Fortune favours the brave. And often, the mad. And she has a massive soft spot for those willing to wake up at 7 AM, to go out in a rainstorm, to sit in the cold for two hours on a chance of getting a theatre ticket.
Welcome to the world of West End crash-queuing. A bonkers system, but one I'm rather fond of. It seems that all mega-productions release about ten tickets on the day for the day's performance, at some ungodly opening hour. I don't understand why this system is fair, nor why the theatres think it's a good idea, but I am glad for it. It gives those with initiative and a taste for pain a chance to see productions they otherwise would have no chance at. I'm by no means hardy - put me through some proper testing and I'm positive I'd wilt away. But I am very easily distracted, which gives me an advantage over the rest of humanity when it comes to cold, hunger and early mornings - I don't think about it, and it goes away. They simply don't bother me if I have something more interesting to do.
So I dragged myself up at 7, and was overjoyed to hear a roaring outside - a humid summer storm. I like the rain, and consider myself hugely in its debt ever since an incident I will not elaborate on. It can rain every day of the year as far as I care: that's how big a favour I owe it. Furthermore, I regard Central London in the winter and the rain as simply beautiful, I don't tend to be too bothered by extreme weather (barring heat...), and I have a massive umbrella. It also occured to me that it might put some people off waiting. Waiting for what? Oh, you've no idea how upset I was that I had no one to crack the rather weak and obvious quip about waiting for Godot as we all waited for Waiting for Godot tickets. I'm fond of my existentialist drama, and it appears that this is the theatre event of the decade.
I arrived at 8, two hours before the box office opened. Yes, I know, but I queued for Hamlet last year and managed to miss it by being only an hour early. I got all nostalgic about those queueing experiences - listening to He Jests at Scars, getting a hot chocolate with Friend 4, and dressing down, trying not to look like a Doctor Who fan. London is exciting in the early morning when there's no one about - and the weather cheered me considerably. I'm a winter-and-autumn person, and London suits that time of year particularly well. I'd brought a bag of books to plunge into, and in the event re-read Neverwhere, a book which Neil Gaiman might have written for me perfectly. It's practically a love letter to London, combining my adoration of the city with an appreciation of grunge, decay and abandoned things. There are several extremely annoying elements to the story, but the sheer power of the ideas wins through. I got about 3/4 of the way through, which was pretty good for two hours.
I made friends with the people in the queue next to me - they were French students, apparently, who had studied the play. They offered me strawberries which I very gladly accepted, and was very put out by their friendliness. They had the most wonderful happiness I'd ever seen, kind smiles and an open way of speaking - so much so, I wondered what was wrong. You know in horror films, when you meet people with glazed smiles? Or Barbie and Ken from "Doll's House" in Sandman. Later, I offered Him an umbrella when He was going to fetch drinks. He turned it down, offered to get me a hot drink and I politely, regretfully, declined. Oh, hot drinks! I don't know how we managed two hours on the pavement in November for Hamlet, because even today it was freezing.
I liked the odds - I figured there was going to be about 8 tickets, which justabout included me. When we got inside, the leader of the group beyond me, Barbie and Ken said she figured there were 12 tickets. Which stunk, considering what happened next: because as a group, they were intending to pick up all 12. Now let's be fair: they had queued since 6 in the AM. They had been sitting in the wet and the cold for three hours, so more than deserved them. But you can surely understand why this was a little objectionable? You could certainly feel the entire queue rankle at them. Anyway, they snaffled up the cheap tickets and went out cheering and whooping. If I was being unreasonable before, then I hope you appreciate that this was in extremely poor taste in front of a queue of 25, some of which I knew were going to go home disappointed.
I'd been pretty sure of success all day, and indeed was given the choice between £15 for the worst seat in the house, or £47 for the best. I went for the former: I'm a student, I'm stingy, I'm intending to go to the theatre three times this week and two concerts the week after, and also I knew there would be people in that queue to whom the best seats really mattered. I'm happy and able to crook my neck - you get a different view, not a worse one. In case you were wondering, I intend to see stand up comedian Toby Hadoke do Moths Ate my Doctor Who Scarf on Thursday, and am trying to get Arcadia tickets on either Wednesday or Friday. If Wednesday, I might queue to see Jude Law in Hamlet on the opening night. If Friday, I might take advantage of the Spring Awakening Wednesday discount to see it again before it closes. Next week brings the Manic Street Preachers and Patrick Wolf.
I did not feel like cheering. I just felt awful for everyone else. I still do, though I'm not sorry enough to yknow surrender my ticket. I ambled off and found an adorably normal diner - the type of place ripe for a stick up, were it an American movie - and had a very ordinary heated cheese sandwich and a cup of tea. For £3.50, which is a miracle in Central London. That's the rough thing about crash-queueing - you have to wake up early, which makes you tired for the rest of the day. Rather takes the edge off the actual specticle. I'm blogging from the Maughan, where I've been returning books. Next task: Oxford Street for birthday presents. Oceanic has just become 17, and as I was missing her birthday anyway I semi-decided to wait and see if there was anything in particular she wanted and hadn't got. There wasn't. So I'm just going to go hunting and trust my luck. And then, only then, I'm going home for a nap...
