race to the supermarket and gallop along the meat aisle. Fear not, I won’t be there fur-long.

Sorry about the jokes. I admit, they are a bit lame. Hmmm … I think this theme may have run its course.

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Birthday in The Black Country

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 10 Comments
February 3, 2013

Happy Birthday to this site

Feb 3 - Badge

I didn’t realise the website was a year old until writing this roast.

My God, that’s one whole year of opinionated crap, Titanic film jokes and people with bad teeth from the Jeremy Kyle show.

I do have to say though, all the best to Jeremy in his battle against cancer. Let’s face it, without that show I’d have had far fewer visitors in the past year. Still, I am sticking to my New Year promise of no more poking fun at the dentally challenged from the show. However, even into February, it still remains the number one search engine term used to bring traffic to me.

Jeremy Kyle, Jeremy Kyle teeth, Jeremy Kyle bad teeth and even … Ugly people with teeth on Jeremy Kyle.

JK5

Get better soon, Jezza … as they say in the Black Country.

And talking of the Black Country …

Yes, that is where I come from. A right old run-down area in the Midlands which is called the Black Country because of the coal seam most of the land lies upon.

I know over the past year, I have taken several (modest estimation here) swipes at my local town, Walsall for being depressed and going to pot. Well, this has taken years of hard work by local businesses and the council to achieve and I was treated on Friday to a taste of what Walsall has been aspiring to in all this time – neighbouring West Bromwich.

Once a nice little shopping centre, for years West Bromwich has been nothing more than tatty pound-shops, tacky market stalls and empty premises. It is, basically – a hole.

Well, undeterred, Walsall saw West Bromwich as a shining light and have tried, with much success, to emulate it.

As I say, on Friday, I had the delight of going to West Bromwich and found nothing had changed since my last visit. You still feel as if you need to wash your hands on the way out and I did wonder if my car would be there when I returned to it. It was, thankfully, intact. I saw it in the distance as I listened to the piped music in the car park. Then I stopped. Puzzled. Music in the bloody car park … why?

Feb 3 - Music in Car Park

Apologies for the picture, I have a rubbish camera on my phone.

Anyway, I approached my car and saw the speaker. It was blasting Karma Chameleon, distorted at full volume above the bonnet my Ford Focus. Can anybody offer an explanation? I don’t go to West Bromwich very much for a number of reasons but certainly not to listen to music in a filthy car park. I’m much too concerned with getting back to my vehicle before I get mugged.

Still, even though I had to spend two hours there, at 80p to park, it was good value … and at least my car was kept entertained by the music. Stopped it from getting bored.

And still in the suburb of West Bromwich …

West Bromwich Albion is actually the team I support. All my life I’ve had to suffer ridicule and abuse because basically, we’ve been shit. But no more. For the past couple of years, not a bad little team has been assembled at the Hawthorns and for the first time in over 30 years, they can lay claim to be the top team in the region.

With this in mind, you’d think players would be clamouring to be at the club. Not so, Peter Odemwinge.

The want-away striker hoped to further his career by engineering a deadline-day move to … er, bottom of the table, Queens Park Rangers. He says it was ambition and nothing to do with the huge salary on offer. Anyway, refused permission by his club, he took it upon himself to drive down to London and force his way through the door. He was, quite rightly, refused.

Cue the eggs, see the target.

Feb 3 - Peter Odemwinge with Egg on his face

Peter Odemwinge with egg on his face.

Therefore, poor old Peter had to drive back home with his tail between his legs, knowing he has to face his team mates … and the fans, who all know he has stuck two-fingers up at a club who took him in and turned his career around. Good on West Brom for not bowing to him and any other overpaid Charlie.

As for Queens Park Rangers … That name should have an apostrophe in it. Queen’s. It was named after Queen’s Park, not a collective group of queens who happened to have a picnic in the park one day.

The latest thing for Twits to play with.

Mobile phone app, Vine, lets you share six-second video clips on Twitter, apparently.

Feb 3 - Twitter Vine

Six seconds! I wonder if it’s going to be like You Tube? Six seconds of crap video after having to watch a thirty second advertisement.

And the worry by watchdogs is that it will be simply used to spread porn and people will be posting clips of themselves having sex.

Come on … six seconds! Who in this country really only lasts six seconds having sex, apart from those living in … (Last piece edited out when I realised I know somebody who lives there).

You have just been Captcha’d.

As I have been saying, it is the first anniversary of starting on WordPress. I think I made the right choice in defecting from the now useless, Myspace, but do you want to know the real reason I chose WordPress, and not Blogger?

This …

Dec 16 Captcha2

Yes, those bloody irritating Captcha requests.

Don’t you just find them tedious? You can imagine the smarmy voice. ‘Please prove to us you’re not a robot.’

Arrrgghhh! Fuck off! I mean, what the hell is the one above supposed to be? Eatywipt3 or something. What the bloody hell is an eatywipt? They’re just making it up.

Then there’s this one:

Dec 16 Captcha

What? For f….’s sake! So now you people who use Blogger and read me, know why it is I don’t often reciprocate and comment back. I’d love to but I can’t bloody do so without a degree in Mensa and a liking for doing the cryptic crossword. I mean, what do you think that second one is? Sort of, er … Drainpipe, wall of housey ntcyone. It makes no blooming sense.

There, rant over. Mind you, I suppose I could introduce it myself. How about this one to type in before making a comment?

                      Feb 3 - Iain Duncan Smith                Feb 3 - Is a Cock

Yes, childish, I know. But wouldn’t it be funny to get everybody to type that Iain Duncan Smith is one?

Cheers.

Nick

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The Sunday Roast – Celebrity Slugs, Stupid Sports and the Art of Falling Asleep.

