(Lyn Gardner’s article appeared in the Guardian 8/12.)
Rosie Benjamin, the old lady who lives at number 92, is lost. Nobody misses her – apart from her house. Floor is complaining that she hasn't been hoovered, Chimney is sooty, and Wall's wallpaper is peeling badly. There is a display of dust that would make Quentin Crisp proud. So with a little help from the audience, they set out to look for Mrs Benjamin down the winding byways of the past and in the alleyways of her poor cracked mind. It's ravaged by dementia and yet still sparkling with memories: that golden picnic so long ago; the tiny, tense silence between an aircraft passing overhead and a bomb exploding.
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