I’m perplexed. What’s troubling is whether or not to go see Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, announced for the Citz in the New Year. I know what you’re thinking; what about the annexation push called for in the West Bank? Aren’t you worried about Reform’s threat to democracy? Or at the very least, shouldn’t you be tossing around the fallout from the Fergie-Loves-Jeffrey debate?

But sometimes you have to sort out the little things to help fix our big positions in life. Such as, if we remain out of synch with the majority opinions of classic theatre, are we missing out on genius? Or, in the case of Godot, is the success (in terms of its tens of thousands of productions across the world), really a case of Emperor’s New Clothes?

Yet, arriving at a position is tricky. I don’t like Beckett, and I never have. I thought Salad Days (about a woman consigned to a rising rubbish tip) said nothing other than she had nothing of any consequence to say. Krapp’s Last Tape seemed an exercise in pointless behaviour in which an auld fella continually asks himself “Oh, what’s the point?” As for Godot, well, it says a great deal that (arguably) the world’s worst actor Keanu Reeves once appeared in this play, and he didn’t stand out.)

But this week, my feelings towards Beckett’s writing have hit a........

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