Cephalonia (Part I)

Firstly, I must apologise for my recent absence. The past month has been one huge blur of airports, motorways and trains. However I am finally back in one place for more than 5 seconds so, without further ado, let me walk you through my September adventures.

Being an English and Classics student, you would expect me to live and breathe Greece. I should have a detailed knowledge of every historical village, authentic Greek restaurant and unknown little cove. Shamefully, until a few weeks ago I had only been to Greece twice, once on a school trip and once when I was about 5 months old. However, this year my parents decided to steal my brother and I away from work and friends and spend a week together on the beautiful Greek island of Cephalonia.
      

The island is situated in the Ionian sea, just across the water from Ithaca, famed kingdom of Homer's Odysseus. There are thousands of debates about whether or not Odysseus and his men inhabited these isles, but when driving along the winding mountainside road you can certainly understand how these myths came to be. The coast is nothing short of stunning. Streams of sunlight beam down through wisps of cloud and reflect off the azure sea like something from a painting. It's easy to see why the ancient Greeks thought Zeus and the Olympian gods called this sky home.

We arrived at our villa, just outside of the buzzing port town of Fiskardo, and were met with the view of all views over the gulf. Tall cyprus trees sprawl over the hills leading down to many little coves with plush yachts swinging lazily about their anchors in the clear waters. Ithaca sits proudly in the distance and the only noises to be heard are the trees rustling and the pool water lapping across its infinity edge. The rain and stress of England could not seem further away.

Fiskardo is a lovely little town. I would highly recommend it for families; its cobbled squares, sleepy markets and traditional Greek restaurants give it that picturesque Mediterranean feel, whilst the bars provide a buzz which is perfect for teenagers and adults alike. Boats of all shapes and sizes cluster along the dock which leads straight onto the main strip, restaurant tables rubbing shoulders with ropes and sails. Having spent most of my teen summer holidays sailing around the Med, I adored this intimacy between land and sea.

There is an abundance of restaurants in Fiskardo to choose from, each with their own style and quirks. As you stroll down the strip, you pass sweet gingham tablecloths, lanterns hanging from ropes, winding flowers and wicker sofas. It all gives the town an eclectic and unique feel, far from the commercial and manufactured vibe of some of the bigger resort towns.

Be sure to try out some of these restaurants. Greek food is seriously delicious and I'm pretty sure I ate my weight in tzatsiki over the course of the week. Most of the restaurants specialise in traditional Greek food so I would recommend ordering a selection of starters to share before your main to make the most of all those yummy flavours. The fried aubergines at Roula's Grill House are simply dreamy, drizzled liberally with olive oil and balsamic glaze, while the fried cheese (that's right) at Vasso's was artery-blockingly good (holiday calories don't count, you know?). Even better, all the restaurants we visited gave us complimentary puddings featuring hard-to-resist treats such as panna cotta, walnut cake and pineapple flan.

 

Food isn't the only thing worth hopping on the plane for. As much as I adore melting into a sun lounger with a good book and copious amounts of olives, I couldn't ignore the itch that only cultural family activities could scratch. With this becoming overwhelming, we all piled into the car and headed over to the Mellisani underground lake, formed 20,000 to 16,000 years ago. The roof of this cavern collapsed 5000 years ago, and thank Zeus it did! The sun beams through the gap, illuminating the crystal clear water beneath to create a beautiful glowing blue. Tour guides (who remain jolly despite the semi-funny jokes they've clearly been repeating all summer) take you through the cave in little row boats, allowing you to see the glowing water and streaming sunlight from all angles. As well as the aesthetic beauty, the place is very historically interesting. The lake is named after the nymph thought to have inhabited it in mythical times. While the nymph part is (probably) false, explorers found evidence of ancient life in the cave, with wall paintings and even a miniature statue of the god Pan discovered in the second cavern. This second cavern also features huge stalactites which are 10,000 years old, only growing 1 cm every 100 years! Considering their size, that's pretty impressive.

