Story: Crow Dog

The week of Meetups is upon us! Tonight was #1 of four - a story called Crow Dog, presented - of course - by the Crick Crack Storytelling Club, and taking place at Soho Theatre. Now, I joined this club because I love a good story, so I was up for this, and decided I'd better book, since the organiser said it would book heavily.

It didn't start till 8, so I had plenty of time. Which meant I ended up rushing, of course. Anyway, the Tubes happened along nice and promptly. Mind you, as I got off a District Line train at Earl's Court to change to the Piccadilly Line, I heard the District Line driver announce that there'd be a slight delay. As usual. So I was glad to be changing.

I used to walk from Piccadilly Circus to Soho Theatre. I was almost always late - I blame this on the crowds on Shaftesbury Avenue. These days, I find it much better to travel one stop further on, to Leicester Square, and approach the theatre from that side - not only do you avoid walking along Shaftesbury Avenue, but the station has only one escalator, instead of the two in Piccadilly Circus. So it's faster to get out.

Indeed, it feels like half the journey. Even Dean Street was a bit easier to navigate this evening, and I hardly had to spend any time walking on the road because of crowds spilling out of pubs. So I arrived at the theatre with minutes to spare - a good thing, considering we were on the third floor ("Soho Upstairs"). On the second floor, hearing a hubbub upstairs, I paused for breath and to blow my nose, and thus appear somewhat presentable.

The theatre was pretty full when I arrived, although it never did fill completely. We were asked to take seats over the far side, so I tucked myself in a corner. A man with a vaguely American-Indian vibe was strumming softly on the guitar centre-stage as we entered. And when they determined that everyone had arrived, the door closed and that dapper gent in the black suit, with the little hat, was back to lead us in a chant of "Crick!" "Crack!" "E-crick!" "E-crack!" "Honour!" "Respect!"

He then introduced our storyteller for the evening, who glories in the name of TUUP - The Unorthodox Unprecedented Preacher. He was raised in Acton, it seems, but for this evening he adopted the persona of an African American of the 19th century, telling us how Crow Dog was fleeing on the Underground Railroad when they were attacked and he hid, being taken in by the Seminole Indians. And the legends that followed him after that.

The whole thing was accompanied by the guy on the guitar, and by the storyteller himself banging on a drum occasionally - I'm sensing a common M.O. among storytellers. It was a lovely tale, and a lovely evening - although my back was killing me. And far from being 60 mins plus interval, it was more like 90, and there was no interval. But I was well satisfied, coming home via Piccadilly Circus, as is my wont.

#2, tomorrow, is a discussion about the film Gone Girl (which I loved), held by the Film Nite group at Soho House again. Then the next two are with the London European Club - on Wednesday, a talk about Ireland, and on Thursday, a Spring Extravanganza concert. I got a cheap ticket by booking early, and the event, it seems, is to promote two young Irish opera singers - Alison Langer and Lawrence Thackeray. Well - happy to help!