#Seán Street

[queer-book-character-tournament]

#Kiem Tegnar #Winter's Orbit #everina maxwell #Rosethorn #Circle of Magic #Street Magic #Will of the Empress #Melting Stones #tamora pierce #Tara Jones #Heartstopper #alice oseman #Seán MacIntyre #The Heart's Invisible Furies #John Boyne #polls #lgbt books

[aiteanngaelach]

the little guys in my head ❤

#seán harker what is wrong with you #also the country i made up that juts out to the side of Real Life Kerry because i hate writing things set in real places because i get #stressed that ill get something wrong and someone from galway will come kill me for saying a shop is on one side of the street when its #actually on the other #cronmariv is the name of the county btw but of course thats an angliscisation #of crann marbh ;)

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1972 – Éamon ‘Ned’ Broy, agent for Michael Collins, and later Commissioner of the Garda Síochána, passed away.

During the Irish War of Independence, Ned Broy was a double agent within the Dublin Metropolitan Police (DMP), with the rank of Detective Sergeant. He worked as a clerk inside G Division, the intelligence branch of the DMP. While there he copied sensitive files for Michael Collins. On 7 April 1919, Broy smuggled Collins into G Division’s archives in Great Brunswick Street (now Pearse Street),…

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#&039;G&039; Division #An Garda Síochána #Éamon De Valera #Co. Kildare #Coolegagen cemetery #Cumann na nGaedheal #Dublin #Dublin Metropolitan Police #Fianna Fáil #Great Brunswick Street #Ireland #Irish Civil War #Irish War of Independence #Michael Collins #Ned Broy #Pearse Street #Rathangan #Seán Nunan #Stephen Rea

[davidsankey]

The Peeler and the Playwright by National Library of Ireland on The Commons Via Flickr: Probably one of the world's greatest playwrights, Sean O'Casey, standing on Drury Street Lane in London with a policeman. Given Casey's well known socialist leanings, was he getting marching instructions, or was he having a chat with an expatriate Irishman? Photographers: Keystone View Company photographer Date: Circa 1926 Friday 5th (Most Likely) or Saturday 6th March 1926 NLI Ref: NPA SOC You can also view this image, and many thousands of others, on the NLI’s catalogue at catalogue.nli.ie

#Ireland #National Library of Ireland #Sean O'Casey #Playwright. Drury Street #London #Policeman #Juno and the Paycock #Fortune Theatre #Keystone Viewing #posters #1926 #Seán O'Casey #Bobby #Date Established #Location Identified #flickr

[weepingwidar]

Alex Foxton (British, 1980) - Berwick Street (Seán) (2023)

#alex foxton #art #painting

[weirdmixofweirdness]

Seán really should have thought more before he joked about marital murder. It’s a reality for many women to fear being abused or killed in a relationship situation or just when they’re walking down the street. And his friends there should hold him accountable! He needs to use his head before he becomes another white man who says horrible shit on his podcast all the time.

#jacksepticeye #brain leak #brain leak podcast #tw mention of murder #tw mention of abuse #just found out about this & I am beyond disappointed! #so close to never watching him again #but I feel like he just needs to be informed #then maybe he’ll realize how messed up his statement was

[noxexistant]

how unhinged have you made crutchie's past

who, meeeeee?

<- (full of innocence) (lying)

okay, so—

as much as i love crutchie having survived polio (and matthew’s apparent backstory that crutchie was injured in a trolley accident, leaving him disabled), i lean to him having cerebral palsy. specifically spastic hemiplegia - which is caused by brain/nerve damage, particularly before during or immediately after birth, and affects one side of the body with spasticity. it’s more common for the arm to be affected, but as it affects a whole side it’s fully possible to affect a leg in addition to or in worse severity. and it can also be caused by traumatic brain injuries, so it’s entirely possible for it to tie in with matthew’s trolley accident backstory.

so. crutchie was born disabled - to some degree - and was already unwanted, so he was soon abandoned on the steps of a manhattan church, newborn but too small even for that. he had no note or trinket or anything, just an old shirt wrapped around him to make something of a blanket, but seán was stitched into the collar of the shirt, so the nuns decided he at least had a name. crutchie frequently wonders if the name had been his father’s, or perhaps his mother’s father’s, but he’d soon stopped caring. seán wasn’t his name, and he didn’t wear it for long - as he got old enough for his disability to become apparent, the nuns began to call him claudius, a play on the latin claudus, meaning crippled. some might’ve been offended - and maybe crutchie was, for a little while, if only for being forced to face once again all that made him different - but the nuns weren’t being unkind, crutchie believes. he is crippled. they were just right. nothing wrong with telling the truth, especially not with making a joke out of it.

