All the world's a stage. And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances. And one man in his time plays many parts

Looking skyward on the corner of Elizabeth Street and Franklin Wharf. That's the sharp edge of the Marine Board Building, a tree and a street sign. I like the colours on this one, very 'cool', very 'early morning'. The locals hate this building, but it is interesting enough to feature on this blog a few times already.

Anyway, enough of buildings pack with bureaucrats, we have a Theme Thursday topic to tackle!

[Cue meandering post.]

I might not have mentioned it already on this blog, but I have two sons. Both of my children are charismatic, engaging fellows with a flair for the dramatic. They share a gift for music; they are blessed with a natural rhythm that permits them both tremendous dancing skills; they have seemingly innate abilities in the field of manipulation persuasion; an enormous egotism confidence; immense physical stamina and strength; yet sensitive, compassionate natures.

This curse These gifts that both share have led me to ponder the likelihood of one (or both) of my lads will end up on the STAGE. Yes, I fear that they are theatrically inclined.

I could cope if the stage that they are destined to is one littered with supermodels, stacks of Marshall amps and big piles of money, but I fear that it might be something far more horrifying: amateur musical theatre.

Amateur musical theatre is a cancer. It infects seemingly healthy, happy people and renders them quivering imbeciles. Chubby teens in spandex hotpants belting out their umpteenth attempt at Summer Nights during the rehearsal process has been responsible for more cases of post traumatic stress disorder than artillery bombardments. How many high school productions of Sweet Charity must the innocent public endure before the horror is stopped? Guys and Dolls, West Side Story, and now this rising leviathan High School Musical [Parts One through twenty]... won’t somebody think of the children?!?!?!

Because it is the children – and their parents, moms and pops the world over – that suffer.

No, it must be stopped, and if that means buying Henry a drumkit and Ezra a Fender Strat with an amp that goes all the way to eleven, then by God I will do it.