Flying Solo...
I've always enjoyed my own company, and truly relish time alone, but I have recently discovered the joy of actually doing things, and going to places on my own. And I have to say, it's so liberating!
I have been thinking about writing about this for a while, but as always it takes some kind of signal or trigger (the positive kind) to make me actually start writing. This came in the form of a solo theatre trip (my first) on Wednesday. This was completely spontaneous (very un-me!), after a friend (in her sixties who is a passionate theatre-goer, so definitely someone whose recommendations I would trust) had said she was going to see The Years. It was previously on at The Almeida, but due to its success, transferred to the West End for an extra, limited run. I went straight on the website, and (as always with any kind of theatre/live production/experience) balked at the prices. But instead of logging off (after totting up the price of two tickets, plus dinner), I studied the theatre map, and immediately decided ‘f**k it!’ and chose and booked a single seat (one of the most expensive) in row J of the stalls. For the 2.30pm matinee performance (I’m not ready for a solo evening theatre trip, but let’s see how we go… Baby steps and all that). I justified the cost by the fact that I was going alone, and (obvs) that it was a ‘cultural experience’. I also always love the idea that no two performances are ever going to be exactly the same. So you are experiencing something truly unique. That’s pretty special.
There was something about the fact that it was just me going. In the run-up, it almost like a little secret. In fact, I hadn’t even told anyone about it. I’m not sure why? Perhaps I thought people might think it was a sad? Or too indulgent? When I mentioned it to Tom on Wednesday evening, he was certainly surprised. And immediately asked: who did you go with? When I said: no one, he seemed confused. Maybe he thinks I’m going on secret daytime theatre dates with a younger lover (is it me, or is the narrative of ‘women of a certain age’ (their fifties) having passionate affairs with much younger men EVERYWHERE at the moment? Including a few accounts in the Sunday supplements from an ex-Glamour colleague of mine, who is most definitely living her best life with a 27 year old vet. And I suspect not in the theatre!)?