The train indicator at West Brompton said the train wasn't going my way. Sadly, this time it was right, and I had to change at Earl's Court. It's always worth doing that - more trains pass through there, and at the least you'll catch the train you would have caught if you waited, while having the chance to catch an earlier one. I only had to wait about a minute for a train from there into town. This evening's promised rain turned out to be a light spattering, which was good, as I had to cross the bridge. And with my cold nearly gone now - I didn't even have to take any water at tonight's performance - I didn't have any respiratory problems climbing the steps onto the bridge. On the South Bank, some of the Christmas decorations are still up:
The National, despite having a couple of entrances I hadn't seen before, is as confusing as ever. Upon following the signs for the box office, naturally, I found no box office (it's not in its usual place either). I found a ticket collection kiosk instead. So I said I'd give it a go, and swiped my card. Imagine my surprise when not one, but three tickets were printed! I was just extracting them when an employee came along with a couple in tow, and removed the last ticket herself. She read them the name on the ticket. "I think that's mine," I said. Obviously their tickets didn't print, for some reason, until I did mine, and they'd gone to fetch her. I did notice that the venue listed on them was the Roundhouse, and I do hope they weren't for tonight - or at least that the show didn't start for quite a while - because that's a very long way from where we were!
I made my way upstairs, where the entrance to my level was. Unfortunately, they're positively allergic in this building to obvious signage, and it was impossible to tell whether to go right or left for the entrance corresponding to my seat number. In my search for it, I actually ended up in the corridor for the toilets. That's how confusing it is! I found it eventually, entered, climbed to the back row, and was delighted to find I didn't have to squeeze past anyone to get to my seat! That's what you get for arriving 10 minutes early.
A trio of ladies arrived just after me and ended up sitting just beside me. And one was recounting to another a conversation a friend was having with an estate agent, and how the friend was saying that she couldn't afford a house - and the estate agent was giving her a right telling-off, saying "you young people say you can't afford a house, and yet what about the gym memberships, and the satellite television subscriptions.. why, I couldn't afford my first house either, but I did without furniture.." and she got very upset. But, the person telling the story concluded, "I can see his point". Eh, anywhere other than London, love. In London, giving up all luxuries and living on bread and water won't get you a house.. or a flat.. personally, if I saved, I might be able to afford a parking space. Mind you, that could be a nice earner in itself - I had to pay £90 to park in a private space for one night when I moved my stuff over, a couple of years back.
And so to the play, which concerns itself with the history of Croatia from 1945 to the present, as told through the stories of one family and a house. Three periods are considered - 1945, 1990, and the present, and as the story unfolds we learn the characters' connections to one another. In 1945, the Second World War was just ending, and the Communist state of Yugoslavia being formed. In 1990, following the fall of Communism, that state was coming to an end, and in the latest section, we see the aftermath, and everyone must re-examine what happened, and what it means going forward.
We don't watch it chronologically, of course. The action zips back and forth between time periods, and sets are changed amazingly quickly, by means of sliding panels, and with the audience distracted by historical footage projected on the stage. And if the above plot description sounds very dry - it isn't. Narrowing it down to one family's story makes it much more real, much more immediate. Although I found the first scene dry, the action heats up when we go back in time, and I was hooked from then on. The plot climax is worthy of any soap opera, and the staging is magnificent.
Well worth a look - despite the trio beside me leaving at the interval, the house was quite full, so booking probably advisable. Playing tomorrow, Sunday matinée, and from the 29th - 3rd, with matinées on Saturday, Sunday and Tuesday.
Tomorrow: a concert by the Pink Singers - Europe's longest standing LGBT choir. In Cadogan Hall.
Sunday: the last night of Potted Sherlock - all the Sherlock Holmes stories condensed into 80 minutes. In the Vaudeville Theatre. This is the only one of all these shows I got a deal for - I knocked a few quid off with lovetheatre.com.
Monday: The RSC production of Henry IV Part I, in the Barbican.
Tuesday: the opera Orfeo, at the Roundhouse. With Helen.
Wednesday: a gig at the Lexington, near King's Cross. They're running a week-long event - The Line of Best Fit - to showcase up-and-coming acts. Particularly interested in Jagaara.
Thursday: The Magic Hour. A Victorian-style magic show, with spirit messages and everything. I like the look of the venue too - the Grand Royale, a glorious old Victorian hotel near Hyde Park.
After I get back from Ireland, on Monday week, I've booked to go to a play in the only theatre within walking distance of me - the Finborough. The play is called Pig Girl, and the theatre is so small that it's always advisable to book.
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