the_literary_spider: (Default)
the_literary_spider ([personal profile] the_literary_spider) wrote2012-07-07 11:24 pm
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And Sleep Awaits...

 Hello dears,

So today I went to see Recipe for life, at the West Yorkshire playhouse. My sister was in it, as were several of my friends; this proved to me that Quarry Hill is indeed the cradle of culture. I myself was not involved, and I bitterly regret it, but I had an amazing time.

The entire night was in support of Space 2, a small but big-impact charity that focused on bringing health to communities through the arts and creative outlets. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but it was amazing. There were appearances from Northern Contemporary Dance, (Close to my heart, as I attend there) Phoenix Dance (also close to my heart, as that's where the Better half attends) Yorkshire Dance (Also close, as my sister was performing there) and First Floors shake the Dust poets (Where my friends performed, and were amazing)

I adored every minute of it. NSCD did a harrowing piece on the 7 ages of man. It was based on the experiences of the members of an old man club started by space two. It was confusing, painful to watch, and awkward, but all in a deliberate way that meant you couldn't tear yourself away for a moment. Akin to a car crash or the eyes of a python, I was a entranced. To open it, one member of the club said he was going to recite two poems. one about getting old but getting through, and one about having arthritis in his hands and overcoming it. I thought it would be good. 

Then he began to sing, and from him pored the richest, jazziest voices I've ever heard. It was like velvet, it was gorgeous,he finished to rapturous applause, and there was electricity then more than ever. It was amazing also.

The yorkshire dance was adorable. What could be better then loads of tiny little people with so much "swag" you were caught between creasing with laughter and actually ducking in submission. Their space-age soundtrack was cute, their miming was cuter, and my sister did excellent. I was, so to speak, like a proud parent.

My first floor friends were amazing. Their poetry was moving, and they captured the emotion perfectly. Knowing them as well as I do, I knew EXACTLY what the poems were about, and that made it all the better for me. I nearly cried, and didn't refrain from screaming in a most barbarian manner. Ah well.

There is so much more I could say about tonight, and I have no doubt I will, but I have been dancing all day, have just got home and sleep seems like a damn good idea.

Eight-Leggedly Yours
The Literary Spider

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