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1960-61- approx. My Dad brings a portable reel-to-reel tape-recorder home. A toy to keep the kids amused through the Christmas holidays.
I say portable- but it's the size of a small suitcase and housed in lovely polished oak (or mahogany or something)
So my sister and I record a couple of forgotten one-act plays by George Bernard Shaw. The Inca of Perusalem is a satire on Kaiser Bill, in which a lovely, intelligent English lass persuades him of the error of his ways. I like it because it allows me to show off my manic German accent.
I have wispy hopes of becoming the next Alec Guinness.
They blow away once we hit play-back.
Oh well. I'll be the next W.B. Yeats instead.
I guess it's this early exposure to Shaw that convinces me that loonies can be argued out of their looniness by logic and good-natured wit.
I still believe it- against all the evidence.
I say portable- but it's the size of a small suitcase and housed in lovely polished oak (or mahogany or something)
So my sister and I record a couple of forgotten one-act plays by George Bernard Shaw. The Inca of Perusalem is a satire on Kaiser Bill, in which a lovely, intelligent English lass persuades him of the error of his ways. I like it because it allows me to show off my manic German accent.
I have wispy hopes of becoming the next Alec Guinness.
They blow away once we hit play-back.
Oh well. I'll be the next W.B. Yeats instead.
I guess it's this early exposure to Shaw that convinces me that loonies can be argued out of their looniness by logic and good-natured wit.
I still believe it- against all the evidence.
