Not content with the stereotypical notion of a party-hard Spring Break, here in England, United Kingdom I spent most of my Easter Holiday going to the theatre and playing Nintendo. Wow, I wish there was a cooler way to say that. Of course, I went out with some friends at least twice and sat around all day eating in my pyjamas for at least a week when I really should’ve been revising, but that’s where a stream-of-consciousness blog meets its limitations: hindsight. I’ll be whinging about exams in at least a month from now.
I’m actually typing this on my iPhone, because I had to send in my beloved MacBook Pro to have its fan replaced. I first discovered something was up when my usual torrenting of whichever Gilmore Girls season I didn’t yet have was accompanied by the sound of a tractor driving into the blades of a jet engine. I know enough about Rory Gilmore to know that’s not normal. Never fear, AppleCare was there to pick up the repair tab.
The Ambassador’s Theatre Group coupled with lastminute.com meant I went to see New Boy with Nicholas Hoult (Trafalgar Studios), I went to see La Cage Aux Folles starring Graham Norton (Playhouse Theatre, Northumberland Avenue) and I finally went to see On The Waterfront starring Stephen Berkoff (Theatre Royal, Haymarket). I also hung around the Stage Door at each theatre like a groupie, collecting autographs like a seasoned fan. After studying Berkoff’s work during my A2 Drama & Theatre Studies syllabus, it was quite an experience to meet somewhat of a textbook idol.
Mr. Hoult, also known as thatguyfromskinsyouknowtheonewhat’shisnameohmygodTonythat’sit, was annoyingly charming. I’m just jealous. I was a little disappointed with the production, though, which was in a tiny, tiny studio, showcasing none of the classical theatre-acting traits I wanted to see the actors cope with.
Mr. Norton was a bit smaller than I anticipated (although not as short as when I met Dawn French), yet my mum still managed to compliment the lead actor on his ‘lovely legs’, of which we saw a lot during the performance, seeing as there was a lot of drag-queen activity involved.
Mr. Berkoff casually dresses in oddly ghetto-subculture attire. Think slack trousers and a large gold gangster hoodie. He also drives a Volkswagen Beetle. I found this all so surprising that I missed out on an obvious Metamorphosis-jibe about his choice of vehicle.
No, actually, my night-time London pursuits didn’t stop there. I also went clubbing at 54London‘s Commercial Street venue, on one of their monthly Light nights. That just sounds like another set of buzzwords, doesn’t it? To be honest, you’re probably right. Along with two friends (Sahar & Morgan), I was there from 11pm until about 7:15am. We’d had dinner and been to the pub beforehand, so by the time it came to leaving the venue, we were pretty worse for wear. Not to mention Morgan and I were a little sick of the last-gasp attempts for the sexuality-questionable 95% male population of the venue to locate a breakfast mate.
The shock to the system upon seeing the bright light of day and hearing the sudden absence of a DJ in London’s East End meant it was probably time to go home. Walking with Sahar to Aldgate East tube station, Morgan and I decided we were hungry. Not realising that it was now 7.30 in the morning, we walked down the entire length of Mile End Road. To find nothing open but ‘Billy’s 24hr…’ roadside shack. Morgan chanced a ‘survivor bap’ from this one-man-stand while I decided I wasn’t that peckish after all. The good news is that Morgan hasn’t got E.Coli. Yet.
Oh, and in a fit of SURHUL-inspired despair, we sort of broke into Queen Mary, University of London’s campus and tried to get into their spankingly-pretty Students’ Union building. It was locked. Now time to go our separate ways, I found that there were even fewer services operating on Sunday morning from Mile End than there were from Aldgate East almost an hour previously. With my hatred in Transport for London renewed, sitting on the red-eyed Tube with various other shameful ‘shouldn’t-be-up-this-early-in-the-morning-normally-don’t-ask-me-where-I’ve-been’ citizens, that was the end of another chapter.
With some thrilling sights posted to Flickr entitled In which I discover the early-morning East End, (all ofwhich seemed far more fascinating at the time) and the everlasting quest to reach a photo-a-day in How I Spent April 2009, I can safely say I don’t really want to post something this long from the iPhone WordPress client ever again. Proofreading was…problematic. Twitter‘s certainly on to something with a 140 character limit.