I’m not having much luck, artistically, at the moment. Not personally, but in my viewing choice. Following last week’s Mama Mia debacle, I was in London tonight to catch an Edinburgh Preview of The White Space’s Yellow Wallpaper show.

Back in the olden days, the days of rubbish lungs and MK Theatre, Suze picked up The Yellow Wallpaper, a 19th Century Gothic horror about a women suffering from traumatic post-natal depression in the days before women were “allowed” to have depression of any kind, let alone post-natal. Locked away for her own safety in a nursery she slowly starts to see shapes in the wall and a woman emerges, taking her place in the outside world during the day and then torturing her mind at night.

All the basis, one would have thought, for a fantastic piece of Theatre.

Sadly, not the case. The whole show was prety disastrous from start to finish – the acting was soul-less and devoid of all emotion, the staging and lighting were, frankly, beyond amateurish and the less said about the sound the better.

Suze and I went along, with K and Suze’s friend G, thinking we might catch a gem, but well aware that this sort of thing can turn into a stinker. Which it did.

Still, as Suze put it on the way home, it makes you even more determined to do your own stuff, safe in the (cocky?) knowledge that you can do better.

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    Nope, we got nada!