Only a flying visit, on account of the dog, whose care had been contracted to my son during our absence. But long enough for a wander along Shakespeare's Avon before the play started, where we encountered this guard swan.
It was interesting to see flowers on the grave of a woman, Mary Ann Page, who died in 1879 ...
... and this female blackbird, just as unafraid as the swan, scrabbling about in the leaf litter at our feet ...
... and chucking leaves all over the place.
We popped into the church quickly to pay our respects to Master Shakespeare, but I'm not going to write about that because I've done it before at length.
Then there was just enough time at the Dirty Duck for a swift pint.
We both liked the child witches, who were clearly channelling the Midwich Cuckoos and the twins from The Shining, but felt that Macduff was miscast - the whole pretty chickens scene was toe-curling and not in a good-but-harrowing way - but the two leading actors were as great as you'd expect, and the Northerner was only two seats away from having his hand held by Lady Macbeth, which would have made his day (though he'd have never got the spot out. Or indeed washed his hand ever again.)