After our caving expedition we decided it was too hot to sit in the car for the 45 minutes back to the villa. Fortunately, only a 15 minute drive from the cave is Myrtos beach. We'd heard a lot about the view of this beach, but didn't expect it to be quite so idyllic. A strip of bright white sand tucks into the nook of the cove and in front of it, stretching far out into the ocean, is a colour wheel of blue. White foam blends into azure which blends into turquoise which blends into sky blue which blends into deep navy. I took about a million snaps of this but none of them seemed to capture the magnificence of the sight. Here's a pretty impressive one nonetheless:

According to the guide books, however, this is where the beauty stops. They all seem to be fairly dismissive of the beach itself, claiming that what looks like sand is actually stone and that it is too crowded. We felt that we simply had to take a dip in sea this blue so descended the winding road regardless. Arriving at the bottom, I felt the guide books had been a little unfair. The beach is in fact mostly sandy, with only a few stony strips. The sun beds make it look a little more commercial than the other comparatively minuscule and picturesque beaches on the island, but it is by no means overcrowded or unpleasant, and burying your feet in the hot sand makes a nice change from hobbling over giant rocks.

The guide books also recommend visiting in the morning as the sea becomes 'dangerously rough' in the afternoon. Do I smell a challenge? As weathered sailors (kind of..), my brother and I dismissively waved away this warning and, donning our snorkelling masks, headed out to battle. Taking our positions in the treacherous wave breaking territory, we braced ourselves for the watery onslaught. This may not be everyone's idea of fun, but the irrepressible child in me simply couldn't resist. Yes, the waves are pretty strong, throwing you around with little grace or elegance, but the pain is overridden by the hilarity of seeing your 22 year old brother face deep in the sea bed. Before being swept off your feet and plunged into it yourself, that is.

If you possess a little more maturity then all you have to do is time it right, dive through a big wave and you'll find yourself in the much more peaceful water beyond. Even close up the sea is swimming pool blue, although this is because of the soluble chalk which makes up much of the coast, therefore it is not clear. However this makes little difference when you are floating on your back, being gently rocked by the undulating swells and feeling the heat of the Greek sun on your eyelids.

Anyone fancy an autumn mini break?

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Notting Hill Carnival

One of my favourite people finally returned from bathing herself in the sun and culture of South East Asia last week and we decided that we would celebrate her return in style. Caribbean style that is. If you haven't heard of Notting Hill Carnival, eyes and ears this way please. The 2 day extravaganza has been hitting the streets of Notting Hill in London every August bank holiday weekend since 1966. Carnival's roots originate from the traditional Caribbean carnivals of the early 19th century which celebrated the abolition of slavery. Steel bands, Soca and Calypso music powered the Carnival in its early years, but now it is a melting pot (ahem) of musical genres and tastes- you want R&B? Reggae? Funk, Breaks, House or maybe some Drum and Bass? Whatever your taste you will find it here my friend. Grab a group of chums and follow the smell of jerk chicken, flurry of colourful feathers and pounding beats and you will find yourself smack bang in one of the funnest free street festivals of the year.

The English sun has been doing a really standup performance this summer and luckily it decided to continue its winning streak and hit us with its best attempt at tropical rays. I downloaded the Notting Hill Carnival App before I went which helped us navigate through the swarming crowds to the various stages. I would recommend downloading this for next year as the phone networks are totally jammed over the carnival and you'll be lucky to find much internet!

The first day is the family and children's day when the main parades take place and there is a more age friendly vibe. The second day is when the big DJs set up their decks and everyone gets down to some serious partying. I sadly missed the first day due to commitments back home, but Moni and I poured out some G&T's early on Monday morning, gathered the troops and headed over to Notting Hill.

