If you've visited my personal web page then
you'll know that I enjoy going out, and that I particularly
like going out to the theatre. I like it so much in fact
that I've been to the theatre three times in the last two
weeks. I love live theatre. I get a thrill watching real
people, real actors on a real stage in front of me, working,
sweating, remembering their lines, picking up their cues,
staring into the audience, entertaining. I get so used to
watching bland acting on TV that's it necessary every now
and then to get out to live theatre and see how it should be
done. But it doesn't matter how many times I go to the
theatre, seems like I always buy the seat behind the woman
with the back-combed perm wearing a hat, intent on obscuring
any view I might have had from my very uncomfortable seat.
One of the plays I've been to was an adult pantomime;
absolute filth (but belly achingly funny). Another was
poignant and sad, and I wasn't the only person sniffling and
holding in my tears at the end of it. The final play was so
bad I went out to the bar at half time and stayed there. I
should have known it wasn't going to be my cup of tea when
the SAGA over 55's coaches pulled into the
theatre car park. My suspicions were confirmed once inside
the theatre when I was the only member of the audience with
my own teeth, without a blue rinse and a comfy pair of Dr.
Scholls. Despite being billed as "hilarious, a must see!" it
really turned out to be "dire! should've stayed at home!,
and was aimed at a completely different age group from the
trendy magazine I saw the play advertised in.
Theatre seats are terribly uncomfortable aren't they? I was
sitting there itching on the velour seats for 2 and a half
hours which isn't much fun when you've got strangers in
front and behind you, and you're gagging with the smell of
different aftershave and perfumes. The bloke next to me
kept scratching my knee instead of his own, while I stared
longingly at his mint imperials, hoping he'd offer me one,
but he never did. And then there's that awful fight for the
bar at half time. Heaven forbid if anyone should get in my
way!
I like the usherettes. I like the way they glide down the
aisle at half time with their tray of delights and their
torches and then they disappear into thin air when the
safety curtain rises, the lights dim, the audience hush, and
the second half starts. I'm always disappointed by that
tray of goodies though, they only ever sell vanilla choc-
ices and then charge 5 quid each for them.
When I'm watching a play, I switch off completely and
concentrate on the acting in front of me. And then the fear
sets in. The panic. Did I turn the gas oven off? What if
my house is being burgled while I'm sitting here? I sweat.
I shake. But, I have to remain silent and clap politely at
the right time, all the while the rising panic wells up
inside me. This happens quite frequently, apparently. Not
just to me, but to other theatre goers, I read about it
once. Psychologists even gave it a name.
I don't have any more theatre evenings planned just yet.
Perhaps next week I'll write about the other thing I like to
do when I go out (no, not skip around after too much
Guinness). I love eating out. Particularly Italian food.
Pasta, garlic, wine, yum. Come to think of it, I'd better
get out tonight and do some research.... bye!
Glenda Young is also the writer of the
weekly Coronation
Street Update on the net, and can be contacted at:
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