Tag Archives: JoannaRees

Get with the programme

                  But last night, I dreamt about going to the theatre to see a show.  It was very vivid and whilst I fully understand how terribly boring it is to hear about other people’s dreams (I know, believe me) this is such a rare occurence, I can’t help myself sharing.

The Bugsy Malone programme from 1983

There’s been a lot of talk about odd sleep patterns during lockdown and certainly in my family, there’s been some weird dreams going on.  I’m always a bit jealous, as I’m a sound sleeper and never, ever remember my dreams.  On a nightly basis, my husband and kids go off to far flung places, wrangle with mystical creatures, explore other worlds whilst I’m lucky if I dream about something as mundane as waiting in a queue outside Boots.

But last night, I dreamt about going to the theatre to see a show.  It was very vivid and whilst I fully understand how terribly boring it is to hear about other people’s dreams (I know, believe me) this is such a rare occurrence, I can’t help myself sharing.

In my dream, I felt the full excitement of walking down the narrow steps between plush banks of red velour fold-down seats, carefully checking our tickets and the row and seat numbers and trying to open packets of sweets so they didn’t make a noise. I was even prepared to spend gazzilions of pounds on the tiniest tub of ice-cream, such was my excitement at being in a theatre, although – and this is the relevant bit – in my dream, I did draw the line at buying a programme. It always makes me irrationally cross that the programmes are so expensive (even when I’m asleep, it turns out). I woke up just as the curtain was about rise.

Maybe this dream is something to do with lockdown easing and going to the theatre is now a possibility on the horizon, or maybe it’s because I drove over to see my Dad – the first time I’ve seen him since October.  On the way, my nearly twenty-one year old daughter Tallulah curated the Spotify playlist, and, since we didn’t have my husband with us, who can’t bear public singing (even in the confines of a car), we belted out show tunes at the top of our lungs the whole way. 

Some of the favourites from the repertoire were from Bugsy Malone and I was recalling how we did the show in school in 1983 and then went on a school trip to see the West End production in May.  She wanted to know if it was a bit suspect – children dressing as adults and Tallulah (after whom she is named) singing about how she got her ‘training in North Carolina’. Honestly, it never occurred to me once that the Bugsy ‘Tallulah’ might have been singing about prostitution.  All I remember is the excitement of being in the theatre.

And, lo and behold, in a box of old stuff Dad gave me was this gem: the actual programme from that very show! I was so delighted to have this rare glimpse back to the thirteen year and elven month old me, four foot nine inches me (I know this from the audition form I actually filled out) that in the future, I have resolved to splash out on the programme. It is worth it.

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