In Which Your Humble Blogger had a good time and did good work, and now is in need of a long and quiet rest.
In which Your Humble Blogger is still here, more or less.
In Which Your Humble Blogger isn’t so worried about fictional disasters in Sweden, when things are so rotten in Denmark.
In Which Your Humble Blogger complains about that that that that I think is that, or do I mean that that that, which I think is that. I think.
In Which Your Humble Blogger
In Which Your Humble Blogger also thinks that lights, sound, set design and construction, props, costumery and stage management are difficult jobs, and is glad that somebody else is willing to do those, too.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is too tired to work up rehearsal anecdotes into actual stories, and too verbose to relate ’em in a couple of sentences.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is still preparing Polonius.
In Which Your Humble Blogger could go on about the Four Foolish Vows, or about the sibling thing, or weird diplomacy thing, but none of that is really relevant to the play.
In Which Your Humble Blogger hadn’t thought about a pouty lower lip, to go with the line about being a big baby.