Filed under: Sunday Roast — 4 Comments
August 12, 2012

Still scaling the lofty heights.

You may recall last week, I told you I was tackling a 10 years in the waiting job of clearing the clutter in the loft. I’m happy to say, it’s about halfway completed after about six hours work during the week. Can’t do much in one go as it’s so hot up there.

Another stint this week ahead and it should be done. Still got clutter all over the floor up there but at least it’s sorted into perfectly ordered piles of clutter. It’s amazing what you find, though.

Okay. So I have Cybermen and Daleks hiding in my loft, but at least there is one positive. I now know why I’ve not had any rats during the past year. I wondered why that poison hadn’t been touched. The bigger monsters exterminated the rodents.

Back at Olympic Park …

It’s nearly over and GB have done fantastic. As I type, Mo Farah is in the background, going for gold. Now you will know from previous roasts, I know nothing of athletics and have to be honest, I’d not even heard of Mo Farah until this week. Still, he’s GB so let’s give him our support. Now you go and watch the kiss of death from Britt land on Mo Farah. It normally does when I big somebody up.

One of the strangest things I saw this week was when a rider made her horse do the foxtrot and win a Gold for it. Some of these events do stretch the definition of the word, sport. Whatever next – a dancing dog called Pudsey, winning a Gold?

Well, there would be if Simon Cowell ran the Olympics.

Oh … Hang on. Go – Mo!

Yeeeeeesssss! Another Gold.

Breakfast’s gone a bit cold.

Coldplay’s Chris Martin said this week that he plays his new songs to his kids at breakfast to gauge how good the music is. If children, Moses and Apple (Yeah … I know) start singing, then Chris knows he’s onto a winner.

Come on, Chris, you’re playing safe testing it out at breakfast. Kids are wide awake that time in the morning. Test it out just before bedtime, then if the kids fall asleep, you’ll know they think it’s the same load of monotonous dirge the rest of us do.

Chris Martin and Coldplay – Possibly the best cure for insomnia ever created.

And talking of falling asleep …

Fishing enthusiast, Phil Hunt was in the news as it was reported he needs someone to look after him when he partakes in his favourite sport.

Fishing – Sport? Yeah – right. Surprised it’s not an Olympic event. Anyway, Phil suffers from narcolepsy which means he could fall asleep and fall in the river.

There’s a little gift for you, Phil but narcolepsy, come on! Fishing is the most boring pastime ever invented. It’s enough to send anybody to sleep. Has there been in-depth research into the condition? A bit of digging may find most of the sufferers were found to be sitting by the river with a rod in their hands. Either that or they were just listening to Coldplay.

In an unrelated news report, chef Gurpareet Bains has developed a curry which gets people to sleep better. His Insomnia Masala, produces effects similar to sleeping pills.

All well and good, but drifting into a sound sleep after eating a curry is only solving half the problem and very risky. What about when you wake up in the middle of the night and have to rush to the loo due to the volcanic eruption at the other end of the body when said curry, recycles itself to the tune of Ring of Fire?

And then you wake up …

Kay Delany from Cambridgeshire, slipped and banged her head. She was knocked out and when she woke up, found she’d lost twenty years and still thought it was 1990.

Blimey. Can you imagine if that happened? If it was me, I’d still think I was married to my ex-wife and therefore hiding the Kit-Kat bars while dodging flying crockery. Not only that, I’d still have the recent memory of having to listen to the bloody Pet Shop Boys.

Terms of the divorce. I got the house, she got the Pet Shop Boys. Now there’s another musical brand to send you to sleep.

But still … 1990? It took me years to get over the trauma of the Chris Waddle penalty miss during the World Cup in Italy that year. I’d be facing the prospect of waking in a cold sweat again, screaming, ‘Noooooo!’

Yes, Chris. Twenty-two years later, I still close my eyes and wonder … if the ball you put over the bar has come to land, yet?

Probably the sickest stunt I’ve heard in a while.

It was in the news this week that Take That’s Gary Barlow and wife, lost a child in a still-birth. As a father, I can only imagine the hurt and nobody – ever, deserves that. Now you can guess, I’m not a fan of Take That, neither would I know a Gary Barlow song if it was blasted into my ears. However, what little I do know of the man is that he comes across as a decent enough guy. Decent, on the other hand, is not a word which could ever in a million years, be attributed to former Big Brother contestant, Kenneth Tong.

Kenneth thought it really big to jump on the bandwagon and tweet hate-filled jokes, poking fun at the Barlow’s loss. I’m not going to repeat them or even suggest you check them out. Take my word, they come from a sick mind.

Kenneth Tong, as I said, was on Big Brother a few years back and in his six days in the house, showed himself to be the useless excuse for a human being we still know him to be. He once boasted money can buy you anything. Really? Not respect and the only thing it seems to have bought Kenneth is the tag of being a useless low-life scumbag of the highest degree. A complete wanker.

Kenneth stands by his evil tweets and says he only did it for fun and to get noticed.

I wonder, when he dies and nobody attends his funeral for him being the worst kind of slug from beneath a slimy stone, will anybody notice then? Will they care that he’s gone?

Is it safe to venture up the loft now?

Okay, creatures of mass extermination have been obliterated, and there’s still no sign of rats. Therefore, this time next week, I think my work in the loft will be done and I’ll have loads of space. Great, then I can bung all the crap from every other part of the house, up there. Result.

Now then, what’s this lying in the corner? Oh my God! The worst horror of all. Is it rats, or even dead rats? No … worse.

Arrrggghhh! Bloody Pet Shop Boys. How did that get there?

I need therapy.

Cheers.

Nick

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