A Small Mind At The Theatre

I like reviewing the storytelling events (and this is the fourth that I have seen), as I go for the ramble inanely approach (what do you mean that's what I normally do?) rather than the full on critic. So for this one perhaps I might say something silly about sitting for over an hour in the Underground without ending up a pool of water on the floor. I might even say something also about that moment when I took my chair and thought I was about to be interrogated under that most scary spotlight that greeted us. However I won't on this occasion (but I have) as its time to get serious! Tim Ralphs was our storyteller on the evening and while he wasn't my favourite of the professional tellers I have seen so far (if he was reading this, he will have stopped now), he was darn close. He was also very interesting in the informative Q&A after as well, which was a lovely added bonus for the night. His story of Can The Mountains Love The Sea? was a Norse influenced tale based on...

Let me tell you the story of the day that this won me nothing. I am more likely to get trampled by a herd of wilderbeest down Northampton's Abington Street while I am dressed as Elvis Presley and having a chat with Lord Lucan than to win a raffle. There was even a booby prize last night and I didn't even get a chance to (more than likely) pick that. However I digress, this evening was not about my troubles about winning a raffle. This was the very first, inaugural, premiere, debut, opening and actually something that hadn't happened before, it was the Feast Of Fools Storytelling evening. It was also at a venue I had never been before, the NN Cafe. The idea of Feast Of Fools is to establish a regular (monthly) evening of storytelling from both established and open mic newbies. On this first night, we had four established tellers (although I understand one was only their second performance, so I lie) to start off the event. We had our host Richard York with occasional ...

CRICK! CRACK! CRICK! CRACK! However enough about my back problems. If you are sitting comfortably (well one of us needs to be), then I shall begin. On a fair and splendid evening in the month of Februarius, the hero of our story took a trip to the theatre in a beautiful pea green coat. His destination did hold many tales so bold, from storytellers both young and old. Beneath the Derngate there lays a space they call the underground. This is no Piccalilli or Paddington silly, there are no trains here to behold. On this day the space was filled with tables and chairs that lay quite scattered around. Little tea lights glittered upon each table while a waitress wandered around. The Open Mic Story Night was an opportunity for keen individuals to get up in front of the mic (there was no mic!) and have a go at storytelling. My first experience of storytelling as an art form had come just a month earlier with Fairytales For Grown Ups  and it has been a fascinating ex...

Are you sitting comfortably? Oh, you're not. Well get off the spiky shaped toadstool and climb into your favourite comfy armchair at I am about to begin. It was a cold and chilling evening on the very final day of January of the year two thousand and fifteen. There lay upon the fair land of the kingdom of the place known as Northampton the final remnants of a storm of snow, sleet and slush. On this night a brave, debonair, handsome, tall and dark (well this clearly is a fairytale) gentlemen struck through the streets towards a striking building. This building made of fine bricks and sporting a protruding chimney of no smoke, held many delights upon this cold night. As the fine young gentlemen arrived he bustled through many patrons, fair of age, who gathered on this night to relish music and dance of a magical time the people did called the swinging sixties. Our hero however was not at this place of theatrical things for this such spectacle. His destination was a place much o...