The walk to the stages was an experience in itself. There is an incredible atmosphere; groups of friends laugh, screech, sing and jig together through the streets swigging rum and munching on BBQed Caribbean goodies. Work, worries and bad weather have no place here and its hard not to be caught up in the buzz and frenzy around you. One of Carnival's biggest pluses is that it's totally free. No tickets or entry fee, all you pay for is travel and any extra food or drink that takes your fancy. The police presence is heavy, but they were helpful and friendly, there to guide crowds and prevent any violence from threatening the fun; they won't bat an eyelid at you bringing your own food or drink to keep costs down, for example! This gem of a YouTube clip may represent them better than I can:

All stages are open to anyone so you can get shaking that thang to some reggae at the High Grade Soundsystem, before jigging over to the Sancho Panza Soundsystem for some house beats, or get your inner Latino on with some Latin and Salsa at the Latin Rave Street Jam. With over 30 stages, there is something for every group and every mood.

We joined the huge crowd around the Digital Soundboy stage, where we saw killer performances from Shy FX, Chase and Status and Ms Dynamite, to name but a few. The music blasted through the street, going crazy with people dancing and spotting friends in the crowd. The beauty of Carnival is that you seem to bump into people you know on every street corner, although trying to intentionally meet up with someone during the day is nigh on impossible- part of the Carnival magic, I suppose.

My advice would be to organise all your friends to meet before heading over to ensure you spend at least a bit of time partying with them before the crowd swallows you. Don't stress about trying to see everyone you know- Carnival is all about the music and the anything goes vibe, so lap it up and enjoy it while you can. Also remember to take water with you- all that sun, rum and dancing can dehydrate you quickly!

However my ultimate advice would be to go at all costs. Two days of sun drenched madness in the streets of Notting Hill will transport you straight to the tropical heart of Jamaica at the price of a train ticket and a bottle or two of your favourite beverage. Pretty good for an English bank holiday weekend if you ask me.

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Terre à Terre

As my last post was ever so slightly tailored towards the meat lovers, I thought I'd charge off on a completely different tack, put my carnivorous side on the back burner and see what the world of vegetarianism has to offer- all in the name of research, of course. For awhile my wonderful mother and I have been eyeing up Terre à Terre, the South Lanes dwelling vegetarian restaurant, much loved by friends of ours, so we decided that the summer sales provided the perfect excuse for us to head into Brighton and get our veggie juices flowing.

Located on East Street, Terre à Terre is positioned within the swanky South Lanes shopping district and is a mere pebble's throw away from the beach. On entry, Terre à Terre has a bit of a Bill's vibe with their own veggie produce lining the walls. I've always been a fan of this farmhouse, homegrown, take-away-some-of-the-magic approach to restaurant food so was instantly pleased.

For the occasion I whacked out a new hat and an old dress; a loose fitting dress, thank god, in preparation for the feast that was to come.

As it was a beautiful sunny day, Mum and I sat on a table on the quaint outside terrace and got down to business expecting the menu. An absolute blinder of a menu, the choice was really overwhelming. Everything looked outrageous. Take a look for yourself. I know, right? Who needs meat when you can have something called 'Better Batter Lemony Yemeni Relish'?

As first timers, the waitress recommended the Tapas Plate so we could get an all-round experience of the menu. Ordering large, frosty glasses of Prosecco and a some cheeky deep fried Grana Pedano green olives (stuffed with ricotta, garlic, chives and lemon zest), we settled into drooling over the various vegetarian masterpieces being whisked past us.

