I popped home last weekend to watch my eldest niece Brooke in Panto and then again perform with her dance troupe at the O2 Arena in London. It was the first pantomime I´ve been to since I saw Freddy Garrity as buttons in the early 70´s and glad to say they haven´t changed much. Alas Freddy Garrity has long since departed but that lovely musty Town Hall smell still remains, or at least I think it was the Town Hall. It must be a tad confusing for any non Brit in the audience (as it was for me as a young child) to see the leading man sporting shapely pins in a short mini dress and a pert pair of breasts, and the leading lady played by a portly middle aged man in a long frock, - and saggy breasts. (A sort of Bernard Manning with rosy cheeks). But it´s all part of being English isn´t it?
I bunked a lift with my baby sister’s family down to London minutes after the full cast had stomped off stage from their triumphant opening night finale to much acclaim.
Arriving at half 2 in the morning at the “Premier Inn” just down the road from Canary Wharf I shared a room (we had to change it twice) with brother-in-law Gary. I normally refuse to leave the house without my earplugs as a rule, and of the course the one time that I do I am housed next to a world class snorer, and for two hours I am subjected to the trumpetings of a madman which I can only liken to a Wild Boar that´s had its front two hooves tied together whilst somebody from behind taps at its testicles with a toffee hammer.
P.S Brooke was sensational.
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