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"Theatre is a mirror, a sharp reflection of society." - Yasmina Reza
Theatre gives me so much confidence, it allows me to escape myself and my body and enter imagination and creativity. Theatre is a form of knowledge; it can build on our future, opinions and society; it can transform people into a new way of thinking. The say 'theatre was created to tell the truth about life', explore this page and find out that truth.

Theatre: List
Showreel of Emily Carpenter
Theatre: Video Player


Written by Temitope Idowu

In the evenings we ate roasted plantain.
Split open the tough body and placed it face down on the rack, rife with charcoal and yet essential in the flavour it provided.
Once turned and doused in throat catching spice, it was ready to be the object of a fight between two siblings.
We negotiate over corn. Who would get the perfect cob; crunchy with a barbecued coat yet still weighty with its natural juice. 
It was when the tide was high that we fought the most. Toughened lungs raw with the excitement of seeing our opponent humiliated. Filling the time while we waited for the aroma of Mama to come drifting on the back of the wind.
Waiting for it to sneak up on us, like those bandits she told us about. 
Waiting for it to wrap its harsh, learned fingers around our wrists and pull us along to music school. 
They may take away our Mama but they will never take her scent.
Today I will tell you the story of how we found her, from the day we realised she was not who we thought she was, to the very moment we faced her again.
Mama always told me I should never take the easy route. Even if there's no catch, even if it isn't the wrong thing to do. Still she'd look me in the eye and insist.
"The road that is covered in bumps and piss. That is the road where hidden treasures lie, it may not be pretty, but it might just have the best okra you've ever seen."
She'd smile and sigh, pulling at my tough coils. "It will teach you the most lessons. maṣe ṣubu ọmọ mi. Stand up, spit the dust out of your mouth and keep walking."

Theatre: Text


By Patrick Swain

PETER. Family, fundamentally, defines what I am. Didn’t used to be, used to be little, insignificant little things looking back on them but, and my Mum always used to say I just couldn’t. Couldn’t click with it but then... It started with her, seemed to, whom I absolutely fell into. She absorbed me, entirely, and we became one floundering, moderately functioning unit. Absorbed me like, like a tree slowly growing out and over, overtaking a. A… Until slowly you can’t see but for her. Everything lost importance. Got a house. Then he was born, before his sister.

He’s a good Lad, and it’s funny because whenever he was at school we’d get told the exact opposite. ‘Your son just can’t concentrate’, at least for the first few years, the first, you know the ones where they ‘find’ themselves, only not really because they’re just going to change again but at least.......

Theatre: Files


Poem by Temitope Idowu

Sometimes I forget to breath. Or is it breathe.
Perhaps it's the tainted breath on my neck, baited with grotesque satisfaction.
Maybe it was the day you ran out of breath and told me to breathe on your behalf.
On second thought, it might just be the breaths that finally made their way out of my lungs, only to beg for refuge again.
Oh no wait, it's that time she spewed every lie she ever told between a hundred breaths per minute, and waited for me to breathe them in.
That's when I forgot.

Theatre: Text


A Short Monologue by Mya O

I don't even want to feel this way. You can be toxic. You give me headaches and cramps. And I know this may come as a surprise, but I can't help but caress your pale, brown skin and feel hunger from your creamy, yellow flesh. I love you. You provide me with energy. You are 48 chromosomes of beauty. Those beautiful flowers you blossom with; white, pink, red, blue and purple - the colours of my soul. Everything about you is engraved in my heart, I've never loved anything quite like this. You're a staple and essential part to my life. And I love you. Yes, there may be 4,000 different versions of you but I don't care about 3,999 of them. Because you are the one for me. My previous love was sweet but red full of anger, like the stormy sky on a tornado night. But you are clear as day, the only night shade that clears the clouds in my sky. My toes, feet and legs adore you, my arms, hands and heart loves you but my mouth, ears and nose shakes with a blind affection for you. I love you with everything I got, in the 'kissing on the street excessive PDA' kind of way and in the 'I'd take a bullet for you' kind of way. My dearest, dearest Potato, I love you. 

(I hope you enjoyed reading this fun monologue I wrote while being bored out of my mind at work, p.s. I do not have an overly obsessive love for potatoes)

Theatre: Text
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