The Magic of Theatre X 2
Wednesday is always a strange night, you should be at home, you should be at the gym, you should be speaking to your Mother. Who knows, you should be doing something sensible because there are two full working days left ploughing the furrows of commerce.
I went out.
The Duke had tickets to the theatre, but that show didn't start until 9.30 so we had a small drink first then headed on foot toward Soho. Our journey at around 7.20 led us past the Shaftesbury Theatre. As we walked past I was accosted by a heroin addled beggar. You see this a lot in London and when it is as cold as it was that night most of the non drug dependent homeless have moved off the streets. The olde phrase "Brass Monkeys" come to mind.
This chap was persistent, 10p for a shelter" he asked. I said "Sorry I won't, besides a shelter is free and whilst there might not be enough you can, I'm sure get in somewhere" He tailed me as I kept walking, and he kept asking... He gave up.
He re-focused on The Duke who, was by now 50 yards behind me. Where the "f**k?" I thought as I turned round.
I should have guessed. There he was talking to an attractive young woman. They said goodbye and he chased up to me. He was followed by the beggar who was looking for "`10p towards a cup of tea"
I tried to ask him what on earth had been going on there? He tried to tell me. Through all this the now animated but still polite bedraggled chap looking to collect small change bobbed and weaved between us in an lively but sadly desperate way.
In the end it turned out that The Duke had been stopped by a femme fatal who had decided she didn't fancy the magic of theatre after all that night. And her friends hadn't turned up. I don't know, that kind of thing doesn't happen to me. Perhaps its his hormones? Did he get her number? I'm beginning to realise that there is a reason his phone has an extended memory chip.
So there we were.
It was 7.25 and we had 2 free tickets for the show starting in 5 minutes.
Ahh, The West End. The theatre, the magic, lights, chorus and errrm, a bar in the stalls that didn't sell alcohol. What is this town coming to?
We found another bar. Wisely, it sold Gin and Tonic's. The highlight at this point could have come straight out of a silent Ealing comedy.
Picture the scene. I am ordering the aforesaid Gin and Tonics. The Duke's eyes cast around the half empty bar and spot a glossy (and possibly expensive) program lost on the back wall leaning counter. He picks it up and says "Oh look a program these cost few quid you know!" The group of half a dozen businessmen a few yard down the counter all have programs in their hands and other than them any other punters are well away or filing towards the door for the imminent start of the show. I pay for the drinks as The Duke nips casually into the gents.
As he enters another man leaves. He is wearing a suit. They pass in the doorway. They have to make way for each other. The business man heads towards the back wall leaning counter. The Duke disappears.
I hear the business man (possibly on a once in a year junket to the big smoke) speak to his colleagues "Errm, has anyone seen my program?
His friends laugh. "Your always losing things you plonk" says one. And with that they charge for the seats.
A couple of minutes later The Duke returns accompanied by his program.
I said nothing. After all it would be shame to spoil it.
If only he realised that his timing was comedy perfection.
Thoroughly Modern Millie
Big show. We sat on an isle seat, a good view. The Flappers went flap. The chorus screeched. In fact they really did screech. Oh, and danced. Whilst it was clear that the cast was working hard something was very broken. It really is not good to be screeched at by whole choruses of women intent on pretending that they have Neow Yrrrk accents from 84 years ago.
After 20 minutes The Duke looked at me and I looked at him. We fled.
There are better things to be doing than that
Food Theme On a Stick
We continued on our way. The beggar having harvested the change he needed for shelter/tea/horse had gone. It was still cold.
I felt uneasy about the restaurant we choose for some pre-theatre nibbles. I was right.
Nadines 23-24 Greek Street
This place looks the part. Think Greek, Lebanese and Moroccan as a mix and add Conrans baby son. You might say "Ok, the food should be as good as the cushions". It wasn't.
We had a few starters each. Eastern Tapas if you will. Mezzo of you won't.
Don't go. The food is edible but it all tastes the same and leaves an oily film on the roof of the mouth that is not pleasant. If that's authentic I don't want it.
The manager (or owner?) to his credit agreed with me. He said he was still working with the chef. I would have liked to have suggested that he should try working with the chef by actually speaking to him as obviously the telepathic hints weren't working. I am however far to polite and we parted on amicable terms. Though with funny breath?
One memory I do have of this, is that the manager-owner never blinks. A little like James Earl Jones as 'Thulsa Doom' in the old (but memorable) flick
Conan The Barbarian. Only fatter like Omar Sharif. Oh, sod it! Go anyway just to see if his eyes ever move...
Theatre Finally Works
We got there in the end.
All I Want Is A British Passport!
This was fabulous. Just under one hour, a monologue touched with poignancy and excellent humor. If you get the chance, go and see it. I say that unreservedly.
There is so much I could add but for once its better to go yourself. In the face of such excellence this Gardener will sit quietly and enjoy.
We ended up at
Lab..
I haven't even started on Thursday night.
thegardener1969@msn.com