over time, claudius became claude, then carl or “col” to the boys who couldn’t get their tongue around it - which was plenty. they’d all been abandoned to the streets and churches for reasons, after all. some pulled “charlie” out of thin air, apparently deciding it was close enough. some called him “casey”. crutchie learnt to walk with makeshift canes made from sticks of discarded wood, then with real canes which were lost or donated but never the right height, and finally he got his crutch - one of the nuns had a nurse friend, and she’d gifted one of the old ones from the hospital upon finding out about claude.

some time around age eleven or twelve, crutchie met jack kelly for the first time, when they were both selling papes on the street, both by themselves. jack was still francis then, francis sullivan, but he scowled around the name as he said it, in a way crutchie recognised and understood. jack asked what crutchie’s name was then, and crutchie thought about it.

“what, ain’t you sure?” jack’d teased. “y’ain’t decided yet?”

crutchie hadn’t. he had plenty to pick from, and he liked claude the most, but he didn’t like that the joke was lost on most people. he likes the joke - the sort of joke that’s just saying the truth like a bullet to the chest. crutchie’s always found those sorts of jokes the funniest. they’re the types the nuns always told.

so, “crutchie,” he’d said, and jack had burst into startled laughter in a way nobody had ever done to claude.

“that’s good, that’s real good,” he’d said sincerely, still grinning, a little breathless from his laughter. “y’know, i gots a friend called ‘blink’.”

“‘s he blind?” crutchie asked eagerly.

jack grinned wider. “half,” he clarified, and put a palm over one eye like a patch. crutchie laughed.

“you should come meet him,” jack’d said. “meet everyone. there’s a few of us. i gots myself a li’l gang, people says. we lives in the lodging house. the one fer newsies, y’know?”

crutchie did know. he’d seen the place before, but always doubted he’d have much place there. he don’t seem to have much place anywhere, hardly even in the church, and didn’t have much to ever do beside selling papes out on the street by himself, spending his nights listening to the nuns talk about god ‘cause they’re the only ones ever willing to speak to him. but jack was grinning, bouncing impatiently on his heels, and he sure looked like he wanted crutchie to come. kind of looked like he wasn’t gonna take no for an answer.

so, crutchie’d gone. and though he’d gone back home to the church that night, it was only a few weeks later he was moving into the lodging house, and only a few days after that he and jack were hauling themselves up to the roof to make a penthouse.

and crutchie’s never since hesitated to introduce himself with a grin. he’s crutchie.

(but you can call him claude, so long as you know the joke.)

#answered #justgotword #newsies #uksies #crutchie morris #jack kelly #my writing #my headcanons

[bonjourxrenae]

🇮🇪 🇵🇱 IREPOL FANFIC ARCHIVE 🍀 👑

Scéalta le Casadh by bonjourxrenae (@bonjourxrenae)

A historical one-shot about their first meeting - what starts as humble research becomes a quiet whirlwind romance:

Doctor O’Connor figured the best way to learn more about a nation was to glean that information from another nation. It had been the only reason Ireland came to Warsaw: to interview Poland, gather information, and help edit the manuscripts. In truth, he had become enchanted by the land during the few months he had stayed in Warsaw. The people were kind and devout, the kind of people Ireland felt warmest around. He had brought his flageolet and played for the children on the streets. The food and the folk dances comforted him, sunrises and sunsets were clear, and the reflection of the moon on the waters of the rivers and lakes had all but taken him under. He had become enamored. He understood what the doctor meant. He had to know more.

M’fhíorghrá / My true love by Felicja_Julieanne (@felicja-j)

A soft one-shot, wherein the two have other plans that don't involve staying at the UN formal:

“You’ve talked with your boss already, right?” “Yeah, but he ditched me the first occasion he had. Why?” Ireland smiles at him. “In that case, he knows you’re here. No one said we have to stay til the very end.” He pulls Poland a little closer, and lets himself rest his head against Poland’s hair. No one is looking in their direction anyway. “How about you run away with me, love?”

