THE magical adaptation of Roald Dahls classic fairytale, The Witches, at the Grand Theatre had the adults and the children squirming in their seats in horror and delight.

Real witches don't wear pointy hats and black cloaks we are informed. Real witches are much scarier. They get as much pleasure from squelching a child as you or I would get from eating a plate of strawberries.

These superbly evil harpies, presided over by the Grand High Witch, are holding their annual conference at a hotel on the south coast.

They are hatching plans to turn "revolting little children" into mice by giving them chocolates and sweets filled with a magic potion.

The witches, who wear wigs because they are bald, gloves because they have no fingernails, and have blue spit, held the entire audience in horrified fascination.

The tale then focusses on a little orphan boy and his Norwegian grandmother who are also staying at the hotel.

He accidentally falls in the wicked ladies' paths and is promptly turned in to a mouse along with his friend Bruno.

The rest of the play follows their plucky attempts to stop the witches in their evil machinations by turning them in to mice.

The two boys who wore furry mouse costumes from this point on drew gasps of delight from the younger members of the audience.

The final dramatic moment is when the Grand High Witch drowns in a huge tureen of pea green soup and good triumphs over evil.

A thoroughly recommended evening of spellbinding entertainment.

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