pumpkinstrokemarrow

On the way, somewhere east of Waterloo station, passed part of London's answer to the Velib. That is to say a bank of contraptions to which we supposed municipal hire bikes were to be attached in due course. Unless, that is, the scheme had been axed earlier in the day by the Mayor's colleagues in the Commons. I seem to recall reading that the Parisian experience was a bit disappointing in that a large proportion of the hire bikes were being stolen or damaged - to the point where it seemed unlikely that the scheme was generating income rather than costing the taxpayer. The velib site (http://www.velib.paris.fr/), in so far as my French gets me, does not seem to tell one about that sort of thing at all. Far too fluffy. Whereas the TFL site produces a minute of the board from nearly two years ago which says that "The ‘velib’ cycle hire scheme was being progressed. The Mayor confirmed that all funding options were being explored, including private sponsorship" - which suggests that public funds are indeed required. The annual report for 2009-10 suggests both that the scheme is supposed to have been up and running in May of this year and that millions of pounds are involved - which I suspect is far too small a sum to appear in the accounts at the back of the report, even supposing I could find my way around them on the screen. Nothing more recent or more detailed thrown up by a (Mr G. powered) search of the TFL site. Presumably it would take a freedom of information request to get something on chickenfeed of this sort. But I would be happy to be corrected if there is someone out there who has managed to unearth something.

Having pondered matters velib, arrived at the Globe to be greeted by a perforated black sheet filling most of the groundling space at about head height. The idea being that the groundlings stood with their heads in holes, looking a bit as if they had been decapitated. Our hearts sank. We discovered later that for added diversion, sundry members of the cast ran about under the sheet causing a bit of confusion and merriment.

Then we looked up to discover that the stage managers had got fed up with the limitations of the Globe's idea of an Elizabethan stage (I understand that there are lots of views about this) and had hung a pair of concentric rings from the roof, underneath which all manner of chains, ropes and lamps had been hung. We discovered later that the rings included motorised curtain track which allowed suitable drapes to be rotated.

The production majored on gore and the three sisters. So for example, in the interest of maximising gore, the rebellious thane of Cawdor was done to death on the stage in a way which made nonsense of the subsequent lines about nothing so much became his life as his manner of leaving it. Macbeth emerges from murdering Duncan with blood up to his elbows, for all the world as if he had been disembowelling the chap rather than cutting his throat in some vaguely soldierly way.

As we have found in other Globe productions, the soldiers were largely unconvincing. Macbeth could neither say his lines nor convince as a thane who could take his stand in the shield wall. Seemed far more like someone from the nicer part of Islington than someone who would have a clue what to do on a battlefield involving poleaxes (the preferred weapon, it seems, of the gallowglass cavalry helping out on the rebel side). He had no presence and with my older ears found it hard to hear what he was saying most of the time, although I could guess some of the time, having turned the pages over the previous couple of days. Speech projection could not have been a direction priority.

Lady Macbeth also failed to convince. Her direction seemed to have been to flash her naked legs and writhe about as much as possible, activities which struck us as having very little to do with the plot.

The porter was just gross. Part of his direction having been to simulate masturbation, at the front of the stage, into a bucket. OK, so the porter provides a bit of useful light relief. But the script does quite enough without this sort of thing.

The production also majored on taking a long time. So, despite having chucked a significant number of hard earned shekels at going, we decided to call it a day at half time. Unwound with a couple of quite decent pints of 'London Pride' in a pleasantly quiet pub, the Mad Hatter (http://www.fullershotels.com/). Where the major diversion was two girls desperate for a fag and who wanted to know where the nearest place they could stock up was. The barman thought that there was an all night place near Southwark Bridge. I was not so sure that they would not have done better to go to Waterloo station.

That apart, we decided that the Globe appeared to have for its mission statement: 'Given that no-one much can understand the bard these days, turn his works into fun pantomime which tourists and youth will pay money to come and watch. This way we keep the flame burning'. Maybe they are right and that this is the best that can be done - but the DT quote of yesterday still seems apposite: " ... now does he feel his title/Hang loose upon him like a giant's robe/Upon a dwarfish thief".