Of Irish coffee and milk tea by Felicja_Julieanne (@felicja-j)

A collection of drabbles, ranging from soft and domestic, to angst with character death.

A Game of Guinness Telephone by Husaria (@lithuanias)

Meet-cute Human AU one-shot, in which a stranger buys Ireland a pint at the pub... then promptly leaves before he can get a word in:

Alfred returned with another Guinness. Seán blinked. “Thanks, but I’m not even done—” “Oh, I know,” said Alfred. “This is from—” He gestured towards an empty barstool at the end of the car. “—he just left.” Seán swiveled around to look at the front door. “Who left?” “Some guy. He ordered you a Guinness. I…I thought he wanted to talk to you.” “Who was he?” “Beats me,” said Alfred. “First, he asked if we carried…a…I can’t even pronounce it and then just ordered a Guinness. I think we carry the beer he mentioned…Do we—?” Seán sipped his stout. “Did you get a name?” “Nope. Had an accent. I think he was Polish.” “What’d he look like?” “A bit shorter than you. Blond. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. Oh, and he had a white cat with him.”

The Seal Lord by bonjourxrenae (@bonjourxrenae)

Fantasy AU multi, featuring Ireland as a selkie and Poland as the young dignitary who accidentally summons him:

It was hard to say how much time had passed, or how many tears he’d wept. Get it together, he told himself, slapping his cheeks until his senses returned. Feliks breathed in the salty air, filled his lungs with the chill so deep it almost hurt. While he had the time, he listened to the hush of the waves against the shore, the cry of the gulls overhead… The airy sound of a tin whistle playing close by… Feliks turned toward the sound. In the haze of sundown, he saw him: a tall man with copper red hair bent over a stone, his feet buried in the sand. He was soaked to the bone, dressed in nothing but what appeared to be a large fur skin, glossy from the salt water. As he played, his thin fingers fluttered over the sound holes, trilling every other note. It was a song Feliks did not recognize, yet felt drawn to all the same. As he approached, the sand shuffled noisily beneath his shoes. The strange man drew away from the flute and looked over his shoulder at Feliks, a boyish smile curled on his lips. “Ah, so you’re the one what called for me.”

Sleepless by Felicja_Julieanne (@felicja-j)

A deeply emotional Human AU, in which Feliks realizes he's asexual and comes out to his partner:

Seán walks up to him, and sits on the other side of the windowsill seat. The moonlight shining on his face makes him seem more pale than usual, but it accents all the right angles, and seems to highlight all his freckles. Feliks almost wants to ask to paint him like this. Maybe another night. “Are you okay?” “Yeah,” Feliks answers. Too quick, he then realizes. “I just, uhm. Can’t sleep, I guess.” Seán raises his brows, and smiles. “And my guess, is that you’re lying.” Feliks feels his breath catch in his throat. “Y’know… whatever it is, you can tell me.” “There’s not-,” his first instinct is to defend himself, but then… he doesn’t. Avoiding this conversation has been draining him mentally. As much as Feliks is terrified to bring it up, he wants to talk to someone. He needs to. “I’ve- … It’s been a weird couple of weeks, I guess.” “Is everything okay?” Seán asks with concern. He leans forward, his hand on Feliks’s leg. He smiles with reassurance, but Feliks sees something else in his eyes. He must be worried, and Feliks doesn’t exactly blame him. He’s been way too distant lately. No wonder Seán knows something is going on. Feliks is terrible at hiding things. He turns to the window, resting his forehead against the cold glass, and closes his eyes for a moment.  “No, it’s not.”

#Hetalia #HWS: Ireland #HWS: Poland #Irepol #fic recs #I still love em tbh #back in 2018-2019 me and two others went INSANE about these two and I'm here to make it everyone's problem #:)

[winterwrites23]

Callum being Xenophobic against the Irish despite being 1 ⁄ 2 Irish himself be like: I am SMOART.

---------

Callum explaining to Seán why he doesn't trust him in that one scene be like: Not to be rude or anything, but Irish people suckkkkkk.

---------

The majority of Ireland and N. Ireland's arguments in a nutshell:

N. Ireland: How do you know what's good for me?!

Ireland: That's my OPINION!!!

N. Ireland: *Silence.*

Ireland: *Silence.*

Scotland, England or Wales: *Silence.*

---------

Kendrick 24/7: Oh hi, thanks for checking in, I'm still a piece of garbage 🎶

---------

Seán: AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!! AAAHHH! AAH!

