LitaDoolan

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[litadoolan]

There’s something about listening in warm weather that changes a story somehow.

The Shape of Things Undone is a gentle, site-responsive audio monologue about memory, care and the things people carry quietly.

https://www.brightonfringe.org/events/the-shape-of-things-undone/

#MedicalHumanities #AudioTheatre #Care

[litadoolan]

🌼 If you’ve got a quiet hour and somewhere to sit in the sun — there’s a free audio show waiting for you.

33 minutes. Headphones. Wherever you are. 🎧

The Shape of Things Undone – Brighton Fringe

#BrightonFringe #BrightonFringe2026 #AudioTheatre #AudioDrama #ImmersiveAudio #SiteResponsive #Theatre #FringeTheatre #NewWriting #Playwriting #DementiaAwareness #MedicalHumanities #CareStories #Storytelling #ListeningExperience #PodcastTheatre #IndependentTheatre #CreativeWriting #ArtAndCare #HumanConnection #MemoryAndIdentity #BankHoliday #BankHolidayMonday #MayBankHoliday #SunnyDays #HeadphonesOn #QuietMoments #TheatreLovers #WritersOfFacebook #ArtsAndCulture #BritishTheatre #SoloShow #DigitalTheatre #ContemporaryTheatre #ReflectiveListening #AccessibleArt #SupportArtists #FringeFestival #AudioExperience #MindfulListening #UKArts

[litadoolan]

BroadwayWorldUK (@broadwayworlduk) on Threads

Review: BRIGHTON FRINGE REVIEW: THE SHAPE OF THINGS UNDONE (an audio-only piece) https://www.broadwayworld.com/article/Review-BRIGHTON-FRIN

[litadoolan]

Bank holiday weekend. If you find yourself with a quiet half hour — a garden, an open window, somewhere still — there’s a free audio piece on at Brighton Fringe that might suit the moment.

The Shape of Things Undone follows Christine, a carer on her last shift, heating a sandwich in a microwave she has an understanding with. It’s about what gets left behind when things change.

Thirty three minutes. Free. On demand until 31 May.

https://www.brightonfringe.org/events/the-shape-of-things-undone/

#BrightonFringe #BrightonFringe2026 #AudioTheatre #AudioDrama #NewWriting #DementiaAwarenessWeek #DementiaAction #Dementia #Alzheimers #CareWork #Carers #CarersUK #NHSVoices #MedicalHumanities #CreativeHealth #ArtsAndHealth #ArtsAndWellbeing #MentalHealth #TheatreOnline #OnlineTheatre #FreeTheatre #DigitalTheatre #ListenNow #OnDemand #BankHoliday #BankHolidayWeekend #IndieTheatre #NewPlays #WomenInTheatre #FemalePlaywright #UKTheatre #FringeTheatre #AudioFiction #Podcast #RadioDrama #StorytellingAudio #HumanConnection #Memory #Loss #Care #Kindness #NHS #HealthcareHeroes #FrontlineWorkers #Caregiving #Ageing #PersonhoodMatters #ShapeOfThingsUndone #LitaDoolan #JulieBroadbent

[04k96]

[litadoolan]

(via What the camera held for ten years)

[litadoolan]

(via Staging Alzheimer’s: A New Play About Memory, Care, and What We Leave Behind)

[litadoolan]

Summer Fringe Highlights

Some bright stars I Found Along the Way There’s a certain kind of work that doesn’t arrive with a press release. You find it slightly sidewa

[litadoolan]

The Fringe in Your Living Room

There’s a particular kind of August that most people never get to have. The one where you stumble into something unexpected at eleven in the

[vexheart]

[ether--net]

[litadoolan]

Reiki Flowers & the Spirit of Glastonbury

🌸  Reiki Flowers & the Spirit of Glastonbury  🌸 Finding Peace in Petals and Summer Light There’s something about Glastonbury in the summer that softens the edges of everything. The colours are louder — but not in a way that shouts. They glow. Fields ripple with purples and golds. Wildflowers lean into the breeze like they’re listening. It’s a place that feels like it remembers. Where…

