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Last night I got off the plane from Manchester, collected my suitcase and got on the hottest, smelliest train in Paris…only to find that my heart is still in Buxton with the cast of The Sorcerer.

Oh, blogosphere, to quote our marvelous show, I am welling over with limpid joy. What a week, what a cast, what a town!

I don’t even know where to start writing about the last few days. I want to talk about the generosity of my castmates and directors, who gave immensely not only of their time, money and energy, but also of their praise, belief and friendship. We put on a modern-day Sorcerer that nonetheless preserved the spirit of the material and what Gilbert and Sullivan would have wished, and we told a wonderful story truthfully–that was what the adjudicator said afterwards, along with some blush-worthy compliments about my voice, acting and English accent (what he didn’t know was that it was pretty much an amalgamation of accents from every BBC costume drama I’ve ever seen…).

I was so thrilled to be a part of this production, and the wheels in my head are already turning to figure out a way to go back next year, even though I’ll be living in the States and will have somewhat farther to travel to get there. It would be worth it.

Aline says, “You wish you were wearing this much tartan–and this much foundation that is four times darker than your natural skin tone!”

(I kid because I love. Truly, madly, deeply.)


ETA: At the Festival Club after The Sorcerer, my friend Rick said that the time he spends at Buxton feels like real life, while real life feels like a dream, sort of like the way some of my friends always marked time in between summers at camp. This morning I got up and walked to the grocery store, barely paying attention to where I was going or what I was doing. I’ve been in Paris for a year, and yet Buxton felt more like home than Paris ever has. Food for thought…