Captain Johnson/Jeremiah or whatever his name was: Why are you running?! Why are you running?!

---------

Ireland: I should've left you on that street corner where you were standing.

Seán: But you didn't.

---------

If Seán was actually able to fully rage on Malcolm:

Seán: WTF MALCOLM! NO, WHAT DID YOU SAY DUDE! STEP TF UP DUDE! STEP TF UP MALCOLM!

---------

The story in a nutshell xD

#omg I thought I already answered the ask lol #and chef kiss for all those vine references 👌👌👌 #you're speaking my language xD #sot incorrect quotes #hetalia

[cosmicyam]

as a fenian, I can fully imagine a universe where the gang are all irish and fit into certain archetypes of modern irish society. walk w/ me here:

Dennis: Went to one of the “fancy” all-boys schools - a st.pats college probs. Maybe even something like gonzaga. Has a south dublin accent. Did a joint honours of psychology and - honestly? - food science i’d say. Used to wear polos and boat shoes every day, before he got closer w/ Mac and Charlie. ‘Happens’ to be in the pub when college night outs are happeneing so he can chat up girls.  Irish Names: Connor/Jack/Ryan (which i realise would make him ryan reynolds but move past it)

Dee: Went to loreto. Did psychology at Trinners. Used to constantly speak with an exaggerated D4 accent but now only uses it in certain schemes. Clings to her stuff she got in Brown Thomas on Grafton Street when she was a teenager. Says “ah here”. Claims girls are too much drama. Refuses to vape, only smokes cigs. Irish Names: Niamh/Orla/Caoimhe 

Mac: Roadman definitely. Went to a Christian Brothers school along with Charlie. Puts on fake northsider accent but it’s really more neutral since his da’s from Sligo. Wears northsider fully black/grey fits. Pretends he likes vaping more than he actually does. Tells ppl he carries a shank around (doesn’t). Once clicked on a link saying he’d won a trip to Tenerife and got his facebook hacked. Irish Names: Finn (not fionn, finn), Johno, Danny 

Charlie: Went to Christian Brothers with Mac. Got constantly in trouble at school for his shoes being wrong, his jumper being too tatty, not tucking in his shirt etc. Hangs around the ramparts looking for interesting trinkets and accidently got poked w/ a syringe in the process. Went swimming in a pothole once. Vapes. Does boyracing with Mac and Dennis in the empty supervalu carpark at night. Lives in one of those shabby Dublin flats that were built a bit too fast to be safe to live in. Irish Names: Oisín/Seán/Cillian 

i’ll edit this later to include frank but i need some help thinking of his irish archetype so constructive advice would be welcomed

#iasip #the gang gets propah leeethal #always sunny #did this instead of actual creative writing #or instead of just going to bed

[tommyssupercoolblog]

the other night true story i asked Seán if because splatoon characters like change colour when they get diff ink if they. if their c. if their cum would also be that colour. and he was just like "go to sleep" (lovingly just exasperated. could tell he thought it was a little funny though)

anyway drawing that aquarium thing made me think of it. ink isn't cum but like they could be connected in colour?? we wouldn't know because we're not squid or octolings. does their blood change colour too??? if you got ACTUALLY injured instead of just splashed paint on during a turf war would anyone be able to tell amist the ink?? would you have to be washing up after and realize your ink colour is gushing out of a spot on your arm?????? what about water what happens to water when it enters their body. How can you ever be sure that something's ink and not some other organic squid/octo liquid. would you go by texture??? is it all the same??? WAIT IS IT INK INSTEAD OF BLOOD AND INSTEAD OF WATER AND INSTEAD OF CUM???? how you know if someone was injured, or in a turf war, or if they just got busy. how could you ever be sure. is the ink on the levels in alternia really ink or is it the blood of past subjects who failed. was that mural on the street really painted with paint??? do you trust yourself to know????? are your senses not to be trusted????? DO PEOPLE PREFER TO BE/HAVE CERAIN COLORS IN THEIR SYSTEM WHEN THEY GO TO FUNKY TOWN??????

#i made a textpost #nsft #theory #im confused #shitpost #well not a shitpost i am serious but like. it has the energy of one in that it'll make some people disturbed #BUT LIKE IT'S A GOOD QUESTION

[black-order-prototypes]

_______________________________________

....

