I have always thought that things, in life, cannot be forced. If they should happen, they happen. I’m not a person of strong believes, I’m always skeptical and very ironic but I guess that I believe in fate. In something written, pre-established. I am also quite convinced that, should we have the opportunity to turn back time and live again a certain moment, trying to change what happens, it will never change. The result will be the same, maybe different but never the one we intended.
What has all that to do with the subject of the post? “The Crucible” production was announced a few days later I’ve booked a trip to London to visit my dearest friend M., in the weekend of May 2nd. Should I have waited a couple of weeks to prepare that trip I would have planned it differently. I would have organised it for end June and right now I would be one of the happy few (not so few) to have seen Richard’s extraordinary performance. I would have gone probably to a matinee in order not to bother my friend returning home after midnight, and even hubby would have liked to see the play although he would understand more or less 10% of what was said in it. He endured stoically an Othello’s production in English in Rome’s Teatro Valle without sleeping nor snoring and he didn’t even fall asleep on Turandot, and that was definitely a harder test for him.
That was the appropriate moment to see the play.
For my August holidays I had already planned to go to Northumberland to visit Vindolanda, the Roman Army Museum and the forts in Hadrian’s Wall. We had to make that trip last year, but we had to cancel it when we got everything already booked. Frankly speaking, I didn’t give a second thought to “The Crucible” when booking the Northumberland trip for the second year at the beginning of June. I really want to visit Hadrian’s Wall and I am as fond of Richard as I’m of history of the Roman Empire.
Of course, plane, guest house’s reservation in Haltwhistle, and hotel in our way back in Newcastle were made before being conscious of what I was missing. I was sure that “The Crucible” would have been great but not SO great. And here is where the big “ouch” goes; it hurts, it really hurts.
Therefore in a month, when I will be in Northumberland walking the moors, reading the famous Vindolanda letters, admiring the view of the garden in Ashcroft Guest House, eating a chicken and mushroom pie in a Haltwhistle pub, I will feel a small twang of regret, a tiny shadow of nostalgia thinking of the man giving himself to his audience several hundreds of miles south, in the same country, and me not being there watching him.
But, as it seems that Mr. A lives mostly in airports, it would be nice if he passes by Newcastle airport on Sunday August 24th around 3 pm. Just a glance from the distance would be fine for me, I respect too much someone who works as hard as he to disturb him in an airport.
PS. Nevertheless, I have the weird feeling that I won’t go to Northumberland neither this year. Maybe I’m wrong, I also thought this before travelling to Berlin two years ago.