We are totally in the ether. No longer burdened by guilt over the forests decimated to provide what ultimately would end up as blotters for beer tent spills, the Jenny Revue has gone all 21st Century in our 25th Year.

Thing is, no print shop means no print deadlines, which is why I haven’t cluttered up this site with my random mutterings until now. Back in the day, of course, we didn’t publish Wednesdays but now Jenny has outgrown such constraints of time and space—as has the size of the font I am using to compose these ramblings. Grade one students who just learned to print are stopping by to point and laugh at the Trumpian Hu-u-u-geness of the letters. I hope people are finding their way to this site if only so the extraordinary amount of time I’ve spent so far just trying to find the ratzafratzing cursor hasn’t been entirely wasted.

I’ve counted and while math is not my strong suit, it seems that as of Tuesday afternoon at least 85 shows are eligible for Jenny Award nominations this coming Sunday night at the King’s Head, either by way of reviews or SSPs, (those 80 words of self puffery each and every company is invited to contribute). Jenny staffers are doing yeomen’s work (while, presumably the yeomen loll around the beer tent, occasionally shouting “Yo!!”)

Present, too, are some familiar scribes, who are no doubt delighted that I am no longer carving their thoughtful essays into Post It notes in order to cram them onto 8 pages of paper.

Having made it down to the Exchange only once, and getting no farther than the food and beer vendors, I am not about to make shameless promises about reviewing a show. And now that the mercury in every thermometer is racing to the top, surely every last seat in an air-conditioned venue has been booked through next year and may well contain patrons who intend to stay there until then. As for the folks who are willing to line up for shows in sweat boxes, you are much stronger (and nuttier) than me.

So, feeling like a proud parent watching its child totter off without me, (although by age 25, it’s only excuse for tottering is too many trips between the beer tent and the King’s Head patio), I leave you all to it. Keep writing and reading—and hydrating! (Booze doesn’t count.)

Buses and weather permitting, I’ll see you all upstairs at the King’s Head at10ish, Sunday for the 25th fabulous Jenny Awards.

Coral McKendrick