So Shakespeare Stole My Blog (And I’m Not Even Sorry)

Kyra Marie
Aug 7, 2025
6 min read

Remember last last Sunday when I was supposed to write you a lovely blog post? Yeah, that didn’t happen. Want to know why?

Because I was knee-deep in a muddy park, whispering aggressive threats at people who dared look at my prop table.

“TYBALT, I SWEAR TO GOD, STEP AWAY FROM THE SWORDS”

Turns out, volunteering for Saltaire Shakespeare was like agreeing to stage-manage my own ADHD brain… in a monsoon… while wearing flip-flops.

How I Accidentally Became a Shakespearean Disaster

So Suze (friend, , the director, the reason I’m now traumatized by cucumbers) asked if I fancied helping with their outdoor Shakespeare thing.Oh fuck a duck, it’s happening I thought….I’d be avoiding this for years, because, ya know…

Me + Outdoor theatre+ In July + in Yorkshire + Flipping Shakespeare…. I mean…. What could go wrong?”

My roles, yes roles, plural, because why have just one when you can have multiple:

Stage Manager (of a stage that didn’t exist)
Flirty Friar John (don’t ask)
Chaotic Watchman (typecast much?)
Clueless Servant (basically just me being me)
Guardian of the Sacred Prop Table

That last one? That became my entire personality.

The Prop Table Situation (AKA My ADHD Spirit Animal)

Picture this: A tiny folding table in a gazebo. On it: wigs, plastic daggers, letters, a rubber chicken (Shakespeare was weird, okay?), and my rapidly disappearing sanity.

This table became my EVERYTHING. My island of order in a sea of complete chaos. Touch my props? I’d hiss like a feral cat protecting its young.

Then while, mid-panic about whether it was time for Lord C to wear his party hat, it hit me:

Oh woah, my ADHD brain IS that prop table.

Looks chaotic from the outside but has its own system
One wrong move and everything falls apart
Fiercely protective of its weird little arrangements
Makes perfect sense to me, absolute madness to everyone else

The difference? Shakespeare’s chaos had an ending. My brain’s performance runs 24/7 with no intermission.

When Mother Nature Joined the Cast

Opening weekend: It rained. Not just a bit of drizzle. Full-on biblical flooding. Yellow weather warning rain.

Did the audience leave? Did they hell. They set up TENTS. Proper camping chairs and everything. Mad, the lot of them. Seriously, you can’t make this shit up.

So there we are, soggy props in hand, shouting over the rain, trying to perform while basically being waterboarded by the sky. And the rain just gets heavier, and heavier….Picture the scene dear Chumlins…. The rain is coming down heavier than ever. We can barely see the stage never mind hear what is going on…Poor Juliet drinks her poison, lies down in what’s now a swamp, and…well….that’s when the announcement is made that the rain has won, for now. Anyway….apparently when you are lying in a muddy swamp nest you can’t hear ‘We are cancelled, go home’ announcements. Who knew?!

So she’s just lying there. Dead. In a puddle. While we’re all huddled under our gazebo trying to figure out the plan of action without even realising that that black soggy blob is in fact poor, poor Juliet.Sunday was the same monsoon, but slightly less drowning, so the show went on. My costume? Shorts, flip-flops, and a mix of soaked shirts. Very Shakespearean

The Bit Where It Gets Mushy (Skip If You’re Allergic to Feelings)

But here’s the thing – when the sun finally came out at Haworth, magic happened.

Hundreds of people laughing as Romeo did his famous “slut drop” during the party scene. Kids having sword fights with flying cucumbers, Grandmas crying actual tears during the love scenes, well probably…..

Side note: ok, it was a more comedy version so less tears and more flying cucumbers, broken swords and kissing bushes, but you get the jist! It was beautiful

Free theatre. No fancy costumes or sets. Just creativity, community, and a stubborn refusal to let weather win.

And me? Juggling three different characters while guarding my props like Gollum with his precious ring.

