Or “suffering for our art” (thanks to Google translation – though I’m not convinced it’s right) in the French class at the Yorebridge Centre. Ian plays the part of a heartless Frenchman leaving his grieving lover with never a backward glance. Oh well – that was the idea, anyway. Judith brought along a poem – in French of course – which I had to read while Ian acted it out. “Betsy will read it and you have to do what she says,” Judith explained. “No change there, then,” muttered Ian into his beard. But once the spotlight was on him and he’d donned a fetching polka dot pink mac – putting him, rather worryingly, in touch with his feminine side – he was soon in character, smoking his Gauloise with a nonchalant air while affecting a cold disdain for his one-time lover. Norma played the part of the spurned mademoiselle with true grit. Or grip.