We have just been to see Wolfe Hall. Hilary Mantel is a brilliant historian she assembles her facts with panache, she has some very sharp dialogue both sexy and witty and puts flesh on the bones of history. But along with many others whose literary views I hold in high esteem, I do not think she is a good writer, her books are a hard and dense read you have to look back all the time to see who said what which spoils the sheer genius of what is coming out of her mind. But as a play, now there is where it all comes into its own, the audience was silent as the grave into which most of the protagonists will tumble in part two Bring Up The Bodies.
Here is another thing about Mantel she obviously does not like women, talking of flesh on bones she once claimed meeting the Queens glance made her feel like a cannibal who wanted to consume the flesh off her very Royal Bones. That was after she made nasty remarks about our beloved Duchess of Cambridge. I understand she has recently written something about murdering Mrs Thatcher why can’t’ she let the woman rest in peace. There will be Ghosts coming to get her one day mark my words. Anne Boleyn was a force to be reckoned with but in the Wolfe play she is portrayed as a shrewish harridan who should have been put in scolds bridle. She was in fact very intelligent with a formidable intellect and responsible helping Tindall’s translation of The bible into English for which many people were burned as heretics the theory being that “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing”. During the interval the woman next to me said she was very disappointed because she thought it was about dogs and wolves whom she admires more than humans. I was rather annoyed by this, and could think of nothing to add accept perhaps they hadn’t come on yet as they always keep the best bits till later.
I have been clearing out a lot of sheds and attics on the Isle of Wight, a friend came with truck on Saturday. The Sainted One is a compulsive hoarder, he tries to keep everything; when we first married six broken and unpleasantly stained lavatory bowls were delivered to the house we had ( part of a long awaited load of personal things from his previous life! It was a big van and a friend watched it unload it with me, boy oh boy was there a message there indeed, rather insulting actually. I cried a lot. Anyway it was difficult to get rid of any of this which had to be done covertly, but the lavatory bowls were lined up by the front door and the S.O suggested I took them to Tiverton Market to sell as there was quite trade in lavatories in that underprivileged area. You can imagine the response it was explosive and I left the house for the sophisticated calm of my London bachelor home where all the lavatories are in perfect working order at all times. This weekend it was the broken chimney cowl which did it…..”No No you must not throw it away ,” the SO moaned as he tried to wrestle it from my burley friend.
“What the >>>>> could you want it for?” I said with quiet menace,” “ we might need it in London,” was the reply. “Well mate let go of it or I will put it where the sun don’t shine ,” said the normally anodyne and refined VH . The awful, business with the lavatories came flooding back as if it were yesterday and darn it its thirty two years ago. People never learn!