Got to London yesterday eve to find that Rowan Atkinson was alive and well, had not fallen downstairs or thrown out a splinter and was doing the performance so that was a relief. First hurdle out of way.
However, we had another one to face. I only discovered yesterday that the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane has No Lift. It is a listed building and so English Heritage had said that we all have to hike ourselves up endless stairs to get to our seats (I am reliably informed that there are 35 steps to the Grand Circle where we were sitting) so multiply that by about four, sling the odd ups and downs into the bars and loos etc and you will realise that the hoi polloi up in the gods are punished even more for their poverty by denying them oxygen and finishing them off. My friend Rosemary is very arthritic and cannot do stairs so we had a problem here and after I let fly with a few verbal volleys about discrimination and access for the disabled, I was informed they did indeed have this access but it was only in the stalls. AH HA! shrieked I, so if you are disabled and POOR and cannot afford the stalls it is well toodle pip, goodbye and off you go (well I did'nt quite put it that way but you get the drift).
To cut a long story short, a charming young manager called David then came along and led us through a way that cut out half the steps and let us into the auditorium before anybody else. He also detailed two nice young things to keep an eye on us and could not have been more helpful. Turned out that this was his bread and butter job and what he really wanted to do was to be a singer and he was a tenor with an audition the following week for a bit part in We Will Rock You. Never fails to amaze me how interesting people are behind what looks like an ordinary exterior. Last time Ro and I went to Covent Garden we got into a taxi driven by a man who used to be a chorister and a child singer and actually sang in the children's chorus in Act 1 of Carmen at the Opera House. True.
I am rambling, ok don't say it (nothing new there then). The show was simply wonderful. My two daughters loved Oliver and knew, and still do know, every single word of every single song, as do I and Rosemary threatened me with dire consequences if I joined in while the show was on. I managed it but it was hard and I finally gave in at the very end when practically the entire audience was singing Consider Yourself at the tops of their voices. It was a joyous evening, Rowan Atkinson quite quite brilliant, the Nancy not quite so, the chorus and boys marvellous but the the star of the evening was the set and production. Simply stunning.
The stage at Drury Lane is 80 feet deep and with the perspective and St Paul's in the distance looked even more so, each scene shifted and changed and it was magnificent.
Audience on their feet at the end yelling appreciation. Magical evening.
Oh and as well as going into Lady Brackcell mode at the theatre, I had to do the same at the restaurant where we had arrived early for a meal before hte show, waited 50 minutes for our starters, they then got them wrong, had to wait for replacements and we did not have time to eat our main course. I made my displeasure felt and heard by the entire restaurant and we swep out, my final words being 'And please don't even think of charging us for anything we have eaten or drunk...."
Of course by the end of the evening we were a tad clemmed so sat on the train going home eating the biggest ham and cheese baguette I have ever seen, purchased at Liverpool Street. It was pretty revolting as well but needs must. I do hate eating on trains but as we were surrounded by late night revellers on their way back to the sunny climes of Essex stuffing their faces with Macdonalds, hot pasties, Whoppers, sausage rolls and one man eating sushi, all washed down by pints of Coke, Red Bull and Fanta, we were not out of place.....
Great evening but gosh I am tired today.
