Andrew is on sabbatical but Phil is soldiering on to help you decide between the Merlot and the Marlowe and generally putting London's West End theatre to rights
If Stephen Fry wrote a pantomime it would be just like this.
Yes, it’s everything you would expect from the man: clever, knowledgeable, confident, amusingly pedantic, self-referential, gender-bending and very, very funny.
Oh and as it’s that terrible season again, turns out to be rather appropriately, as camp as Christmas.
And not at all aimed at children. Read the rest of this entry »
The Whingers frequently feel betrayed.
Not by each other particularly – although since one isolated incident in 1987 Phil regularly shakes out the rancid detritus of Andrew’s man-bag to cross-check the prices on the ticket stubs against the money he has just handed him. Read the rest of this entry »
A West End Whinger 