Black Watch.

Now there's a show.

Devoted readers of this blog will recollect that I first saw this in August of 2006. I think I even saw one of the preview performances. It was notable for several reasons.

It was the National Theatre of Scotland's debut offering. And as a production set not in a theatre but, fittingly, in a drill hall, it made a bold statement of intent.

Secondly, it was the second outing for author Gregory Burke who'd had a stupendous success with Gagarin Way.

And thirdly, it came hot on the heels of the announcement that Scotland's historic regiments were to be disbanded and assimilated into a single Royal Regiment of Scotland. An announcement that was received with considerable disquiet in this bonnie land. And my oh my, here was a play set in 2005 in the innocent pre-disbanding days when the Black Watch was as bold and as brave and as revered as it would ever be with no sense of the impending ruin lurking in the wings.

So there were three really sound reasons to pay attention to tthis play. That interestingly transcended the borders of the traditional theatre goer's interest. A promising start.

And then the show was smashing. Honestly, four years on, one of the best pieces of theatre I've ever seen in my little life. Inventive, audacious, pertinent, pointed. The direction was superb. Mr Tiffany making his presence felt on a properly national stage. The acting was exceptional. A cracking script from local boy Mr Burke. And a production that was impeccably choreographed and constructed to bring out all of the bravery and the bombast of these soldiers but all of the pathos of their unenviable circumstance. It was gorgeous. I was spell-bound. So slavishly went to see it again before August 2006 was out.

Four years on and the National Theatre of Scotland decided to revive the production. The dates were against me so I didn't see it in Scotland but leapt at the chance to pop along to a grandly titled "social media call" at the Barbican earlier this week. They were summoning bloggers, tweeters and other such social media geeks to a privileged preview of a couple of scenes to whet audience appetites for a forthcoming two month run. What a smart idea.

Along I popped on one of the snowiest days we've seen this year. We gathered in the green room, slightly sheepish about our licence to be there at all. And then were ushered through to the auditorium, thrillingly passing one of the actors in costume in the lift. Obviously I was far too star struck to do anything so bold as strike up a conversation. Herded into the auditorium, the stage manager ran around ordering people about and the first scene began.

We were permitted to take pictures. Which felt fundamentally wrong. You don't take photos in a theatre unless you're Jon Davey. And unfortunately this meant that I was distracted wholly by trying to take pictures with my camera, pictures with my fool's blackberry and simultaneously tweet them. All as the scene unfolded in front of us. So you can imagine I wasn't paying a great deal of attention to the action. But they sounded like they knew what they were doing. (In scene one, cursing to high heaven as they watched a bunch of planes bomb a village to f**k.)

Scene two. Obligingly, my all-time favourite scene. The journalist is interviewing the boys.




Then Lord someone or other dressed to the nines as a proper Black Watch boy comes stomping in and lectures them on their disrespect for history.

And this - in the full length version - triggers the whole beautiful sequence where they undress and redress our main protagonist in the uniforms of the Black Watch over the centuries. Red hackle and all.

It's a routine that's astonishing on many levels. It's perfectly choregraphed (yes, I know this eulogy is getting repetitive), impeccably timed, smart, slick and cavalierly delivered. So you're trotted through I think it's 400 years of Black Watch history in not very much more than a few beats of a lazy heart. But they stopped just short of this to my sorrow - though it's probably just as well as I'd have struggled to take my media duties seriously while such a spectacle unfolded.

So the scene wrapped up. Our National Theatre of Scotland marketing man Andrew sprang up and urged us to interview the actors. And god bless him we all stared back at him to a social media 'expert' with mutual aghast horror. We surely weren't there to speak but to be spoken to. But the idea took root and a few hardy souls choked out questions.

I boldly asked John Tiffany (stuttering like a schoolgirl in the face of my hero) whether he thought the timing of the revival affected the messages which an audience might take from the play. Except unfortunately I wasn't nearly so articulate as this at the time. He said that sadly, yes, he felt it was as pertinent as it had ever been as we were still in Iraq, still in Afghanistan, still getting killed dead in the name of our country. So perhaps, please, people can take note.

Well said, John.

So if you're in London - or even if you're not - over the next two months, get yourself along to the Barbican if you haven't seen it already as it's a wonder of a piece of theatre. The new cast, from what I've seen, have got stuck right into it and bring all the energy and ooomph needed to do this play justice. And the Barbican's a very cool place - visit it via the extraordinary highways - particularly in the snow.

Give me a smack when you see me next if you think I'm wrong.