One of the evenings Malia was with us we took her to see a play.
First we treated her to her favourite restaurant for a hamburger and then bought a couple of refreshments to have while waiting for the theatre to open. Ideally these would be excellent in a park or churchyard but there were none in the Piccadilly area of London where we were. We didn’t want to sit on the fountain steps, been there done that, in Rome.
“We always have these great ideas,” said our daughter, “but can do nothing with them!” she finished.
That was true enough but I didn’t want to go into a pub or fork over the price of another couple of tickets for an expensive beverage in the theatre bar, when it eventually opened.
We finally found somewhere, off the beaten track, memorable and definitely original, for those of us who aren’t homeless!
The Guilgud Theatre on London’s Shaftsbury Avenue was a step into the past.
Malia and I had to pay a visit to the Ladies room, which was tiny, of course, and while in the queue we were all able to soak up the atmosphere of a stately home against the striped wallpaper on the hallway walls and the plush red carpet underfoot.
The toilet was quaint enough to photograph!
When we had climbed the narrow stairs and walked the curved corridor to our seats we stopped for a breather to take in the vast auditorium painted in cream, coral and gold and lit by a magnificent chandelier. I felt I had stepped into an Edwardian music hall.
We were high up in the dress circle, last row in fact and the feeling of vertigo fluttered across my stomach for a moment. I stopped looking down until I’d taken my seat. Then I looked at the view. In my student days this part of the theatre was called “the gods” for good reason, you felt above it all up here!
When The Lady Killers began I was pleasantly surprised I could both see and hear everything going on on stage remarkably well. The angle of my head, slightly craning forward instead of gazing upwards, was a pleasant change for my posture. One that rendered my back and neck, pain free for the rest of the evening as we journeyed home.
Malia notoriously does not do “late nights” and took a very expensive nap.
The West End, when we spilled out onto its streets 3 hours later had stepped up several notches and was hopping with people out on the town.
Our daughter would have happily snuggled down into her stroller had we thought to bring it with us!
She’s always been pretty good at sleeping on the go, just don’t talk to her past 11pm!
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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