Here we encountered my only criticism. Despite there only being a handful of people in the restaurant the service was really quite slow. We gobbled up our (utterly delicious) olives and were left tapping our fingers. However, when the pièce de résistance came out I could understand and forgive the wait. It was nothing short of a work of art:

'Tapas Plate' just doesn't do it justice. Let me walk you through this vegetarian beauty. Right to left, we started with a gorgeous, perfectly seasoned ratatouille with mozzarella, pesto, basil leaves and even more Grana Pedano olives, firm and meaty on the outside with molten pools of garlicky ricotta on the inside. Next came the shot of beetroot soup with sourdough crisp bread. To our surprise, this was Mum and my favourite dish. Don't get me wrong, I like beetroot, but I find it has a mild, delicate flavour which is lovely but doesn't really slap you round the face. This soup, especially when combined with the yoghurt and crisp bread, was to die for and I would happily have lapped up an entire bowl of it. Next up came the deep fried corn cakes with 'chilli chelly jelly', avocado hash, lime mojo and a candied chilli. The sweetness from the jelly and the citrus from the lime and avocado complimented the rich corn cakes beautifully. Then came a little nod to the oriental: a bean sprout and pomegranate salad, sesame hoisin tofu and wasabi cashews. I'm usually not a fan of tofu, my past experiences deeming it rather tasteless and wet, however the sesame and pomegranate flavours lifted it and allowed it to hold it's own amongst the big guns. The plate then shifted its geography from Asia to the Middle East, in the form of a creamy aubergine zhuganoush dip accompanied by crisp flatbreads dusted with a mind blowing array of spices. Lastly we arrived back at a firm favourite of mine, halloumi, this time in a hot beer batter casing and attending the party with quails eggs and a tomato salsa. My suggestion would be to start at this end; halloumi needs to be eaten when hot and it had got a little too chewy by the time we got there, but was still delicious nonetheless.

We also had a side of Truffle chips- chunky chips tossed in grated Grana Padano, truffle oil and parsley with Lemon Garlic Herby Mayonnaise. Truffle oil is one of my favourite things as it is and when combined with fluffy potato, parmesan and garlic mayo, it was like hitting a whole different level of food porn. So. Damn. Good.

Although our savoury stomachs were full to pop, our second 'pudding' stomachs were twitching. We decided to share an old favourite of Mum's, vanilla ice cream with a single shot of espresso and a shot of Amaretto. Unfortunately we got way too excited on its arrival and had already demolished half of it before I remembered to take a picture. Here's a shot of our work in progress:

The sweet booziness of the Amaretto balanced out the strong bitterness from the espresso, while the vanilla ice cream provided a rich, creamy and cooling base. It all melted together to form one big satisfied eye roll. Rather humble compared to other, more exotic options on the menu- I'm looking at you, 'Oolong Has This Been Going On'- it proved its worth and I would highly recommend it. I also ordered a salt caramel truffle on the side to satisfy my salt caramel addiction, which was a little mouthful of heaven.

I love meat as much as the next carnivore, but Terre à Terre certainly gives the animal kingdom a run for its money. Creative, experimental, artistic and delicious, the chefs at Terre à Terre deserve a Turner prize as much as anything else, but they also seriously know flavour. So hang up your steak knives and give veggie a whirl. If anywhere will turn you toward the green side, it's here.

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Le Relais de Venice "L'Entrecote"

Working in The City came as a bit of a shock. I’m a countryside girl born and bred and the pace is a lot slower out among the cows and sheep. My office is in Bank, inhabited by a swarm of stressed businessmen and women on strict time limits. This means that any luxuries, such as eating (gulp), must be easy, convenient and incredibly quick. As a committed foodie, I cherish a menu and will ponder upon each dish with precise analytic consideration so my ultimate decision is worth my taste buds’ time and effort. This did not go down well here- sauntering into Itsu in my first week, the man behind the till almost broke into a cold sweat waiting for me to decide whilst I became increasingly panicked by the crush of suits edging ever closer behind me. The plus side of this need for food on the run means there are a million and one incredibly efficient restaurants and cafes of all different formalities and price ranges literally within a 30 second stroll from the office door, meaning you can treat yourself to a delicious meal without having to invest 2 hours of your day in it.

Seeing as my dad also works here and can be held accountable for my love of food, he conveniently knows all the best restaurants within a mile radius of the office and, also knowing my love of steak, very kindly took me to Le Relais de Venice “l’Entrecote” for slap up steak frites on the fly.