Reiki Flowers & the Spirit of Glastonbury

[litadoolan]

The Cat Lovers of Sycamore Close

On a quiet cul-de-sac in Milesend—a row of modest red-brick houses with tidy gardens and creaky front gates—lived three neighbours who barely knew each other. Mrs. Patel, recently widowed, kept to herself behind lace curtains; Mrs. Simmons, single and fiercely independent, tended her begonias with precise care; and young Ms. Harper, newly arrived and juggling two part-time jobs, rarely found two minutes to breathe. Their greetings were polite but cool—until one cloudy morning when a stray ginger cat appeared on Mrs. Patel’s doorstep.

It began simply: Mrs. Patel couldn’t bear to see the creature’s hungry eyes, so she left a scrap of cheese on her stoop. By afternoon, the cat had polished it off, leaving only crumbs. Next day, caught up in the moment, Mrs. Patel offered a leftover prawn; the cat purred and slinked around the rose bushes. Word spread in feline whispers (or so the cats claimed) to the aging tuxedo from next door, and the calico who lived two streets over. Soon, Miss Harper found a second bowl on her stoop—tiny flakes of salmon she’d tucked away for supper. Not to be outdone, Mrs. Simmons cracked open a tin of mackerel and set it on her low brick wall.

Each morning, the three women watched from their windows as cats mingled, tails curled in greeting. Competition bloomed: who would attract the sleek black cat nicknamed Shadow? Who could coax the shy tabby for a gentle tummy rub? The ginger king—dubbed Mr. Pumpkin—sat atop Mrs. Patel’s fence, surveying his court. The neighbours began to exchange nods and soft smiles, their frostiness melting away over cat chatter and shared laughter.

Then came one blustery afternoon when a family moved into the house across the road, complete with a large koi pond. The women watched, bemused, as every cat sprinted through gardens and hedges toward glittering fish. Within days, the cats had discovered their new delicacy; the old routine of cheese, prawn, and salmon lay forgotten. The newcomers, alarmed by empty ponds and missing fish, packed up and left as quickly as they’d come—leaving the cats to feast.

With the feline frenzy over, the trio found themselves oddly bereft. On a bright Saturday, they met at the corner bus stop, chatting about their unexpected friendship. They boarded the number 12 into town, envelopes in hand for the local cinema’s classic‐film matinee (and the promise of free digestives at the interval). As the projector spun its reels, the three friends, side by side, shared biscuits and stories—knowing that, on Sycamore Close, community could spring from the smallest act of kindness.

[litadoolan]

Rustle in the cutting

The cut-through wasn’t much — just a patch of grass and a row of overgrown laurels. But halfway in, she heard it. A rustle. Leaves shifted l

[weltenwellen]

Joy Sullivan, from “Sad Lovers”, Instructions for Traveling West

[litadoolan]

Wrapper at the Edge. Breath Mints

A crinkled sweet wrapper catches the light—

left behind with a breath once whispered

between lips sugared with love.

Foil gold, bent at the edge,

flutters at the promenade’s end,

where sea inhales and a gull sighs,

Over letters unsent.

A ghost-note in a song that no longer plays,

Has its echo caught in the throat of the wind

that once lifted her laugh.

Waves fold over themselves over

Like paper napkins and hotel towels

Waiting for the hours.

The rattle of a paper cup skitters past—

a dry rusty memory,

the fairground wheel that turns slowly,

hums to the carousels fixed tune—

a mockery of a Looped refrain

a longing that won’t land on the gritty wet sand

The trapped joy fights to surface.

The rain is coming, falling sideways,

as if pulled by the weight of eyes

that blur saltwater with grief

drawn back from sea to shore.

Fog curls like happy fingers around painted horses

each bound by a heartbeat, in every leap

Our love still galloping in place, blind and proud,

and the unwrapped love that once was whole.

spinning in rhythm with loss,

A fragile flare at the edge of the world,

And all the while, that sweet wrapper dances—

All that remains of a few last chances

[op-isopoly]

"substructure"

<3

[boxierketchup9]

Ooooh pretty