Practicing my Chekhov pose of staring out of the window looking for birds flying east to Moscow as they do in Russian plays!  This week there is a student production of the Seagull here in Oxford and it is going down a storm.  Not a lot of tickets left.  There is an almighty crash bang at the end to signify (plot spoiler) yup a suicide.  No note.  Yet the last thing the unfulfilled writer was doing was banging on his typewriter.  It ends leaving me full of questions.  Will just have to stare out the window a bit longer to find the answers!  Or the birds.