A Classical Greek Tragedy

about dip

Before we get stuck in I should say hello if you’re here because of the Taskmaster announcement! Hello. Might write about it or do a watch-along on here for one of the episodes (Maybe a Substack live? Maybe, because we’re both doing a job together, with a much beloved ex-contestant? Anyone who has subscribed - for free or otherwise - can ask questions and stuff so that could be fun) but for now I’ll just say: it feels like lovely dream I had while under anaesthetic.

Also if you’d like to come see my live show in London I’m doing it March 3, 4 and 5 and there are so many tickets available. Just so many.

In December I experienced something I can’t stop thinking about. Initially it will seem like I’m exaggerating for comic effect, but it really has stuck with me and I hope by the end of this play (with occasional annotations to point out various contexts) you’ll appreciate why.

NB: Women are not allowed on stage in traditional Greek Classical tragedies but I’m going to have to make an exception because I’m the protagonist. Sorry to the purists. Also this is set in England and not Greece so, in a way, it’s a Renaissance tragedy. Again, sorry if you’re a Classical Greek scholar but I’m not sure why you’re reading this Substack?

Another NB: The Chorus is made up of my mum, dad, sister, brother-in-law, Aunty Anne, my parents’ friends Tom and Victoria and my dog. Also a Chorus is just a bunch of figures who commentate on the play, for anyone who isn’t familiar with the elements of Classical tragedy due to not having googled ‘elements of Classical tragedy’ like I just did. *

*Yes my English Literature degree included many exams on Classical tragedy but I don’t remember any of it because I’ve got a life and am not a nerd.

Context: We were eating dinner before seeing a show where two comedians parodied the light entertainment duo Ball and Boe. It’s back in April, and very funny.

Context: yes the boning Chorus are my family, but I’m unfortunately bound by the conventions of Classical tragedy.

Context: It was 2-for-1 on margs. Also I wasn’t rude, I just kept saying ‘but it says big bowl’ and blinking. Also the waiter was a man and I don’t know if you say ‘senorita’ in Mexico but I doubt they give out thimbles of squashed avocado for £7 in Mexico either so.

Those occasional squiggly coloured lines might appear - to the less educated - as though someone has pasted words from a Google doc due to Substack’s formatting being dogshit, but actually they’re a traditional element of Greek tragedy to illustrate dramatic tension.

And I can’t believe avocados doesn’t have an ‘e’. It’s blowing my minde.

Anyway, a brief analysis. Apart from the obvious tragedy of the piece, you also may have noticed it features what all great tragedies must: the protagonist’s fatal flaw.

When faced with injustice how did I react? By getting annoyed for 0.4 seconds and then becoming too apathetic to do anything about dismantling the system, so buying shitloads of guac. If anything, I financially propped up the system. I actively chose to do nothing but blink and spend more money. It drives me insane whenever I think about it.

So that’s why I had to act, and I’m pretty confident Barrio Soho will change the wording on their menu after reading my experience truncated into a Greek Classical literature.

A wording change is all I want, by the way. I’m not expecting them to solve the climate-related farming problems or supply chain disruptions forcing the price of avocados to spiral - I just don’t want to be told, 1984-style, to reject the evidence of my eyes and ears by a Latin-inspired restaurant/bar. There’s enough double-think going on outside of the hospitality industry, thanks.

‘Just send an email Stevie!’ ‘Barrio Soho literally won’t read this Stevie!’

Er alright Chorus, an email can be deleted but Classical literature is forever. Also, I did send an email but it wouldn’t have made as fun a Substack post.

Plus it got returned immediately because Barrio no longer have a customer service email.

So I guess it’s your move The National Theatre. Stage this, you cowards, and please reach out to Benedict Cumberbatch as I think he’d make a great ‘DOG’.