Today, in the spirit of adventure I did something I have never done before. You'll think me mad but I went to the theatre in the afternoon. To be clear I have been in a theatre before and not just for pantos. I have have seen operas, ballets, comedians and the odd play. However I have always waited until the evening to indulge. I now realise that pure instinct kept me from experiencing the most frightful ordeal.
Oh it wasn't the show. The show was quite the hoot and along with the wine provided the only happiness I experienced during the hell of the matinee. It's hard to describe what I've been through but I shall do my best to set it out in my own words. It may well be needed in some ground breaking legal case in the very near future.
I have always loved the word matinee. It's redolent of lovely things, like Dirk Bogarde twinkling down from a cinema poster. The reality is far from lovely. We all know that strangers are just foul irritants we haven't met yet but when one is forced to encounter them, I now know it is less painful to do so at night. The evening theatre audience is rendered docile by a wee pre-theatre and a half bottle of wine. The matinee crowd want the back of their legs slapping.
I have spent four decades being herded around with you cattle but not once have I ever encountered such a relentlessly irritating bunch and believe me I've met some fiends on the way.
Naturally I took my seat early on. I was positioned on a fairly empty row Q only to find myself trapped between an awkward middle aged "date" and a family. I thought I might die. Row P was occupied by arthritic pensioners who shot up and massaged their lower backs and upper buttocks, quite without warning. Everyone in row P appeared to be called "Maggie". The one with the "tramp stamp" kept telling us to "keep smiling". I didn't. She was bossy and I was compelled to defy her.
I can only assume someone had starved this assortment of monsters before they entered the theatre. Other than the sort of eating disorder that ends in one being removed from ones digs in a crane, there is no explanation for the relentless rustling and chewing. On and on it went. Splatty chew, rustle, splatty chew, splatty chew, audible fart, rustle, chew. Right through both acts. That would never happen in the evening.
It was something of a relief when the curtain finally rose. Rather, it should have been a relief but the nasally child weasel next to me had memorised both script and songs. I thought about telling it I was best friends with Rose West or that I could get it sent to live with Karen Mathews but I kept quiet and tried to cause deafness in my right ear by sheer will power. After a time, I either deafened myself to the right or the creature ran out of puff and shut up.
Of course trouble flared up when the odd man to my left spotted the wine in my handbag and started loudly whispering to his partner that "other people" had "carry outs". He was a rotter and an ill informed rotter at that. I did not have a "carry out", I had a blue package ticket which comes with a small bottle. A small bottle that I required in order to deal with my surroundings. I had cause to curse this gentleman again during the interval when he remarked to the red faced woman he was with that I was "having another one but not from a bottle". I think he was jealous but it was medicinal and necessary. Like a wheelchair ramp.
Contributing to my sense of being hemmed in by cunts was Row R to my rear. This was all in the stalls. I dread to think what was taking place in the dress circle. Anyway Row R was occupied by hair tossing, up speaking, weak bladders. They barely got through ten minutes without clambering out their row, roaring sorry, like it's a question and vanishing. Only to return and do it all again. Repeatedly.
Show 3/5
Audience 0/5
I shall never enter a theatre in the daytime again.
