It began with an enticing advertisement for Shen Yun, an amazing show of classical Chinese dance at the Apollo Hippodrome in Hammersmith, London.
With two of our young family having a birthday within days of one another, it seemed a great idea to go as a family. The adults agreed: let’s go!
Half the family were coming up from the coast, so I decided to hire a taxi to take us to the theatre. The first complication was that I had acquired an awful cold, two and a half weeks before the event, with my husband acquiring it two days before the show. I was deemed well enough to go, armed with cough sweets and a mask. My husband decided to stay at home as he felt unwell.
So, we now had a spare seat to fill. I rang two friends but they were out. My husband suggested our neighbour, whom I had discounted as she had a husband and little lad. However, on asking, she said, “I’d love to go.” Even though she had very kindly offered to make us curry and the children a pizza for lunch, leaving us time to relax for a while before dressing up and setting off to the show, she was still keen to join us.
On the family’s arrival, they were minus one member, my daughter-in-law. She had been struck down by this vicious, disruptive bug. I was so sad for her, and disappointed, as she so deserved something nice. Then the hunt was on to find another person for the last ticket. The dilemma was solved by my lovely neighbour who asked, “Can we take my son?” “Of course we can, why didn’t I think of it immediately?” I replied. She asked her young son, and he was keen to join us.
Once lunch and relaxation were over, we changed and prepared ourselves for the trip to the theatre. The taxi arrived on time, with a lovely driver whom we conversed with all the way. Subjects covered were Pakistan, religion, a pharmaceutical company, marriage and change of occupation, re-training, taking up law, travelling to the UK, transferring to a law degree here, and working a taxi to pay for it. He dropped us right outside the theatre, and I asked before I left him, “What are you going to do now? Will you be taking us back?” He did not know; all he said was, “I’m hungry; I’ll find something to eat.” We thanked him, waved goodbye, and made our way into the theatre.
As it was a late booking, the seats I had booked were very high up inside the theatre. My son disappeared and returned, waving two tickets. “These are for you and me, Mum, to sit near the front. I asked if they could help me, as you were disabled and would find it difficult to make it up the many steps to the top.”
We sat six rows from the front and had a wonderful time watching the traditional Chinese stories told in dance and music. The costumes were amazingly beautiful in their subtle colours and the stage backdrops changed frequently, giving you the sense of early Chinese life. The dancers, both male and female, were very well drilled and moved elegantly, with acrobatics being performed effortlessly.
The intermission came so quickly. My son disappeared to see my neighbour and the children in the gods. I talked to a very nice lady who had left her husband at home, as he was uninterested in this type of entertainment.
The orchestra returned to their places and began tuning up, and the theatre audience returned to their seats. I became very anxious at my son’s non-appearance, as we were in the middle of a row and his late arrival would disturb many people. Suddenly, he appeared in the gangway with my young granddaughter, who would be no disturbance to anyone. He retreated upstairs to join the others in the gods.
All too soon, the show was over. We clapped and clapped in praise of the performances which delighted everyone.
We waited until the bulk of the auditorium had emptied before standing up and looking for my son. As I turned, there was a beautiful, elegant, tall lady standing behind me. She had on a gorgeous brown dress decorated with gold lattice ribbon. She was on her own, so I asked her how she had liked the performance. She said it was wonderful and was glad to have come. I then said, “I hope you don’t find me rude, but I just have to say how beautiful you look, from head to toe.” She laughed, saying, “It said in the programme to dress up. So I made the effort.”
I laughed, replying, “It allowed me to wear my new fake fur jacket. However, I refrained from wearing my mother’s paste tiara; I thought that might be a step too far.”
The family arrived and, once gathered together, we made our way to the taxi. There was our lovely driver waiting for us.
Once we were all seated and strapped in and the driver had eased our way into the busy traffic, I asked, “What did you do? Did you eat?” He laughed, “I had two callouts: one to Heathrow, the other to Kingston Hill. Yet I managed to eat some dates and drink some milk. Open the glove box in front of you,” he instructed, “and pass the box of dates around in the taxi.”
So, one delightful date turned into a tasty date of another kind, and a truly magical night.
Much to my amazement and delight, the children loved the performance and talked about it frequently.
© 2024 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen
Photo: Pixabay License
