Is it just me...

Right. Well, I am not going to lie, but when my sister got my family and I tickets (for Chritsmas) to go to see "We Will Rock You", I was a bit of an ungrateful sod, and did not wholly appreciate this gift at the time. However, when it came round to 'family-trip-spend-some-time-together-day' (today in fact), it actually turned out to be a pretty good crack. The sibling train banter alone was hilarious?! Whilst the performance was pretty inspiring too!

Right, putting the fact that Queen are rock greats aside, and that the loss of Freddie is a tragedy... The musical (written by Ben Elton?!) is what I wanted to mention. I mean I haven't been to the theatre in a while, a couple of years ago or something, so I had lost a grasp on how these things go...

The lights dimmed, curtain up, we were soon into the first act(?!) - if that is what it is called? And, to my surprise, scantily glad 'Gaga Girls' it would appear. I was surprised mainly because I was totally unfamiliar with the whole WWRY story-thing?! Anyway, these (pretty erotic) dancers were interspersed by the token homosexual male dancers, obviously. As I watched these ladies there was that light bulb moment. I am sure it was the same one that I had (probably) when at Grease, aged 11, and all the other plays I have seen up until now. Women! Not wearing much! (Plus, everyone has a thing for bird who can sing!)

I had locked on 'the one'. You know, the one that you find most good-looking, the best body, nice face. From that point on, in your red comfy seat, in a room full of strangers, binoculars... you lock on! Always looking for the same girl in each scene. For me this time, it was a tasty brunette in the chorus. You monitor her every move, costume change, flash of flesh etc. What's more hilarious is that all the time you are further convincing yourself that they are sharing this same mental relationship with you... ?! Mental I know.

They are not! Never! By the end, it feels like you have had mental sex with them, studying their every twist and turn, curve, and imperfection. This is why at the end of the show, as they wave their farewell, you always feel a bit empty. Well I do anyway. The curtain comes down for the final time. They disappear. Whisked out of your life, as quickly as they had come into it! Bam, they have gone! So... despite thoroughly enjoying the show, I walked out of the stalls (good seats this time) feeling confused, and slightly cheated?!

Luckily it was a matinée showing, there is always the evening... Alas, I didn't make the evening show. Instead I spent the train journey home scanning the programme frantically (which I had bought on the way out), trying to judge which poorly taken, sepia mug-shot is the bird out the chorus. My crush, my love, my everything... Fuck.