Do you ever wonder if old detectives ever retire or if they just go on investigating? Well, if you have, then you should nip up to the King’s Theatre to see Sherlock Holmes, The Final Curtain. Here’s a great show with a couple of well known faces (and my goodness Liza Goddard looks fantastic, and Robert Powell isn’t aging too badly either) which follows the great sleuth after he has moved away from Baker Street.
As we sat waiting for the curtain to rise, I leafed through the programme and came across a biography of Conan Doyle. Of course I knew he was born in Edinburgh – I mean there’s a pub named after him just around the corner from John Lewis. But talk about being one of those people who seemed to excel at everything.
So apart from being a doctor and bestselling author, he was also a goalie for Portsmouth FC. Then when his first wife was diagnosed with TB they moved to Switzerland and he not only took up skiing but is credited with popularising this sport. Frankly, if I had achieved just one of those things I’d have been quite proud of myself, although I really can’t see myself on a football pitch.
Of course, Conan Doyle didn’t write this play. It was penned by a chap called Simon Reade whose impressive list of credits went on for quite a bit later in the same programme that I was reading. I suppose this is quite a thing these days. Whilst I don’t watch the programme, I do know that the producers of Game of Thrones are now ahead of the original writer’s books.
One programme which I have followed religiously is The Durrells, and it was with a heavy heart that I watched the last of the most recent series knowing that Gerald Durrell had not written anything more. So someone, somewhere needs to get writing a bit more in my opinion.
Don’t think for a minute that I shall tell you the twist in The Final Curtain, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there is another play coming along soon.