.....

it was a lovely home...

...

...

I never figured out who caused this whole situation...

Neither did I...

I ran to this place just to escape...but I came too late to rescue it...

And you were gone...

...

It was just luck...

They were the best that I ever asked...

They were my second family...yea

*footsteps along the street*

...

...

...

It still intact...

Better than nothing, right ?

Is that rust or...?

It blood.

Huh?

What?

This is the worst time to say this, but something happened while you were gone, Seán and it is something that I have been holding back for the longest time...

*sigh*

Maybe someday I will tell the tale...

Don't worry about it right now...

...

...

...

Did you guys smell something...?

Something is burning

Look!

Oh no, what is happening right now!

Ended recording !

recording ended: ♡

#dgm/excorist au! irish lads #[ woah. hello . hi! um yea...3 months of silence and it about the infamous pirate anime brainrot... #-yea. practically op is taking over and it have caused a bit of backlogs on this story. my air quote famous saying. im losing interest...- #and my brainrot on the lads is also dying out. but sometimes that shit just happens but i will always love them even though crap happened] #[ just imagine the blood being there as a sign of fresh paint...it just imaginary blood in ♤s mind] #[ somewhat spoilers for chpt9 but it a teaser ig]

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1948 – Death of Gearóid O’Sullivan. He had the honour of raising the Tricolour over the GPO as fighting raged the streets of Dublin during the 1916 Easter Rising.

Gearóid O’Sullivan, then 25, was the youngest IRB officer fighting in the GPO (three months younger than his cousin Michael Collins). He had been personally chosen by leader Seán Mac Diarmada to serve as his aide-de-camp. He was an Irish teacher, Irish language scholar, army officer, barrister and Sinn Féin and Fine Gael politician. Following the Rising, he was interned in Frongoch in Wales with…

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#1916 Easter Rising #26 March #Aide-de-camp #Army Officer #Barrister #Dublin #Gearóid O&039;Sullivan #GPO #IRB #Irish language scholar #Michael Collins #Séan Mac Diarmada #TD #Teacher

[ashtrayfloors]

The Oratory of St James’s Cemetery in Liverpool has no windows along the whole length of its outer walls. Only a long rectangular skylight, its leaded panes half-mossed over, lets the winter sun reach down and touch the white marble statues staring blankly inside. A mortuary chapel, but long closed up, its coffered ceiling and tall, carved columns are mostly in shadow. Years ago, as the great homes of the city were pulled down stone by stone, the monuments of proud families (monuments of terracotta and marble and bronze) were hoisted here and locked away, and so the wealth of the city — wrenched from far-off lands and furnished from blood — was hidden, and so forgotten.

And as the years went by, other things were hidden, too. Some (like the terraced slums of the poor and their wash-houses) were razed, others (the orphanages and workhouses, the asylums and homes for the destitute) were emptied one by one, turned by sharp-suited businessmen into flats or bars or restaurants, where the names of the dead, engraved in plaques on newly pointed walls, were the climbing holds of a city once again dragging itself up out of its own grave. And so the churches and crypts were closed, and the docks shut down, and the shackles shipped and left on other shores, and the subterranean tunnels and the catacombs were filled in with stones, and the quarry was planted with oaks and with sycamores and with the bodies of the dead. And it was in this way that the ghosts of the city were parcelled off, ushered from the streets into derelict buildings, made to stand in exhibition cases, hurried into the pages of books and diaries, and folded away. For, after all, ghosts can only live in the darkness; and once the dark places are closed up, their cast-iron locks bolted fast, it is easy for those who do not live with them to pretend that ghosts do not exist at all.

—Seán Hewitt, from All Down Darkness Wide: A Memoir

#quotations #sean hewitt #all down darkness wide #recently read #ghosts #liverpool #yeah this book wrecked me

[weepingwidar]

Alex Foxton (British, 1980) - Phoenix Street (Seán) (2023)

#alex foxton

[alexwlchan]

Operation Cornleyed Beef: A Screwed Musical

After the family of Willie Watkins arrange a snap Broadway transfer for Operation Mincemeat, the Fortune Theatre is left scrambling to fill some star-studded shoes. With the original cast and covers heading stateside, who would play our iconic heroes?

