On Saturday night we went to the Playhouse Theatre - in the wheelchair of course. Struggled through the smokers on the way in. Smiled wryly at the scantily clad tottering fake tanned women in a Scottish February. Tilted my head up to the ticket man. Ushered through the wheelchair access. Parked up and then protected all those fancy tights from laddering on my steel leg extension...
Vagina Monologues - (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Vagina_Monologues) Place should have been packed with feminists - but it seemed that the crowd was more hen party than Germaine Greer... (This may have been something to do with one of the actors having won one of these reality TV star thingies recently - GIE US A SONG - GIE US A SONG!! the hecklers urged...)
Its a cracking piece of theatre. Four woman sitting on stools reciting monologues about vaginas. Funny stories, sad stories, political stories. Genital mutilation, vaginal workshops with mirrors, pet names and orgasms, rape and war, old women and young women and gay women... I'm laughing and crying at the same time. Its a celebration for women - its about empowerment and pleasure. But it also reminds us that across the globe women do not have equal rights or pay, they are mutilated in the name of religion and raped in the name of war. They are beaten by the men who are supposed to love them and abused by employers for having children. And while the actors on stage did their best, strangely with notes (they couldn't learn their lines?) their transitions from pet names to these more difficult stories didn't work - the hen parties and drunken groups tittered with embarrassment and the serious moments were lost.
At half time there was a mass move to the bar. I stayed in my wheelchair - impossible for me to get through. My friend went to buy ice creams (still not drinking - the quarter of a glass of wine the other night resulted in a momentous hangover). A slightly tipsy woman approached me - wanted to know what had happened - why was I in the chair? I outlined the story for the thousandth time. But I was shaky - close to tears. The ex partner stuff was preying on my mind - as was the monologue on genital mutilation (over 12000 women in the UK). My new friend listened and then, to my horror and embarrassment, regaled me with her theories of 'when your time has come - its come' - and 'how many lives did I have left from my starting nine?'. This ghastly one sided conversation continued - I heard about her cousin's son who had died in a car accident (his time had come) and why she didn't wear her seatbelt (her time might come). In a wheelchair you can't escape. And how do you tell someone who is clearly well meaning to piss off? I was saved by the start of the second act - but the damage was done. When would be my time?
The finale of VMs is well known - we reclaim the 'c' word - 1500 women (and about a dozen men) yell CUNT at the top of their voices. How liberating, how wonderful, how joyful to take this unedifying scornful dreadful word only usually uttered by neds and tossers (and famously in Withnail and I to Monty) and shout it to the rooftops - cheering, clapping and smiling. Even being in a sodding wheelchair cant take away the fabulousness of being a woman.... Bring on the vaginas every time....
Vagina Monologues - (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Vagina_Monologues) Place should have been packed with feminists - but it seemed that the crowd was more hen party than Germaine Greer... (This may have been something to do with one of the actors having won one of these reality TV star thingies recently - GIE US A SONG - GIE US A SONG!! the hecklers urged...)
Its a cracking piece of theatre. Four woman sitting on stools reciting monologues about vaginas. Funny stories, sad stories, political stories. Genital mutilation, vaginal workshops with mirrors, pet names and orgasms, rape and war, old women and young women and gay women... I'm laughing and crying at the same time. Its a celebration for women - its about empowerment and pleasure. But it also reminds us that across the globe women do not have equal rights or pay, they are mutilated in the name of religion and raped in the name of war. They are beaten by the men who are supposed to love them and abused by employers for having children. And while the actors on stage did their best, strangely with notes (they couldn't learn their lines?) their transitions from pet names to these more difficult stories didn't work - the hen parties and drunken groups tittered with embarrassment and the serious moments were lost.
At half time there was a mass move to the bar. I stayed in my wheelchair - impossible for me to get through. My friend went to buy ice creams (still not drinking - the quarter of a glass of wine the other night resulted in a momentous hangover). A slightly tipsy woman approached me - wanted to know what had happened - why was I in the chair? I outlined the story for the thousandth time. But I was shaky - close to tears. The ex partner stuff was preying on my mind - as was the monologue on genital mutilation (over 12000 women in the UK). My new friend listened and then, to my horror and embarrassment, regaled me with her theories of 'when your time has come - its come' - and 'how many lives did I have left from my starting nine?'. This ghastly one sided conversation continued - I heard about her cousin's son who had died in a car accident (his time had come) and why she didn't wear her seatbelt (her time might come). In a wheelchair you can't escape. And how do you tell someone who is clearly well meaning to piss off? I was saved by the start of the second act - but the damage was done. When would be my time?
The finale of VMs is well known - we reclaim the 'c' word - 1500 women (and about a dozen men) yell CUNT at the top of their voices. How liberating, how wonderful, how joyful to take this unedifying scornful dreadful word only usually uttered by neds and tossers (and famously in Withnail and I to Monty) and shout it to the rooftops - cheering, clapping and smiling. Even being in a sodding wheelchair cant take away the fabulousness of being a woman.... Bring on the vaginas every time....
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