June 6, 2025

This might be my favourite performance from Edward Fox as he cuts a rather sad figure on a stage before a sparsely attended meeting of the women’s guild who are less than enthused by his last minute substitution and by his topic of chat. Thing is, though, that after his effusive introduction from Celia Imrie this rather weary looking schoolmaster strays off his point and starts to offer them a rather revelatory glimpse into his thirty-three year … read the rest.

This might be my favourite performance from Edward Fox as he cuts a rather sad figure on a stage before a sparsely attended meeting of the women’s guild who are less than enthused by his last minute substitution and by his topic of chat. Thing is, though, that after his effusive introduction from Celia Imrie this rather weary looking schoolmaster strays off his point and starts to offer them a rather revelatory glimpse into his thirty-three year marriage. This is clearly a period that he looks back upon fondly, well contentedly, well maybe not either? Indeed, maybe he’s actually never liked any of it? He has six daughters, or is it seven? He likes pancakes, or does he? His stroll to the window causes the hitherto scattered audience to congregate more tightly and from the facial expressions presented, he seems to be touching some nerves, eliciting some sympathy - but then we revert to a scenario that questions just what we have seen, or what he wanted us to see or for him to say or be heard to say. Fox delivers his monologue quite poignantly amidst his audience of indifferent tea drinkers and rarely, if ever, has the sound of high heeled shoes on a solid wooden floor had such a menacing effect in a room full of middle class ladies. It’s worth half an hour, this, and leaves us asking plenty of questions that have little to do with tobacco!

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