Small ponds, deep waters, eh? Not really: Pharmaceutical Migraines is just an overlong monologue delivered by the downtrodden assistant on a pharmacy's perfume counter, its sub-Bennett echoes amplified from time to time when Liz Brimilcombe breaks into a Patricia Routledge impression. Westwood's principled desire to write about 'tedious' lives sounds sympathetic, but it's hard to see the point: he doesn't offer fresh insights, and Wendy is a vacuous stereotype.
Double D covers the same empty territory, but Westwood handles dialogue more confidently than soliloquy, and the characters are better-observed. Jan Graveson and Charlotte Bellamy are convincing as the intellectually frustrated Trudi and her cheerfully hedonistic friend Laurel. It's more fun than Pharmaceutical Migraines, though not necessarily for the non-smoker: a lot of cigarettes get smoked in a cramped space.
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