Located in the buzzing heart of Bank, by the time we arrived L’Etrecote was packed full of suited and booted men and women catching up and talking business over plates piled high with steak and salty, yellow mountains of frites. The restaurant has stayed true to its roots and ensured the décor has a quintessentially French brasserie style, echoing its original counterpart in Paris, with painted scenes of Venetian markets on the walls, long lines of closely packed tables adorned with colourful tablecloths and a lot of mirrors and light. L’Entrecote are so dedicated to consistency between their branches that their frites are hand chipped (no pun intended) to the exact same dimensions as those in Paris. The phrase ‘life’s too short’ comes to mind a little over this extravagance (I couldn’t give two hoots whether my chips are identical or not), however it does add a certain specialness to the experience, as if every chip has been painstakingly measured just for your enjoyment. Everyone likes a bit of theatre, after all. They have a strict no booking policy and luckily dad and I chose a time when the queue was very short. The smiling waitresses (all French- another authentic touch) decked out in traditional French waitress uniforms led us promptly to our table, before taking the one order of the meal- How do you like your steak?

As proper meat lovers, dad and I like our steak good and rare. The waitress jotted two little ‘R’s on the paper tablecloth cover and before we knew it the only starter available- a walnut salad with mustard vinaigrette- arrived. This was delicious: fresh, crisp leaves and crunchy walnuts, offset by a deliciously creamy and sharp dressing.

This is promptly followed by the signature dish. The steak (all from a rump cut) was succulent and just about as rare as I like it (haven’t quite ventured to blue yet- next on the list) and you are given a pot of perfect Dijon mustard to smother over your steak. The secret recipe sauce is scrumptious and the chips were the perfect combination of fluffy and crispy without being saturated in that dreaded greasy oil. You are initially presented with half of your steak, while the other half is kept back to keep warm so that you can enjoy it at its best temperature the whole way through. This is the kind of detail I like- it shows a true passion for food, ensuring the customer experiences the full potential of the meat.

After mopping up the sauce, the waitress was at the ready to deliver the second half of our meal in a flourish of silver platters and another mountain of frites and the fun continued. The small plates mean that you feel as if you are being treated to two portions and you don’t suffer that sinking feeling of finishing a delicious plate of food- never fear, another is on its way!

Dad and I were in and out within half an hour and ready to face an afternoon of work. L’Entrecote have branches in Marlybone, The City, Canary Wharf, New York and, of course, Paris. Ever classy, L'Entrecote achieve an elegant French simplicity with no unnecessary pomp, frills or questions- only the one: How do you like your steak?

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Peckham, Pizza and Parking

Peckham wouldn’t immediately spring to mind when thinking of hot, young, alternative spots in London. Step off the train and you are met with dirty streets, fluorescent plastic shop signs which look like they’ve seen better days and a questionable lingering… aroma. My brother and I came to meet some of his friends at a ‘rooftop bar’ just off Peckham high street and admittedly my heart sunk a little when stepping out of the station. Never one to bail on a plan, we soldiered on looking for our intended destination and eventually stumbled upon The Bussey Building. It turns out this wasn’t where we were actually meant to be, but after walking through the alleyway leading to its outside courtyard there was no way I was leaving without exploring. Beautifully detailed black and white graffiti sprawled up the brick walls and the muffled thump of bass drifted through a side gate. The music and street art together screamed Bristol to me and left me itching to get inside.

To my delight, we had managed to hit upon an outdoor street food festival. Pop up food stalls were scattered everywhere serving everything from burritos to oysters. The mix of reggae, soul and world music boomed away as people bustled around, following their noses to their cuisine of choice. Giant letters decorated the brick courtyard and, although I don’t have a clue what they were meant to spell, they added to the fun and quirky vibe of the event. While the boys queued to get some drinks I took a wander and absorbed all the various sights and smells. 

One of my favourite stalls was ‘Van Dough' which, as the name might suggest, had an actual pizza oven… IN A VAN. If that’s not innovative I don’t know what is. Not only does the name of the van fill me with joy, but I would also happily lop off an ear to get my hands on one of their pizzas. Unfortunately, due to the surprise nature of our visit, I had no money on me so had to simply look on and drool as cheesy, meaty, doughy and generally delicious looking pizzas were whisked past me. 

There's no rest for the wicked, however, and we promptly moved onto the second leg of the evening. The boys led me around the corner to a car park- again, heart = sinking. Oh ye of little faith. After trekking up the grotty stairwell, which also featured a questionable lingering aroma, we arrived at the top two levels, which Frank's calls home. I was surprised to see a long queue of people snaking back through the empty parking spaces. Still feeling slightly bemused, I looked to my left and saw what all the fuss was about. From the upper floors of this humble car park in Peckham we had a spectacular view of the London skyline, complete with sunset. Heading on in, the 2 upper floors were dotted with sofas, cafes and other fairly bizarre things you wouldn’t expect to see in a car park, including this very cool moving light display:

The very top level featured even better views than those of two floors below. Here friends gathered around long rows of picnic benches getting steadily more pissed. Deciding this was a fantastic idea, we parked ourselves down while one of the boys went and ordered an enormous round of beers (the bar also had a very British queueing system that earned it top marks in my books). More than anything else, the atmosphere was buzzing, vibrant and relaxed and topped off a lovely evening of pleasant Peckham surprises. Lesson well and truly learnt – don’t judge a book by its cover. Or smell come to that.  

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Tutto Bene, Mamma?

As my post on Moonfleet revealed, I’m a big fan of theatre. I studied drama all through school and absolutely adored it, trying my hand at everything from horror to kitchen sink to farce. Sadly, in the crazy and confusing rush that was the first year of uni, my acting fell by the wayside somewhat and I haven’t quite recovered it since. However, drama is in my blood and I am determined to revive it. As a way of jolting my theatrical juices into motion, I am on the lookout for alternative new theatre to challenge my theatrical limits. I am currently doing an internship in London, meaning I am luckily in the cultural hub of the country, seething with young new talent and the perfect breeding ground for creative minds. While flicking through the paper during my commute (the slightly less creative breeding ground of London), I noticed an article on a new play called ‘Tutto Bene, Mamma?’. Originally written by Gloria Mina and set in Naples, the play has been adapted by April de Angelis and was showing at The Print Room, a converted 1950s graphic design workshop nestled quietly in the heart of Notting Hill. However, the theatre’s quirky history isn’t the interesting part of the tale. ‘Tutto Bene, Mamma?’ is performed completely in the dark. And I mean completely. All windows and doors are blocked off, lights are extinguished, mobile phones strictly forbidden, even glow in the dark watches are banished to the realm of the light. Ushers with night vision goggles (seriously) lead you in groups of 4 to your seats and even the actors are in pitch darkness. Sight is brutally ejected, leaving room for the usually second rate senses to roam free. Shakespeare, with a lexicon that would give the OED a run for its money, used to say that you went to the theatre to hear a play. I reckon Will would have given this concept a reverberating nod of theatrical approval. Who said there’s no room for the old in the new? 

Heading straight from work, Moni and I met at the station and wandered through Notting Hill gawping at the splendour of the town houses and looking out for that famous blue door. We found The Print Room down a wide alley lined with candles in jars and laundry hanging from lines across the ceiling. Slightly bemused at this bizarre spectacle at first, we soon realised this was part of the set. Having no visual aids throughout the actual play, they cleverly begin the experience the moment you step off the street. What better way to portray the grotty urbaneness of downtown Naples than with old socks and camisoles strung between imaginary buildings, as if limply dripping after a good hard scrubbing? Passing through this rustic Naples backstreet, the front of house team thrust cups of beer into our hands- another nice touch which moved away from tradition. A plastic cup of Fosters somehow managed to hold a lot more charm than your bog standard glass of Pinot Grigio. We were then presented with the instructions, outlining the regimented rules required to watch the play. I loved the fact they were so strict. It gave me that excited nervousness you get when you are about to do something dangerous and reckless.  I’m not entirely sure how dangerous and reckless Notting Hill really is, but the feeling was there either way.

