My, how we laughed at the softly spoken Irish motormouth. Yet being in a theatre last night made me angry. Some people appear to never have snuggled into flip up seats before and have no concept of theatre etiquette. You know, the thing that suggests that, when the interval and the end of the show arrive, you have to wait for the people at the end of the aisle (ie, M and myself) to move before you can attempt to leave your seats. It is no good standing up and looking down at the people attempting to gather together their property. I will not step aside, for you have nowhere to go, as the aisle is also blocked with other people attempting to get to the bar. There is no point to your lilly-livered attempts to get me to shift faster than I intend to. You do not intimidate me as you push into my back, muttering about how hot the auditorium is and how thirsty you are. We all feel the same. Just get in line. I had to go home and file a review but even I wasn't in that much of a rush.
I shook the hand of Dara O Briain at the end of the show. This doesn't impress me that much so I don't expect it to impress you. Anyhoo, he is bigger in a bar environment than he looks on stage. He also has size 13 feet. I wish I could have had access to his shoes to club the people attempting to get past us. Not to death. Just hurt them a little bit. I suppose I should have explained how I felt to them. They will no doubt do it all again the next time they grace a theatre with their presence. Thus running the risk of being the victims of a shoe frenzy. An assailant could use a gun, of course. But there's something altogether British about hitting folk with footwear.
Cool moment last night was that there is some publicity up in the foyer for M's play, which is on in August. And some people dare to suggest that dreams don't come true. It's probably the same bastards that wanted to get to the bar ahead of everyone else.
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