Was It Him??

The tickets Andy bought for 'La Cage aux Folles' were from one of those 'get-a-deal-at-the-last-minute' websites and we didn't know where we would be sitting until we actually picked the tickets up from the box office last night.
'Could be front row stalls, could be in the Gods,' said Andy, as we dismounted the train and headed for the Ambassadors, checking out potential eating places as we went. Finding somewhere to eat in London before we see a show has always been a source of angst for me - I like somewhere that isn't too crowded, where the food is edible and the waiters actually look at you and don't serve your meal a la 'slam it on the table in a surly manner mode.' Luckily, I spotted a Little Frankie's which is a tiny version of Frankie and Benny's, one of those restaurant chains I've come to know as being fairly reliable on the hospitality front.

We found the theatre and collected the tickets - middle of Row F in the stalls - result!!Close enough to see all the action, yet far enough to be away from the danger of having a six foot six transvestite thrust his frilly knickered clad bottom in my face.

Oh yes, I'd heard disturbing tales of 'La Cage aux Folles.' Of the tables that are placed near the stage for some audience members to sit at so they become part of the nightclub scenes. A risky breach of the fourth wall, I think.

So off we trotted to eat, before whiling away half an hour in the nearby ginormous Waterstones, and then returning to the theatre.

The show was great. John Barrowman was fantastic, and we finished the evening on our feet singing along to 'The Best of Times Is Now,' which has always been a favourite song of mine from the days when it was played on Sundays mornings on 'Family Favourites.' Ah, 'Family Favourites' - happy memories revived of coming bcak from Sunday School to Mum cooking roast lamb, me being allowed to make the mint sauce, 'Family Favourites' on the bakelite radio sending messages across the world from Mary and Jim in Leicester, to their son Barry and his wife,Linda in Sydney, Australia - 'And here's Max Bygraves with 'Your a pink toothbrush, I'm a blue toothbrush.'

Anyway, we dashed back to Charing Cross, onto the train and settled for the journey home. Andy nudged me. He was writing a text message on his phone. It read, 'that guy opposite looks like Ian Gisloon.' I looked at the guy sitting opposite. I had no idea who Ian Gisloon was, for this chap looked the spitting image of Ian Hislop to me, but that's predictive texting for you.

Andy kept nudging me and flicking his head at the Ian Hislop look-a-like sitting opposite. Andy is never very subtle when we spot a potential celebrity. I didn't want to stare, but curiosity was getting the better of me so for the next hour I cast surreptitious glances at our travelling companion. He was eating his way through a pile of what I would class as junk food - station-bought pasties, crisps, sausage roll. I thought, Ian Hislop wouldn't eat that kind of rubbish, surely? But then he began working his way through a one and a half litre bottle of posh water and an apple. Hmmm.

I looked for clues. The briefcase on the seat next to Ian was battered but clearly very good quality. Important looking papers were sticking out of the various pockets. He was also wearing an Ian Hislop tie. But he was reading the Evening Standard. Would Ian Hislop read the Evening Standard? Well, yes, I suppose, what with his appearances on 'Have I Got News For You.'

I decided, as I watched Ian Hislop fall asleep with his mouth open and his face pressed against the carriage window in a frankly quite unattractive manner, that if he got off at the same station as us, then it was indeed he, because the station we were parked at is the closest to where Hislop lives in Sissinghurst.

And he did! At out station, as we got up to leave, so did he. And the couple who had been sitting behind him for the whole journey gave a double take and had an 'Is that Ian Hislop' conversation. And as we waited for the train to stop, Ian Hislop cast a weary look in Andy's direction that said 'Yes, yes, I am he,' before running off into the darkness and diving into the safety of his convertible BMW.(I think it was a BMW - I didn't like to run after Ian to check for certain.)

A perfect end to a perfect birthday! John Barrowman AND Ian Hislop. Who'd have thought it??!!