The Whingers are feeling a tad existential today.
Not that they are quite sure what that means. But they are seeing their sad little world as even more devoid of reason and order than usual. Absurd, indeed.
Their relationship with the gods of West End theatre (the critics, producers, artistic directors and more recently Natasha Tripney’s Mother) has always been a bit iffy.
But today they acknowledge that – in the absence of a transcendent force – the Whingers are – as individuals – ultimately responsible for making sense of things.
And hence they are beginning to question – if not their very being – then at least their reason for being.
And it hurts. Read the rest of this entry »