admit to feeling a tad confused after experiencing Dirty Dusting. Had I
just watched a bold, empowering piece of feminist theatre, a searing indictment
of ageism in the 21st century, or a comedy which felt like it had been written
in the 1970s? Or, indeed, all three? Perhaps my confusion was partly down to
the audience; predominantly made up of women aged between 35 and 60, there was
a definite Hens’ Night “We’re here to enjoy ourselves, whatever happens” vibe,
even before The Cure's “Friday I’m in Love” launched proceedings...