Yesterday we had tickets for the local theatre (won from the local paper – thank you very much) so suited and booted off we went. We parked by the sea and it was a gorgeous evening without a breath of wind. Walked to the theatre – explained we had won the tickets. There was no problem they were waiting in the foyer. We bought a programme and raffle tickets and found our seats. Lovely!!
The woman seated behind my husband began to cough.
Now there are coughs and coughs. When my husband and I met in the 70’s we were both working at a T.B. clinic so we have heard plenty of coughing and handled some revolting sputum pots. (I always think the term sputum sounds like spit but really it means phlegm) I could never buy mushy peas from the fish shop because the tubs they put them in are sputum pots in another life.
This cough was phlegmy and what we used to call “productive” and it went on and on. She must have filled a box of tissues with what she coughed up.
It is a tiny theatre and was almost full- never have I longed for the interval so much.
The show was call 1964 with music from the year, advertisements and anecdotes.
It began with a medley of great songs – not a great medley fan myself. I would rather have had a few complete but there you are.
Just before the interval the compere asked did anyone remember what was on the radio at 5pm on a Sunday and my heart sank. Sing Something Simple was awful then and is now! Dad always listened as I had just had Pick of The Pops on, he made me sit through it. And last night we had to sit through three seemingly endless songs.
When the lights came on for the interval we followed the smokers outside, my husband looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
I just said “Moody Blues” , he said “Go Now” and we did.
Mrs Catarrh Phlegm was still filling her hankies.