Undercover at The Globe

first_imgWhen I was a child I thought that Shakespeare was a load of rubbish. Sinceleaving school, one of my oldest and best friends, AM, who also doubles upas my token leftie friend, and has gone on to be an English teacher, hasbeen performing a slow but effective water torture on me to give it one morego.Tonight was the night. We went to The Globe, on the Southbank.Well, blog. Well, well, well. Where do I start?Once the evening was set in the diary, I used every event of communicationwith AM to hint that it may be more enjoyable to sit with those awfulelitists, rather than stand with the cheap-skates, as is traditional at TheGlobe. AM was having none of it though. After evenings with me, living itup at The Colony, Scotts, and the 28th floor bar of the London Hilton, thiswas his chance to hit back with some hard hitting, ‘real’ (they love thatword), middle-class leftie entertainment. And as I will go on to try andrecount for you, blog, however painful it may be for me, he rammed it home abit like Tiger Woods, when leading, on the last day of a major.We met at Yo Sushi on the south side of the Thames (I even ate at a chainrestaurant to try and play the game tonight!) and we then strolled down toThe Globe. AM, with glazed over eyes, was recounting tales of this place asif it was some kind of perfect, heavenly created, den of pleasurable sin,that he was remembering like he was living his last few hours of life jackedup on morphine. He told me that much of the history and traditions of TheGlobe had been preserved and that once upon a time, ladies of persuadablevirtues used to work there and perform services for gentlemen up against theback wall of the standing area, in view of all, during the performances.Interesting.Then, from nowhere, he said ‘it’s lucky I’ve got my coat with hood,’.‘Err, why’s that, AM?’ (I had just a jumper).He then let me know, as if it was nothing and everyone knew, during thewettest summer on record, that we were not only standing ‘to really feel theatmosphere’ but it was also outside.Right, blog, the tickets were a fiver. This apparently adds to the leftieedginess of it all. At this point, in order to again try and go with theflow, I didn’t point out that if there was an option to pay a grand, where Iwas carried in on a sedan chair, be openly vilified by the proles, and lefton a raised but covered platform, where I was fed grapes by a bikini cladmaiden, I would have taken it gladly.On arrival, I was still clinging to a hope that we might be able to sit. AMhad me in his grasp though and he was not entertaining ANY option other thanstanding with his brown and green jumper wearing comrades. I also noticedsome silly Shakespeare wannabes with pointy beards on display.As a teaser, some silly luvvies dressed in old fashioned clothes, came ontothe stage and played some crap flute type instruments. This didn’t bodewell for the evening’s entertainment but again, to myself, I did all I couldto deny the obvious.The show got under way and I, for the first ten minutes, could vaguelyfathom out what was happening. The highlight of the evening for me thoughwas that Trigger from Only Fools and Horses was in it. What was hethinking? The poor chap seemed totally out of his depth. He was probablytrying to gain some artie street-cred – stick to the Nag’s Head with DelBoy, Trigg.If you are looking to pick up an intellectual straggley-haired bird – thisis the place to be. Sidle over, know when the bits are when the pretentiouspeople laugh, and join in. She won’t know what’s happening or what she’slaughing at, she’ll be too embarressed to ask, but by the fact you’relaughing at the same time as all the other wannabes, she’ll think you’redouble cool.During the first half of the first half, the crowd were keeping up with itand even laughing when prompted by the more knowledgable and preparedluvvies. A girl standing in front of me had a good idea as she had bought atext of the play and was following along. However, within about a quarterof an hour she had lost interest, had two mobile phones out, and spent theremainder of the evening on Facebook and Twitter texting everyone that shewas at a Shakespeare play. Oh dear.It got so boring for one poor sole that she collapsed and had to be removedon a wheelchair. I looked to the back wall of the standing area indesperate hope and unfortunately saw that the interesting sounding traditionAM had told me of earlier had fallen by the wayside – gutted.As the interval came, after an hour and twenty minutes, which I must sayseemed rather excessive, a glow of relief came over me. AM reassured me bywhispering, like I was terminally ill, ‘you’re doing well’.The interval lasted no more than ten minutes and we were then back on ourfeet in the torture chamber. It started raining. I giggled in irony,laughing at my plight, and AM simply giggled at me. He put his hand on myshoulder, feiging support in my hour of need, and said trying to soundsympathetic but laughing proudly, ‘down the the people’. He is a leftiesadist!!!At ten to ten, I could take no more. I asked a bearded steward how longthere was to go, he looked to the heavens like he was an true thesbian actorand informed me begrudgingly that there were thirty five minutes to go. Ihad been beaten and went and sat outside on a bench.Afterwards, when AM appeared looking just like a victorious and rather smugEd Milliband after getting one over David Cameron, we made our way backalong the river. He asked me what I now thought of Shakespeare. I saidthat I thought he gave insecure intellectuals a pretence and identity tohold onto in society. He told me I was a heathen.In a moment of silence, we passed a Damien Hirst exhibition at the TateGallery. I only hoped that, unlike Shakespeare, that burk isn’t imposed ongenerations of our children for hundreds of years to come too.Goodnight, blog. I shall enjoy my bed tonight.B xlast_img read more

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