Wednesday, March 14, 2007



When the three minute call for the end of the interval comes I am the first person up to the doors. As I am nice - not to mention obsessed (on a par, if not with David Tennant, then maybe with the goings on in Neighbours) with glass not going into the theatre - I pick up a supply of plastic glasses. As I do this two of the tops ones go flying out of my hands, stopping only when they collide with the doors, narrowly avoiding decapitating a couple of audience members in the process.

Though maybe this is not all bad; tonight is Macbeth. They were warned to expect moderate violence. At least there is no blood.

I bend down to retrieve my missiles and realise, just at the moment that I do so, that the combination of the bending with a pair of trousers which are becoming slightly too big for me as I lose weight power-walking across this theatre for 26 hours a week and the man-radio I have clipped to them tonight as my dinky girl radio has broken is resulting in my showing my knickers to anyone who should choose to look in my direction. They are nice knickers (obviously). All cute frills and pink spots.

But they are still my knickers.

On show.

At work.

I straighten up as fast as I can and notice a man with a half full glass of beer. It is not a pint glass but some warped shaped wine glass (at least in my opinion). I make a mental note to ask one of the boys about this in a bid to understand why it is socially acceptable to have beer in such vessels. Aware that Warped Wine Glass Man has probably just seen my underwear I want to get this over with, I go to exchange his glass, proffering a half pint plastic one instead. He looks at it (and me) before taking it, making the swap and going into the auditorium.

I think, at least, I have rescued the situation - until I notice smirking from the direction of the fellow plastic cup holder who has joined me. I wonder if the smirking has more to do with the missiles or my knickers. I suspect it is the latter. Though obviously this will not be mentioned because the minute that my knickers are mentioned the world will cease to exist. And we both know it.

Still smirking he leans towards me. I brace myself.

"Never give a man a half pint glass".

I blink. He smirks. I momentarily forget who is in charge.

As I move to catch the next glass I get the distinct impression I have just lost a battle.

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