The One Day Of The Year

One of the great benefits of retirement is the accessibility to theatrical performances. No longer am I confined to attending the more popular weekend shows where you run the risk of being allocated seats in the nose bleed section, especially if, like me, you get peeved about having to fork out for tickets 9 months before the event. ( I have a tirade down pat about this but won’t bore you here).

More free time also allows you to experiment with different kinds of performance art at less conventional theatre spaces. This year I’ve already visited three theatres that I didn’t even know existed! It’s been great fun, and you know what? Theatre can be as cheap as chips. No, I’m not getting any Seniors or Pensioner discounts to reduce ticket prices – if you hunt around some of these lesser known venues charge between $20 or $25 for an evening of great entertainment.

Next month Brisbane is hosting its annual Theatre Anywhere Festival, with over 400 performances happening in parks, garden nurseries, on buses, and shopping centre car parks. If you’re local look up Anywhere.Is. Last year I attended a show underground in what used to serve as a water reservoir in colonial days. The building was as interesting as the play.

Next week I am off to the local Community Theatre’s Rehearsal Night (fundraiser) for The One Day Of The Year. Written by Australian lan Seymour in 1958, this was compulsory school curriculum reading. At 14 I hated it. And Chaucer. What sane person didn’t?

Alf’s son Hughie and his girlfriend Jan plan to document Anzac Day for the university newspaper, focusing on the drinking on Anzac Day. For the first time in his life Hughie refuses to attend the dawn service with Alf. When he watches the march on television at home with his mother and Wacka, he is torn between outrage at the display and love for his father

I’ve always enjoyed theatre and once played D’Artgnan in a high school French class production. A friend asked me to join a theatrical group earlier in the year which I declined though I am attending a fortnightly group which includes a local playwright specialising in convict Australia, and an eccentric 80 year old screenwriter for the BBC. We clicked straight away – he carries a torch for Hedy Lamar and my notebooks are covered in photos of you-know-who.

Who has time to work?