Welcome to the world of West End crash-queuing. A bonkers system, but one I'm rather fond of. It seems that all mega-productions release about ten tickets on the day for the day's performance, at some ungodly opening hour. I don't understand why this system is fair, nor why the theatres think it's a good idea, but I am glad for it. It gives those with initiative and a taste for pain a chance to see productions they otherwise would have no chance at. I'm by no means hardy - put me through some proper testing and I'm positive I'd wilt away. But I am very easily distracted, which gives me an advantage over the rest of humanity when it comes to cold, hunger and early mornings - I don't think about it, and it goes away. They simply don't bother me if I have something more interesting to do.
So I dragged myself up at 7, and was overjoyed to hear a roaring outside - a humid summer storm. I like the rain, and consider myself hugely in its debt ever since an incident I will not elaborate on. It can rain every day of the year as far as I care: that's how big a favour I owe it. Furthermore, I regard Central London in the winter and the rain as simply beautiful, I don't tend to be too bothered by extreme weather (barring heat...), and I have a massive umbrella. It also occured to me that it might put some people off waiting. Waiting for what? Oh, you've no idea how upset I was that I had no one to crack the rather weak and obvious quip about waiting for Godot as we all waited for Waiting for Godot tickets. I'm fond of my existentialist drama, and it appears that this is the theatre event of the decade.
I arrived at 8, two hours before the box office opened. Yes, I know, but I queued for Hamlet last year and managed to miss it by being only an hour early. I got all nostalgic about those queueing experiences - listening to He Jests at Scars, getting a hot chocolate with Friend 4, and dressing down, trying not to look like a Doctor Who fan. London is exciting in the early morning when there's no one about - and the weather cheered me considerably. I'm a winter-and-autumn person, and London suits that time of year particularly well. I'd brought a bag of books to plunge into, and in the event re-read Neverwhere, a book which Neil Gaiman might have written for me perfectly. It's practically a love letter to London, combining my adoration of the city with an appreciation of grunge, decay and abandoned things. There are several extremely annoying elements to the story, but the sheer power of the ideas wins through. I got about 3/4 of the way through, which was pretty good for two hours.
I made friends with the people in the queue next to me - they were French students, apparently, who had studied the play. They offered me strawberries which I very gladly accepted, and was very put out by their friendliness. They had the most wonderful happiness I'd ever seen, kind smiles and an open way of speaking - so much so, I wondered what was wrong. You know in horror films, when you meet people with glazed smiles? Or Barbie and Ken from "Doll's House" in Sandman. Later, I offered Him an umbrella when He was going to fetch drinks. He turned it down, offered to get me a hot drink and I politely, regretfully, declined. Oh, hot drinks! I don't know how we managed two hours on the pavement in November for Hamlet, because even today it was freezing.
I liked the odds - I figured there was going to be about 8 tickets, which justabout included me. When we got inside, the leader of the group beyond me, Barbie and Ken said she figured there were 12 tickets. Which stunk, considering what happened next: because as a group, they were intending to pick up all 12. Now let's be fair: they had queued since 6 in the AM. They had been sitting in the wet and the cold for three hours, so more than deserved them. But you can surely understand why this was a little objectionable? You could certainly feel the entire queue rankle at them. Anyway, they snaffled up the cheap tickets and went out cheering and whooping. If I was being unreasonable before, then I hope you appreciate that this was in extremely poor taste in front of a queue of 25, some of which I knew were going to go home disappointed.
I'd been pretty sure of success all day, and indeed was given the choice between £15 for the worst seat in the house, or £47 for the best. I went for the former: I'm a student, I'm stingy, I'm intending to go to the theatre three times this week and two concerts the week after, and also I knew there would be people in that queue to whom the best seats really mattered. I'm happy and able to crook my neck - you get a different view, not a worse one. In case you were wondering, I intend to see stand up comedian Toby Hadoke do Moths Ate my Doctor Who Scarf on Thursday, and am trying to get Arcadia tickets on either Wednesday or Friday. If Wednesday, I might queue to see Jude Law in Hamlet on the opening night. If Friday, I might take advantage of the Spring Awakening Wednesday discount to see it again before it closes. Next week brings the Manic Street Preachers and Patrick Wolf.
I did not feel like cheering. I just felt awful for everyone else. I still do, though I'm not sorry enough to yknow surrender my ticket. I ambled off and found an adorably normal diner - the type of place ripe for a stick up, were it an American movie - and had a very ordinary heated cheese sandwich and a cup of tea. For £3.50, which is a miracle in Central London. That's the rough thing about crash-queueing - you have to wake up early, which makes you tired for the rest of the day. Rather takes the edge off the actual specticle. I'm blogging from the Maughan, where I've been returning books. Next task: Oxford Street for birthday presents. Oceanic has just become 17, and as I was missing her birthday anyway I semi-decided to wait and see if there was anything in particular she wanted and hadn't got. There wasn't. So I'm just going to go hunting and trust my luck. And then, only then, I'm going home for a nap...
Comments (1)
I'd never heard of West End crash-queueing, actually. Totally sounds like something I'd do if I lived in/near London! I have tickets for Godot next Saturday, but I bought them months ago. Look forward to hearing what you thought of it!