A west-end show

Of course, when you think of going to London, attending a show comes to mind. My oldest son, who has been to London four or five times, said I should be sure to take in a show. And of course I had heard about Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap, the world's longest-running stage production. 

So I decided to buy a ticket and go -- even though I wasn't crazy about the idea of going alone. 

I was a little nervous about being out on my own after dark, so I considered attending a matinee performance, but I found the idea of spending more than two hours sitting indoors during the afternoon intolerable. I purchased my ticket online and opted for the lowest price. These tickets came with a caveat that the seats were not for the faint of heart, because they are high and the seating is on a steep pitch. Pshaw, I thought. No big deal. After all, I have sat in the highest section of the Winspear and although it wasn't the best seat, it was not so bad. And St. Martin's Theatre is much smaller than the Winspear, so I figured it would be fine.

I spent the day sightseeing and made it back to the hotel just in time to change my clothes and head back out to the tube. I hadn't taken the tube very often; just twice, in fact -- once from Heathrow to the first hotel and then to get from the first hotel to the second. That time I got on the wrong train and had to backtrack, which was kind of frustrating, so I wasn't feeling too confident as I descended the steep steps of the Lancaster tube station. But after carefully studying the route map, I managed to choose the right train and got off at the Covent Garden stop. It was just a short walk to the theatre, and I arrived in plenty of time.

The theatre is in the Seven Dials neighbourhood, also the subject of an Agatha Christie mystery. This contributed to the feeling that I was not a real person, but a character in a novel or a movie.

Inside the theatre, I discovered that the warning about the steep pitch of the seating had been completely justified. Sitting so high up and looking down at the stage I felt slightly sick, and this feeling increased as the show progressed. It got so bad that I decided to leave at the intermission. (Since I have read the book and seen the movie, I knew the ending anyway.)

Upon exiting the theatre, I found that it was completely dark, and I was quite disoriented, trying to figure out how to get back to the tube station. I finally happened on the right street and got to the station, only to discover that I had lost my oyster card. I said every British-type swear word I could think of (just kidding) before buying a new one, and rode back to the Lancaster station, vowing that I would never again go alone to a night-time west end show. I think it would have been fun with someone else, but it is not the sort of thing I want to do when I am on my own.