In my childhood there was an annual pilgrimage to Northumbria, where one side of my family originates from. Inevitably that meant a visit to Cullercotes and Whitley Bay. Any excuse to get down to the seaside. it's a very british obsession.

One year we stumbled across a puppet show performed in the traditional fashion by a couple of guys in a claustrophic box stood on the sand. Funny thing was, I found myself wrapped up in the antics of the puppet characters. He's behind you! Why doesn't he listen?

By chance I came across a documentary on Russia Today concerning the dramatic arts now allowed among prisoners of a Russian prison. It looked very starnge with a hall full of shaven haired convicts staring at the antics of puppets performed by fellow inmates. Well, it keeps them off the streets, doesn't it? I note every thief and murderer simply sat there transfixed, no matter how childish this entertainment might seem to our jaded western sensibilities. One suspects the alternative is to step this way and return to the cells.

The amusing bit was a pair of women convicts. One a murderess, the other a robber, playing male and female characters in Romeo & Juliet (in Russian, of course. Even they wouldn't be able to understand the tudor english of William Shakespeare). To them, there was nothing odd, since gender segregation meant they had little choice to play all the male parts among themselves, but did I spot an attempt by the journalist to suggest the merest possibility of a hint of a suspicion of a possibility that there might, just possibly, be a subtle overtone of... No, surely not... Yes, lesbianism? The prisoners kept a straight face and did not stress the point.

More Puppets At Play

Punch & Judy shows throughout the evening, every evening. Hear them squabble. Fun for all the family. Or not, if you're trying to get some sleep while its going on. Oh, and we seem to have a nocturnal woodpecker in the neighbourhood. All part of life in the rainforests of Darkest Wiltshire.

DIY Doctor of the Week

This prestigious accolade goes to me. As part of my diagnosis for whatever ailment is causing me grief, I've been asked to monitor my blood pressure daily with a borrowed gizmo that tries to squeeze my arm off. There must be a trick to this, because it refuses utterly to return anything remotely reasonable. Now I know why I have an unquenchable love of fast cars. Apparently I have the heart of a racing pidgeon.

Oh such fun...