Iron

To truly test sod's law - or Murphy's Law as I should perhaps have been calling it, yesterday I donned my favourite light white linen summer dress, with an undercoating of best and worst possible underclothing. I then removed the hospital bag from the car, siphoned off most of the diesel, took my mobile phone and place it carefully in the middle of the front garden before driving off without it in a direction I've never driven before with a buttered slice of toast precariously placed on the dash board.

Still no news.

We did go to a play last night in "The Complex" in Smithfield, a NAMA property rescued by Complex Productions limited, it's basically a big shed with white cardboard walls dividing it up into rooms, and proves too that creative people don't need money (except for the poetry bus - go fund it!!). The play was called Iron, and was set within the bounds of an Irish prison, where Josie arrives to meet her mother after they've been separated by 16 years of her mother's incarceration for murdering her dad. We watch them getting to know each other again through the visits, and get an insight into the realities of prison life. There is some brilliant acting throughout and really great writing too. The whole thing lasted 3 hours but felt a lot shorter. It was perfectly set in the cold cement pillars and stone work of the venue as well. It finishes up tonight, and I can heartily endorse the idea of your attending, if the mood so takes you...