Running, as I do, to an invariably tight diary, where there’s far more to see than the time available in which to do it – and aren’t we lucky in London that this is always the case? – I seldom find myself at a loose end. But if I try to run my life to a schedule, the world doesn’t always run to mine, and twice in the last couple of days I’ve been out-manoeuvred. On Sunday afternoon I was heading to Jermyn Street Theatre to see the final performance of American singer Maude Maggart’s one-week run as part of the American Songbook in London season there, when I turned my phone on to find not one but two messages: from both the season’s PR, Sue Hyman, and the theatre’s administrator Penny Horner, to let me know that Maude had lost her voice and would no longer be appearing! Shucks – and since this was the last show, there wouldn’t be another opportunity to catch her. (That’ll teach me for leaving things to the last minute).
But Jeff Harner, the season’s producer who kicks off his own week as part of the season tonight, was stepping into the breach – so I went anyway. It wasn’t the afternoon I was expecting, of course, but it gave me the chance to see a set I was probably going to miss otherwise. And the theatre not only made a conscientious double effort to get the news to me, but they had also contacted the rest of the audience they could reach in advance, too – most of whom also turned up to see the replacement. This is a theatre that is clearly run to a tight ship – and has a loyal audience as a result.
Unlike last night, when I had scheduled going to see Proof at the Arts Theatre. The press night had been the previous Monday, but I had to cancel with due warning the Friday before – but not wanting to let the show’s PR down completely, asked to be booked in instead for a week later, which was the earliest opportunity I had to go. The review would be a week late, but better late than never. It was confirmed back to me, so I duly turned up last night. There was a mob scene at the door, and I have to admit that I felt a bit surprised that the play was proving so popular. Except that it wasn’t on. Instead, there was some kind of invited cabaret showcase.
My guest Paul – who also works for The Stage – and I beat a hasty and perplexed retreat. How could I have had a confirmation – “you are re-booked for 26th” – in that case? Perhaps I should thank them: we headed for dinner instead and had a rare night off from the theatre, which was actually very welcome. I won’t, however, now get another opportunity to see Proof, as my diary is now full for the rest of this week and the moment has passed. Which, to judge from the comments of some of my colleagues, it has for the play, too. So perhaps we had a lucky escape.
