Lady Chatterley's Lover

Wow. Well it's taken me three days to come round after Lady Chatterley's Lover at the Crucible. I've been to the theatre hundreds of times on my life and, while there was a very early play which memorably involved a brief bare bottom, I can't remember ever having seen much bare flesh on show before. I supposed I should have expected it knowing the plot, but, well, blimey.

About half way through the first act Lady Chatterley got naked. 'That's brave', I thought. Then the feminist in me started to grumble. Maybe this was going to be the sort of production where the leading lady gets her total kit off and the lovely Mellors just strides around with his top off looking rugged. Be careful what you wish for I'd say.

You know the plot of course and it was inevitably going to involve some sex. In fact several times before the characters actually introduced themselves to each other. Nothing says raw magnetism like a grubby gamekeeper hammering a chicken coup. It's no wonder she couldn't stop herself.

The first half ended and I think it's safe to say the audience, many of which were quite elderly ladies, had coped with the nudity and bonking exactly as you'd expect us to. With slightly nervous giggling and sideways glances at our friends. I had to have a second glass of wine.

The second half was when it became evident that I needn't have worried about naked inequality. Not only did we get to see both main characters totally starkers for a good half an hour but at one point they ran around the stage in a wide circle so every angle was covered, so to speak. It reminded me ever so slightly of the cartoon in the year 6 sex video, only without the peacock feather and quite a bit more jiggling.

At one point the couple sat on the floor (did I mention they were naked?) and placed a small flower in each other's pubic hair. Mellor's referred to his 'John Thomas' a few times and I quite lost all perspective and started to become fascinated with the minimal set instead.

I haven't read the book. This may have been the issue. Had I read it maybe I would have seen the flowers in pubic hair coming.

After the show I left a bit confused. The actors could clearly act. If they could act like that naked I'd quite like to see them in something wearing a duffle coat.

Unbelievably brave too. I can't imagine many roles call for unbridled naked passion on a Tuesday night in front of octogenarians. Surely there must be some kind of theatrical award they could get. Or maybe just the relief of being able to act with clothes on next time will be enough.

Elephants and Drama

Yesterday was one of those mad days where I created a timeline of activities and the whole family rolled their eyes. We needed to finish the Sheffield Herd elephant hunt, attend the Fun Palace event at Sheffield Theatres, complete homework, clean out a rabbit hutch, and watch the fourth Harry Potter. It was going to be a stretch. But the best kind of Sunday's include unreasonable expectations, right?

We screeched to a metaphorical halt outside the Botanical Gardens two minutes after they opened and zapped three elephants inside twenty minutes (about 7 mpe - minutes per elephant). I even let them stop to collect conkers which wasn't on the plan.

A frantic u-turn (not really) and we zoomed (at 20mph) into John Lewis car park, running through the store stopping only to look at picture frames, bags and perfume. Thank goodness, we made it to Sheffield Theatres for the Fun Place weekend.

The event was really good, even though we ended up doing a hoedown within 2 minutes of entering. I held hands with a man  I'd never met (and a number of very small girls and my own two bigger ones) and pretended the whole thing wasn't embarrassing at all. I also pretended I wasn't hideously out of breath.

After that the girls made a planet and star to go on the space artwork that will be displayed in the theatre, chucked balls at tin cans and hoops at cacti, and drew on the windows.

My favourite bit by far was the theatre tour where we were taken behind the scenes and I got to stand next to a garment of clothing worn by Kenneth Branagh - the girls didn't understand what I was wittering on about. I have never seen so many costumes, shoes and bags in my life. If Ken's costume wasn't enough to send me wappy imagine how I felt about there being entire boxes marked "espadrilles".

We saw the unglamorous section under the stage and heard about the theatre's history and resident ghosts. I even got to revisit the room where I spoke to the registrar on my wedding day which I'd forgotten all about. Plus Paul got to go into the girls toilets to look at the windows which was a first for him.

We could have done so much more. I fancied having special effects makeup and doing the drama workshop but the elephants were calling us unfortunately. The kids did fit in a quick tightrope walk on the way out but strangely the adults didn't have time for a custard pie in the face.

Upping the pace again we got back to the car and had our sights set on the final two elephants. At Hillsborough park we found that a)the elephant was in a walled garden that's closed on Sundays and b)it wasn't even there because they'd removed it already. We cheated and managed to fool the app into thinking we'd seen it.

Finally, Our Cow Molly. We'd waited until the end for this one in order to fully appreciate the free ice cream and flake. I imagined taking the final elephant picture with the girls looking triumphant and us all feeling on top of the world.

The elephant was not obvious. We walked through the farm. The elephant was still not obvious. We walked round the back into an area that we clearly weren't really supposed to be in, guarded by two angry geese. We had to accept the fact that the elephant had gone.

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It was hard for me but I was brave and accepted the stark reality that I was not to complete the elephant hunt properly. But then to be fair there had been other issues early on. I was, for example, supposed to take the children with me on the hunt, but on one occasion I nipped past an elephant on a working day at Crystal Peaks. I also got the last little ones in my lunch hour having raced through town to get to Atkinsons like some kind of old, overweight ginger Anneka Rice. So I can't really be an elephant purist.

When we cheated and fooled the app once more to log our 58th invisible elephant there were no fireworks but there was a free ice cream.

Seen very fast without the children in my lunch hour

My sense of completion may have been a little shonky but we had completed the challenge and the ice cream was epic.

Partus

Talk about making you think. I went to see Third Angel's Partus last night at the Studio. I came out having laughed, sniffled and thrown my hands over my face in half remembered horror. I also emerged equally determined, to champion the cause of midwives in the NHS, and to never have another baby.

Partus is about births. Funny ones (and it really was funny in places), scary ones, multiple ones, sad ones, young ones, and exhausting ones but all of them real ones. It was born out of a research project and included real life experiences of mums, dads, doulas and midwives. I have no idea how you would begin to decide which stories to highlight out of the hundreds they heard but Third Angel chose well, I think, setting the balance of humour and emotion.

It's been a while since I gave birth. Nearly 8 years in fact. It's safe to say my brain had pushed to the back some of the more painful and frightening bits. Which of course is the same for everyone otherwise no-one would ever have more than one baby. Last night reminded me how bloody marvellous women are. It's the most natural thing in the world but also the toughest. I mean, answer a child's question about how a baby comes out and the look on their face tells it all. It shouldn't be possible.

Partus tackles some gritty stuff which goes with the subject matter, and is ably, humorously and passionately presented by an all female cast who form part of the audience. It's a theatrical experience rather than a play and even includes biscuits.

The trouble is I'm not great at writing reviews due to my general fear of accidentally providing spoilers. Inevitably the best bits are the bits I want to write about, and therefore can't because then you'd know the best bits. You see my problem?

What I will say is this, if you are interested in births you should go. There are even performances where mums take their babies along. If only theatre had happened like that in 2006 when I had mine I'd have been at every event like a shot.

I am not sure however if I would have gone before I'd had a baby. For the same reason that I only read a small amount, didn't watch any birthing videos and tried to pretend everything would be painless and quick and I'd be home by tea time. Of course if you like to be more prepared than that it could be ideal.

I came out feeling it's an important piece. My friend and I decided all teenagers should have to see it as part of the curriculum. And probably all men.