The theatre truly was pitch black. It wasn’t even that kind of darkness that your eyes get used to- light in any form was no friend to this space. We clutched onto the person in front of us (a great social ice breaker for us awkward Brits) as we were led to our seats. The stage was in-the-round, meaning wherever you sat you would have a different experience. After a few minutes of nervous giggles and clumsy grabbing of friends, the performance began. 

As soon as the actors began speaking and moving around the stage I realised just how heavily we rely on sight in theatre. It was strange to say the least, as well as unnerving; how was that voice from across the room suddenly standing next to me? Where did that character just go? What time of day is it? There were so many unanswered questions and it was actually a little bit frightening. However, once I let myself relax into it, the performance took a hold on my emotions in a way a play never has before. Having only three characters, a mother, her partner and her child, meant the audience could build an extensive relationship with each one without getting confused. Laura Donnelly, who played the mother, had a softness to her voice, which evoked a caring tenderness. Her tone, however, had an undeniable hint of sadness and combined with the softness conveyed her utter exhaustion, vulnerability and fragility. It’s hard to imagine someone’s voice being heart breaking, but Donnelly’s captured the sympathy of the entire audience. 

Georgia Groome, who played the little boy, pulled off an absolutely stunning performance. For starters I had no idea the actor was not an 8 year old boy, but was in fact a 21 year old girl, until afterwards when I met her at the bar across the road (where, incidentally, I also managed to score a certain male celebrity’s number- no biggie). This shows the power of theatre in the dark- many basic stumbling blocks which prevent theatrical scope and freedom are broken down and allowed to flourish. With the aid of Groome’s voice, the audience were able to conjure an image which they empathised with and responded to the most. For me the little boy took the form of my brother when he was little, mixed vaguely with some other figure of my imagination. For whatever reason, this allowed me to fully connect with the character. His heart wrenching innocence, devotion and desperation brought me to tears on more than one occasion. Without giving too much away, when he spends his food money on bruise cream for his mother is one such occasion. His unconditional love meant he had an almost indomitable hope, which was extremely poignant through the darkness, and made his descent into madness all the more agonizing. Despite the majority of the play basically being one long monologue from the boy, Groome was so completely engaging that I found myself laughing, crying, wincing, clutching to Moni in fear and even retching. 

Few plays have ever made me react so vividly. The darkness allowed my imagination to roam free and create a mental scene which I felt most reflected the voices and their individual plights. Moni and I both left absolutely astounded, agreeing that it was one of the most incredible pieces of theatre we’ve ever experienced. There are inconsistencies, admittedly. The Moped buzzes and low chattering of the Naples backstreets jarred with the mother’s Irish, the child’s English and the partner’s rough London accents. It didn’t quite make sense. The smells of pizza, burnt toast and lavender which wafted across the stage at various points were a genius way of surprising and actualising the audience’s experience, however if we could smell those, how could we not smell the inevitable stench of rotting flesh and squalor? Personally, I liked to view it as experiencing everything through the little boy’s astoundingly positive outlook, where reality and logic took a back seat to hope and love. 

It breaks my heart to say that ‘Tutto Bene, Mamma?’ has now stopped showing, but it really opened my eyes to the possibilities theatre allows. It may sound totally illogical, yet often the things which make little sense can be the most powerful. We are given 5 senses for a reason, so next time you find yourself stumbling across the mundane, try turning down the lights and really experiencing them. 

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