As a youngster, I went to see a production of ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf’ at the old Colonnade Theatre on Bloor St. There were about five people in the audience – probably some special Tuesday matinee. I sat on a bench in the first row, my knobby knees sticking out into the playing area. Martha was literally on one side of my nose and George was on the other side. They were screaming back and forth over my head like I was the tennis net.

Boom – fifty years of loving theatre ensued.