Fleet StreetÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s theatre critics are a notoriously precious bunch. So, the poor luvvies will be spluttering over their interval drinks in the theatre bar after AA GillÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s diatribe against them.
According to his chums, Gill fancies swapping his reviews of West End restaurants for the Sunday Times for West End theatres Ã¢â‚¬’ no extra travelling after all.
And judging by his latest cover story for the paperÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s Culture section, those days might not be far off. Gill lambasts the current crop of theatre critics with a coruscating review of their own lacklustre performance.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“No aspect of the culture is as badly served by its critics as the theatre is,Ã¢â‚¬ writes Gill.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Many of the national press reviewers who haunt the lobbies of the West End, picking up their complimentary programmes and free glasses of screwtop wine, are a moribund, joyless, detached bunch.Ã¢â‚¬
The Daily TelegraphÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s Charles Spencer, The IndependentÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s Paul Taylor and the Daily MailÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s Quentin Letts all come in for a pasting for their Ã¢â‚¬Å“thudding repetitionÃ¢â‚¬ which results in the Ã¢â‚¬Å“uniform, dank sogginessÃ¢â‚¬ of their work.
ItÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s quite a job application from Gill.
But Axegrinder fears that he may have to watch future productions from a private box if he wants to leave the building alive.