Sometimes you start to think if it may all be you. Am I the person at fault here? Am I the one to create a wrong situation without me knowing it? Am I?
Luckily, whenever bouts of self doubt like that appear, there also appears a fuckin’ retard to get juuuuuuuust in front of your right or left shoulder, in a way that they aren’t really in the way, as you can easily walk around them, but they are still shite annoying in their own right. That said, as last Wednesday has taught me, when faced with burrowing my way through a 300 lb American who has, despite size and weight, suddenly materialised right in fucking front of me OR burrowing myself into a red double-decker bus, I will choose to uproot the American megalith and suffer some shouted abuse. After all, they aren’t fast enough to catch me anyways.
Should the mention of the red double-decker not have tipped you off, I spent some time in London again. And London, being the theme-park it really is, is filled to it’s gills with annoying tourists, many quite incredibly big and stupid, and all of them striving to be in some indeterminate way annoying and obstructing to someone. Often one can see a classic move, where increasing lines of tourists stopping to look at something that caught their fancy block passage to a person exiting a store with arms full of bags and thus creating a blockade a revolutionary would be proud of.
The best thing, however, is to be on the other side of the street when one tourists attempt to be an annoyance is blocked by another tourists attempts to be as incredibly stalwart as humanly (touristly) possible, thus negating the efforts of the first. Nine times out of ten the first was actually trying to obstruct ANOTHER idiot tourist from creating complete chaos, which can now easily and disastrously ensue.
One needs to be across the street from this to really appreciate it, as being in between the battling whale penises would mean that it is easier to take your own life than to ever enjoy it again. I escaped with a semblance of sanity from a sixsome of moronic activity only because I launched myself willingly into traffic and survived with little more than some extra abuse spouted at my person from someone riding a bike. Since riding a bike and spouting abuse is a great Dutch pastime, I for a second felt like I was home, which saved my feeble little mind from breaking down and just starting a spree of touristslaughter. I just opted to muttering a new personal mantra from then on, which helped me get through the day. For those interested, the mantra bears striking resemblance to the title of this blog, if with a few more expletives thrown in.
Now, knowing London is a temple-district to stupidity, and knowing that the centre is overwhelmed with the offspring of whale-cousins, why go in there, one would ask? And a smart question this is, at that.
Well, partly this is a testament to my point that no matter how smart you are, sometimes you are simply an idiot as well. The other and greater part is the simple fact I like the cultural offerings of London. I like going to the theatre, the bookstores, the galleries. I like the architecture and the food. And I dislike passing up the opportunity to not see at least one show whenever I am there.
This time, however, I was at a loss what to go see. I have wanted to see Wicked for a good long while now, but am also planning to see that with Boyfriend some time in the future, so why go on my own now? And the offerings seemed rather frugal as to optional plans. I had a faint desire to see “The Woman in Black”, but wasn’t really in the mood for a thriller/horror done on stage, as I needed to go back to my hotel room all alone, and walking on your own in Whitechapel still brings images to my mind of distinguished gentlemen with a penchant for slitted hookers.
Then, my eyes fell on an online add for “Equus”, one of the most influential plays of the last 30 years in the English language. The fact it has a seventeen year old required to be naked for a good portion of the second act also helps cement a choice. The further fact this role is played by Daniel Radcliffe, and the added giggleoption of knowing you’ve seen Harry Potter nekkid obviously is a chance one can’t let pass by.
So off to the centre I went, and after acquiring a ticket for the show I was ready to spend an hour snooping through the cities better DVD-stores, I was in the market for some Eddie Izzard and I would not be denied.
And I wasn’t, as I am now the proud owner of all his stage shows on DVD, which pleases me mightily.
Getting myself back to the theatre a little early and assuming leaning position against a handy pillar I surveyed one of the most interesting configurations of theatre crowds I have ever seen. It was remarkably interesting. Me, an avid human watcher and discriminator in almost all things, could survey at any one time (in order of overlap, some groups/people belonged in two camps or more:
-The Harry Potter fans: A group that was most to be recognized by age (young) and the fact they almost all toted a parent who was markedly unsure about the smartness of being here.
-The dirty old men: A group that dribbled in in ones and small groups. Clearly there to see some seventeen year old flesh, and interesting in nothing else.
-The dirty young men: Groups of young, gay men there ostensibly for the play, but really there out of an interest in the boyflesh. Recognizable in a loud flashyness, and also by the way a member of the second group usually stood close by to get some ogling practice in.
-The younger theatre patron: there for the play, not unwilling to see some guy get naked, but very laissez-faire about the whole situation. Nakedness is an everyday occurrence, after all, as is theatre.
-The older Theatre Patron: Probably saw the play in it’s first running, and now back for more. A bit worried about the nudity and somewhat nervous in the crowds of youngsters and leches, but nonetheless a very dignified groups.
-The Tourist: An older or younger Theater Patron in their own country, here to get some culture in. The better type of tourist, but perhaps a little lost. Small groups, clearly not sure about how to get to the nearest subway station.
The play itself is rather impressive. It is ostensibly about a young man who blinds six horses with a sharp hook. But more than that it is about the psychiatrist that is assigned his case and his quest to find out why it all happened. I will not spoil the play for anyone, but I will say that it is excellent, and that everybody should go and see it.
As the play is hardly feel-good, I was in need of emotional sustenance after exiting a theatre. The fact I then ran into 5 closed bookstores was not at all helping. Luckily my never failing nose for letters led me to an open bookstore, a new Tom Holt omnibus, and some sundry reading materials.
Well stocked, well cultured, and ready I looked up my favourite Thai eatery, and after that my hotel.
As I was to spend only one day here, I had no unpacking or planning to do for the next day, and I had a very nice peaceful sleep.
A good trip, I say. Next time I go to London I most likely will be bringing Boyfriend, or he will be bringing me, for whatever difference it makes, and then I hope to be able to review Wicked, finally.
For now, stripes at half open,
Grtz,
Kevin
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment