Waiting for Godot screws with your mind. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. The situation’s mad and the meaning’s elusive, but the resonances are crystal clear and razor sharp.

This afternoon’s performance at the Haymarket made me cry, which is not something I thought Matthew Kelly (of all people) would ever achieve. It reached somewhere I don’t think I accessed when I was studying the text; and touched a nerve that has only tingled in all the interim readings, of which there’ve been quite a few –
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