I had booked us tickets to see Much Ado about Nothing at the Novello Theatre, a Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC) production. I had checked access and was assured all would be fine. As December rolled round, I was on daily visits to the hospital; my last day of treatment was on the the day of the production we were seeing. I rang the theatre early afternoon to check its’ location.
Fantastic, close to the hospital. We decided to go in quite late for the hospital, straight to the theatre afterwards. When EaZyD went down to the car, we discovered the car battery was flat. Eeeek! We tried to call a cab – none available at 3pm on a Friday afternoon. EaZyD had to knock on all our neighbour’s doors to find someone at home with jump leads. Our panic was exacerbated by the fact that day wards close early on Fridays and we were at severe risk of not making the hospital at all. Tick tock!
We did make it to the hospital by the skin of our teeth. The final two nurses were waiting at the doors for me, everyone else had left – we had rung ahead to explain – and I received staggeringly speedy treatment before being despatched into the freezing cold night as they flicked all the lights off and locked the doors. I was huddled in my furry wrap, shaking slightly as EaZyD raced down the road to the theatre, which was about a fifteen minute walk away. We arrived with ten minutes to spare to discover that their wheelchair lift had broken down and we would not be able to get in to see the production. They had to be joking!
‘You couldn’t have told me this when I called earlier?’ Apparently I had spoken to a doorman who was unaware that the lift was broken. ‘When did the lift break down?’ A couple of weeks ago! OK, even if the doorman was not in the loop, why would they not have called in advance to try and re-arrange the date? I was told that they did not have my details.
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