Off-Stage

In August I went to the Isles of Scilly.

In August I came back.

In August Mary, a super refusemuse suggested I tell – this is after all Bitsnbobs the blog that kisses but (never) tells.

She asked – “what was going on off-stage”?

In September I have started the off-stage series – the on/off month.

Why is it called on/off month?

That’s a good question.

It sounds good?

It expresses duality?

I like the forward slash?

And because, in the world of theatre, what happens off-stage is MEANT to be off stage and not scene.

I mean seen.

And remember what Bill said – all the world’s a stage.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lined,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

It’s Monday, it’s back to school day, so…

At this stage I’ll whine and shine.

Sigh.