I love a good old sensory experience – not quite as sensory as grandma telling Keith , her visiting physio, all about her medical history ,in graphic detail , although he really wanted to hear about was her knees- and last night was certainly that .
Emma and I went to see ‘Sunday morning at the Centre of The world’ – a play for voices. It was weird .The theatre was built into the arches under London bridge station , so it smelt of damp and you could feel and hear the 7.55 from Orpington ( or wherever ) trundling overhead . On arrival , you put on a thick blindfold ( and then have an instant moment of panic, when you think you might be in an S&M club ), and are physically led to your seat – it is not easy negotiating steps ,and after I heard Emma scream ( hit shins on high step- no sign of a whip ), I was really cautious.Then it’s a case of voices, noises, smells, sounds,stuff being sprayed on you ( not paint or bodily fluids ). Of course you are free to peep at anytime , but we actually didn’t , so it was a bit pissy offy when at times, the audience laughed ,cos you knew they’d seen stuff , you hadn’t .
Well afterwards we shot to the ( great ) bar, and a few people sat close to us on these squidgy sofas. I said to Emma , I could tell by his voice, the guy sitting next to me was the narrator. Then gradually all these people came over to him, fawning over him ,saying what a privilege it was to hear him on his only appearance and asking for his autograph .We hadn’t a clue who he was , until we looked in the programme, he was the writer- Louis de Berniere. I held off asking him what Greek island he would recommend for a summer break.