Girl Talk

I think I’ve been discovering my feminine side lately, and I fear it’s now too late to go back.

This movement from the dark side to the pink doesn’t mean that I’ve suddenly lost my sense of direction, or started turning up on time for appointments, or that I now ask my mates to accompany me to the loo when we’re out at a restaurant. Nor does it mean I’m genetically untidy or only buy at Marks & Spencers because their returns policy means I can get another day out shopping.

So what feminine traits am I talking about? Well, this week I went to see a new musical called Legally Blonde, a pleasure that I would normally rank alongside eating cold kippers or licking fluff from a sweaty wrestler’s belly button. In truth I was dragged there and only went because I knew my girls would love it. It is very pink and fluffy and is more of a panto than a musical - think Paris Hilton as the ogre or Victoria Beckham as the beanstalk. There’s even a little cuddly dog carried in a pink handbag, and the whole experience is camper than Liberace in hot pants.

But, guess what? I loved it. I smiled, clapped or laughed from the beginning to the end in a way I hope my mates will never get to know about. The audience was made up mainly of young girls and gay men who screamed recognition of bits from the original book and movie, and there was a standing ovation at the end with me up on my feet yelling louder than anyone else.

My friends in Glasgow would be ashamed of me as a night out at the theatre there used to mean a visit to the front row of Robert Halpern’s hypnotism show or, depending on your persuasion, the annual Celtic or Rangers singalong. Now, thanks to the influence of a house full of girlies, I must also ask for the following offences to be taken in to consideration – I like the musical Wicked, I’m going to see the new Oliver musical for the third time this week, I’ve started trying to colour coordinate my clothes, and I’ve even got a Facebook page.

I’m fully aware that if my pals are reading this they’ll be making plans to get my rugby boots back out of mothballs with a lock in organised at a working men’s club afterwards followed by a curry and a beer drinking game. So, what has happened to me?

Well, I think it’s to do with having a house full of girls. They are supposed to civilise you but I find they just mould you in to copies of themselves and you end up watching what they watch and talking about what interests them. I can now tell you everything you don’t need to know about Robert Pattinson and Twilight, I know when Alexia Khadime is leaving Wicked and that her replacement was spotted in a reality show. I can tell you when The Jonas Brothers are returning to Britain and when Kerry Ellis takes over as Nancy in Oliver .

But even I have to set limits. I refuse to eat Haribos, I still think salad is for lining pet cages, amd I don't watch So You Think You Can Dance.

It’s time I toughened myself up again, so this week I’m going to pretend I’m seeing Oliver for the third time purely to decide whether Griff Rhys Jones is as good as Rowan Atkinson and Omid Djalili were. I’m going along solely with my critical hat on, and it’s blue not pink.

But first I must rush. There are only a few days to get ready and my legs need shaving.

There's No Business Like Showbusiness

I’ve been going to the theatre a lot over the past few months and I must admit that this, for a modest, unassuming person like I am, can be a bit difficult. You see it’s hard for me to sit and see someone else up on stage getting all the attention and, unlike my real life, never stuttering or being stuck for a good exit line or wracking their ageing brain for what word comes next. Also, I envy their happy endings and exciting lives. You never see anyone on stage stuck in queues or trying to park at B&Q do you? And they don’t ever do mundane things like dig the back garden or clean the toilet.

The way that I’ve found is best to handle my envy of all this is to quickly stand up at the end of a show and pretend the riotous applause from the audience is for me. This only works for a moment as it leads to everyone else getting up and the cast receiving a standing ovation, but I’m sure they know it’s all really for me and that it’s my caring nature that is letting them share.

I only realised this week that my trips to the theatre have involved seeing too many musicals recently like Wicked, Jersey Boys, Dreamboats and Petticoats, Oliver, etc, and so a “proper” play now takes me by surprise. The realisation came to me when I saw a performance of Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice last week and wondered where the songs had gone and where the orchestra was hiding. If the bard had been really savvy he could have written a tune or two in his time and Shylock could have burst in to a ballad when demanding his pound of flesh. Maybe First Cut Is The Deepest?

I heard that my love of theatre is shared with The Queen and Prince Phillip who sneaked in late to a West End show last week, climbing over everyone and sending tubs of Maltesers flying as they fought to get to their seats. I’d hate to be the poor soul stuck sitting behind Her Majesty though. After the initial nudge, nudge excitement, you can’t exactly ask her to take her crown off as it’s restricting your view can you? And what’s the etiquette? Can you ask her to sign your programme? Do you offer to buy her a choc ice at the interval?

Hopefully she would turn down the offer anyway as a programme and choc ice in theatres today cost roughly the same as the upkeep of Balmoral for six months. I often think the best actors in the theatre are the usherettes who put on a wonderful welcoming smile as they hand you one triple chocolate Ben & Jerry’s and say “that will be fifty pounds please. Have a good evening”. To make legal theft look so innocent and appealing takes some amount of acting.

The toilets in all theatres are tiny and look like they were built for royalty – King Arthur that is – and that’s why there are always queues outside these antiquated, quaintly aromatic, stalls. Perhaps when it comes to loos our current monarch has someone who does it for her – the queueing that is, not the actual sitting down bit.

I think it’s important for the public to support theatre, a tradition that obviously stretches way back to Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre days and even further, perhaps back as far as Bruce Forsyth’s first gig, so I fervently support my local theatre even though it is often half empty and puts on shows that are too arty with a capital “F”.

I find that supporting your local theatre is a bit like following your local football team in that you know it will always be a minor player, never win out on the big day and will always be unloved by others. I imagine it’s a bit like being a Liberal Democrat.

So I urge you to be that unfashionable supporter of your local theatre and all its silly ways and Victorian charm. It needs you if it’s going to survive. Just get along and support. But make sure you go to the loo before leaving home.