Playing Friar John (flirty), then rushing offstage to panic as the Watchman, then bumbling back on as a confused servant felt EXACTLY like my brain on any given Tuesday:

Multiple voices all shouting different things
Emotional weather systems changing every five minutes
That one sacred thing (spinny chair/prop table) that NOBODY CAN TOUCH

The Shakey Crew

Why Your Blog Disappeared (The Honest Bit)

So yeah, I ghosted you. Sorry about that

In my defence… in between costume changes in gazebos, cucumber-related emergencies, prop table protection, and trying to remember which character I was supposed to be, my brain went:

“Blog? What blog? We’re busy stage-managing chaos in flip-flops while being waterboarded!”

Every time I tried to think about blog writing my brain snapped back to:

Did Romeo grab the right dagger?
Why is Mercutio flirting with the wall?
WHERE IS THE RUBBER CHICKEN?
Do we have enough chocolate coins?

So, yeah, I chose muddy cuddles and memory-making with the cast over sitting at my laptop. Rain-soaked laughter over SEO optimization. Community over content calendars. I did this weird, going out in to the world thing.

And you know what? No regrets. Sometimes ghosting your plans means actually LIVING.

The New Deal (Because I’m Done Pretending to Be Consistent)

This is officially my last weekly blog. Not because I’m giving up, but because I’m choosing sanity over schedules.

Side note: ahem, yes i am aware this is over a wek late, but, ya know, there is this other blog explaining that so, as Suze the french servant would say ‘Le shoosh’ (LOL, two weeks 4 days late at time of publishing! But who is counting?!)

Soooo….from now on:

Monthly deep dives

when I actually have something worth saying (probably)

Random chaos drops

when life gets properly mental (let’s be honest, this happens weekly anyway) (oooh, and I’m calling them ‘Feral Blogs’) (hopefully)

Behind-the-scenes reality

instead of pretending I’m a functioning adult (maybe)

Because trying to blog weekly with ADHD while stage-managing Shakespeare in a hurricane? That’s not sustainable. That’s just self-torture with extra steps.

Monthly means I can write proper soliloquies instead of sonnets scribbled between monsoons. (oo er, doesn’t that sound posh?! Blimey, where di that come from?!)

What’s Next (Apart from Finding More Leaves in My Bra)(Psst…I am creating prints and notebooks and other exciting things. And I’m almost at the point where I’m brave enough to share them. )

It’s the school holidays so…survival.

And, you know, trying to figure out this weird little thing called life…

There’ll be stories. I mean, obviously, there’ll be stories. And hopefully some will make it past draft on an envelope stage!

But for now? I’m still processing the fact that I survived weeks of outdoor theatre without:

Losing the rubber chicken
Murdering anyone who touched my props
Actually drowning in that first weekend monsoon

The cast were chuffing legends. The audience were completely bonkers (in the best way). And Suze’s vision turned Shakespeare into something that felt like fun, accessible and utterly bonkers in all the best ways!

The Bit Where I Get Sentimental (again, I know, sorry not sorry!)

To everyone who stayed in their camping chairs while being rained on: you’re all completely mad and I love you for it.

To the cast who wore soggy costumes without complaint: absolute flipping warriors.

To my prop table: rest in peace, sweet angel. Until the next time I volunteer for something I’m clearly not qualified for.

And to you beautiful Chumlins reading this: thanks for sticking around while I figured out that weekly blogs and outdoor Shakespeare don’t mix. And also, I shouldn’t put my blog in a suit…but that’s a story for another day!

Same chaos, just more sustainable. Like switching from espresso shots to tea – still caffeinated, less likely to cause heart palpitations.

TPFN, Kyra x

P.S. – If you’re nodding along thinking “God, she’s a mess but at least she’s honest about it,” I made some ADHD-friendly journals that might help you track your own beautiful disasters. They’re in the shop, obviously, because my coping mechanism is making pretty things for other chaotic brains.

P.P.S. – Still finding cucumber ends in my bag. Some experiences never truly leave you.

P.P.P.S. – Suze, if you’re reading this: I’m still not committing to next year. My prop table trauma needs time to heal.

Oh, and thanks to me and other cast peeps for the photos!

Kyra Marie Is Me

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