London, Day 2, Evening: Theatre-going

Waiting for Godot.

Royal Haymarket Theater

A quick trip to the day-of-the-show tkts ticket booth at Leicester Square in the West End…

The queue–not nearly as long as thought it was going to be.

…got me one awesome ticket…

Thank you, kind lady, for purchasing this ticket.

…for the following:

At last, my wait is over!

Cool thing? Had time to walk back to the hotel, grab a bite from a local supermarket express shop…

Not quite the pre-theatre meal I was intending.
Not quite the pre-theatre meal I was intending.

change into whatever I wasn’t wearing, and walk back.

I also know the way to San Jose

Of course I couldn’t find the theater, even though it’s supposed to be in Leicester Square, and then came upon it by completely serendipitous accident.

I was on every one of these streets, none of which the theater was on…

I sat down six minutes before it was about to start.

Waiting, waiting, waiting
Waiting, waiting, waiting


So, Gandalf and Lord John Marbury wait for Godot, although they wait for “GAW-doe” and not “Guh-DOE.”

McKellan plays Gogo—with a Yorkshire accent.

Reese plays Didi—I totally get kidney problems.

Totally, totally, two players at the top of their game.

Two British theater customs that should really make their way across the pond:

  • You pay for your “interval” drink before the show starts and get a ticket, and when interval is called your drink is already poured and waiting: no standing in that crazy line for most of the intermission and then swallowing your drink in one gulp;
  • Ice cream is sold inside the theater at the interval, little cups of it, so you don’t have to jam the bar scarfing down something that isn’t sold at the bar. The ice cream is sold by the British version of the hot dog hawkers at Fenway: large trays (plastic, not metal) attached to straps hanging from around their necks; they wear ties (not baseball caps); they don’t shout (they barely even speak); and they stand at the front of the aisle and the people come to them. Totally like Fenway.

I bought a 4stg glass of red wine—surprisingly nice merlot. So totally worth the thirty-seven dollars however much it cost!

The play? Wonderful, fabulous acting.

A little bit unfortunately, I’m way past my existential phase (although now I think I would call it “navel gazing”).

The non-theatrical part of me kept thinking, “DeCIDE, already. Wait or don’t wait, but just get on with it.”


So far,  I’ve done everything I’ve wanted to do, and within the given time frame. I feel like my own Julie McCoy!


Day 3, Morning: Wigging out at the Wigmaker

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