I always thought that musicals were for women and gay men. Why would I want to go and see Billy Elliott or Grease or The Wizard of Oz? I don’t want to see people prancing around and bursting into song, I’m a real man and real men want to see blood & guts and people being decapitated in very cool ways
I arranged to meet the rather classy Francesca on Sunday; I hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks so I thought we should do something instead of sitting in a pub and getting drunk. Don’t get me wrong, sitting in a pub and getting drunk is a fantastic way to spend the day (one of my favourite hobbies), we just wanted to do something more.
The last time I suggested this it was left up to me to organise something and I failed spectacularly. So this time I was determined to redeem myself and boy did I manage to redeem myself!
She is a fan of art galleries and musicals so I scoured the Timeout London website and I jotted down some galleries that were running that day but I also noticed something called West End Live.
She loved the West End Live option and plumped for that.
West End Live is a yearly event in Trafalgar Square where various musical and theatre acts, who are currently running in the West End, gather and perform a 30 minute set from their show.
I didn’t think that I would enjoy it, and this opinion was cemented further when as we arrived there was a show on called Potted Potter, a show that covers all the Harry Potter books in one 70 minute show. It was bloody awful.
Then they had Gleek on, they are a Glee UK tribute band…. yeah, like we fucking need the original band. Then they brought on Bob the Builder and I’m ashamed to say that I found myself humming along to the big box, little box (CARDBOARD BOX!) song.
It wasn’t all bad though; The Jersey boys came on and did several Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons hits. I like that band so was happy to sit under that stupid Olympic countdown clock and nod my head.
Hunger got the better of us and we left after The Jersey Boys set. After a quick pint and a bite to eat in a posh pub we went and sat in the Covent Garden Piazza and watched the street performers. Particularly a Greek man pretending to be Charlie Chaplin.
After this I was promised that we could go for a beer, a promise I made sure she stuck to and we went to a pub nearby called the Crown & Anchor. A quick drink turned into a bit of a session as we rolled out at closing time, mainly because they were serving Harvey’s Sussex Bitter.
She enjoyed herself and I enjoyed the bit after we left the West End Live event. I hated it. I hated humming along to Bob the Builder. I hated nodding my head to The Jersey Boys and I am not planning on going to see Billy Elliott next month…
