My first visit to the
Georgian Theatre in Richmond (North Yorkshire) included an unbilled but
entertaining prelude of watching the audience assemble in the authentically
cramped gallery of the tiny auditorium, where from our relatively spacious
bench on the third row we watched the front row fill up quite comfortably until
the arrival at one end of a gentleman of generous proportions who managed to
park just one buttock until some begrudged shuffling enabled him an increase to
one and a half, meanwhile a lady with elbow crutches was battling with the foot
high steps down to her seat along one edge of the gallery, which her family had
occupied early – too early for three girls whose seats further along the row
were then only accessible by climbing over from row two, at some danger of
overshooting and falling into the pit below; oh, and the plays, a comedy double
bill of Tom Stoppard’s ‘The Real Inspector Hound’ and Peter Shaffer’s ‘Black
Comedy’, were also a very good watch.
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