Virginia Ironside’s diary: Fifty Shades is a story of redemption (but I still won’t watch it)

All this fuss about Fifty Shades of Grey! I wonder how many people have actually read all three books? Sado-masochism is only half the story. When you’ve waded through the entire oeuvre, if such appalling writing can be dignified with that term, you discover that the whole story is one of redemption. The ostensibly wicked, but aptly named, Christian is actually a tormented man who was cruelly abused by his mother and re-enacts this cruelty towards his lovers. But with a good woman (and a baby), pervy dungeons vanish and love conquers all. Pure Mills & Boon.

These days I don’t go to films. I watch the trailers instead and I’ve saved myself hours of misery. Wild, Birdman, Whiplash — I listen with schadenfreude as friends describe the torture they’ve suffered watching films like these. Were there a trailer for the new Stoppard play I’d watch that to confirm that I don’t want to go. Not that there’s any need. Years ago I was taken by Barry Humphries to the first London run of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. As we walked out before the interval, accompanied by the sniggering knowingness of the audience, Barry remarked: ‘It’s said that Stoppard turns the English language on its head. He does. But why?’ (I hope I remember that quote correctly. I was recently approached by a shining-eyed woman who clutched my sleeve and confided: ‘I have to tell you! Years ago you changed my life!’ ‘How?’ I asked, flattered. ‘You told me to follow my heart!’ Really? Me? Follow your heart? I think not!)

But last week I had a much more interesting theatrical experience. I saw Kim Noble’s one-man hour-long show You’re Not Alone, at the Soho Theatre. He appeared for much of the time in nothing more than grubby underpants.