I've been excitedly rushing around to rehearsals of the stage show of my Horrid Henry books, which opens today, and it's very strange to see all these characters I've created come to life. Fifteen years ago, for instance, I arbitrarily decided that Henry had red hair - now these poor actors, living people, are having to deal with the consequences. Out with the hair dye…
Horrid Henry hasn't been the only theatre in my life this week. Josh, my son, is appearing in his first play at Cambridge - Ayckbourn's Bedroom Farce - and he asked us to come and see him. We seem to have got past the "oh my parents are so embarrassing" stage and he's discovered we're rather fun. Or maybe my high spirited side is coming out after dealing with the youthful Horrid Henry actors all the time. During the play he has to get out some real 1970s clothes. And my husband, Martin - for reasons best known to himself - had kept choice items of his wardrobe from back then.
Martin has a curious fondness for his hippy days. He actually ran off to India and lived in an ashram, so I think his wardrobe is the least of his sins. One can laugh, but now those clothes are in high demand for parties. Original purple high-waisted flared velvet trousers and purple satin shirt? Sartorial gold.
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