Luckily, Seán knew a troupe who were always looking for work – the Cornley Drama Society, with whom he’d performed briefly before being expelled on the grounds of excessive competence. He gave them a call, and what luck! They were available immediately.

And so a week of intense rehearsals begins…

(The idea of Mincemeat staged by Mischief characters was put into my head last night and it’s so fun; thanks to everyone in the Mincefluencers Discord for egging me on. More ideas likely to follow!)

—

“So we need to start casting”, said Chris, speaking loudly enough to be heard on the next street. (And yet still unheard by half the cast in the room.)

“The first protagonist is Montagu, a suave, handsome, intelligent naval officer. Naturally I will be playi–”

“Hold on”, exclaimed Robert. “How come you get the lead role?”

“And the next lead character”, Chris continued, speaking just a little louder, “is Charles, the lolloping sidekick who has a single good idea in the entire play. Robert, you wanted to have a lead part, here you go.”

(One critic described their performance as “more antagonistic than with the original cast”. A second called it “a war crime”. Other critics were less kind.)

—-

“Next we need to cast the women, Jean and Hester. Jean is the plucky young tea girl who gets her hands dirty in the mission, and sings about how women should take men’s jobs. Sandra, you will be playi–”

Sandra burst into a big smile, imagining how Jean would steal the show, lost in a world and not listening to what Chris said next.

“–while Hester is the uptight, stuffy matriarch of the MI5 office, who will be played by Vanessa–”

whose face dropped visibly at this description

“–and who gets one of the most moving numbers of the play, ‘Dear Bill’.”

Vanessa’s smile picked up at this news, while Sandra scowled at the thought of being upstaged.

(Vanessa’s rendition of “Dear Bill” would never reach the solemn heights of the original cast, a reflection more on Robert and Sandra trying to overshadow her than her own performing ability.)

—-

“Next, we need to cast Spilsbury, a bombastic and enthusiastic mortician. Max is the obvious choice.”

Max beamed, just delighted to be included.

(This casting choice would cause some consternation for Chris on opening night – Spilsbury always entered to rapturous applause, causing Max to burst into a big smile, leave the stage, and enter again. Three times. One reviewer called it the highlight of his night. Another said that Max had “perfectly captured Spilsbury’s energy”.)

“You’ll also be playing Willie Watkins, an American pilot crashes in Spain – make sure you practice your American accent.”

(Max produced a number of accents with great enthusiasm, even if none of them were American.)

—-

“Moving down the list… Fleming will be played by Jonathan. We’ll need some gadgets for him, can you arrange that Trev–”

“I can do it!” exclaimed Robert, before Trevor could open his mouth.

“Wonderful,” said Chris, in a tone that implied Robert was anything but.

(Quite how Robert acquired a real exploding watch from the dark web remains a mystery, to both Chris and the West Midlands police. Unfortunately for Cornley, it exploded in Jonathan’s face five minutes before curtain up, and he had to be rushed to A&E – via the stage of “NHS The Musical” playing in the next theatre.)

(Trevor was sent on to read Fleming’s lines, which he did so in a completely deadpan tone. “And then he snogs a sexy lady with full tongue” killed the mood in the theatre, as well as the three dates happening in the front row. One reviewer would later compliment the juxtaposition of exuberant music with the flat delivery as the only thing he liked.)

(“At this performance, due to a technical issue in the props department, the role of Fleming will be played by Trevor. Now there’s a combination you don't have on your bingo sheets!” Chris pretended to laugh at this ‘joke’, with the laugh of a man who has complete disdain for all he addresses.)

—-

“Annie, you’ll be playing Bevan, the stern senior officer who chastises Monty when the plan goes awry.”

Annie let out a wordless acceptance, too scared to speak aloud when Chris was in the room.

(This same lack of confidence carried into the performance, which rather undercut Bevan’s sense of authority.)

—-

Dennis was the last cast member to be given a role, and Chris found several small, mostly non-speaking parts. Finally, something Dennis couldn’t turn into a disaster!

(Oh, the optimism. Dennis had a line in the opening number, written on his hands an aid Memoire. Unfortunately he didn’t write down the order, so he came out with “I do love it when … me … want to kiss the … ladies.” Vanessa looked even more mortified than usual.)

(During the second act opener, Dennis put his hands up, and kept putting them back up. Several other cast on stage were considering acts of violence, and not just in the lyrical sense.)

#operation mincemeat #the play that goes wrong