Recording

It's a long time since I've waited in a queue
for artistic reasons I mean.
Ahead of us are young women, with fluorescent hair,
apparent old hands at this radio recording game
and determined nothing and no one will be allowed
to get in front of them.
Then two Americans who communicate monosyllabically,
without looking at each other and while reading.
That's obviously where we failed - no books to while away
the time, or a kindle like the young woman just behind us.
As the temperature dropped her decision not to wear a coat
and to sit on her cardigan looked less and less wise.
But she bore up.
Another family arrived,the mother glamorous but outgoing
and unexpectedly, because my son is also outgoing, we struck
up a rapport.
Passersby stared, tried to make sense of this expanding line
outside the BBC, and other ticket holders hailed us and vowed
to return later.

Book less, I passed the time people-watching, speculating on
the ebb and flow of guests arriving and leaving The Langham.
There was a frisson of raised hackles when three other women
arrived and instantly queue jumped, talking animatedly to
the three at the head of the line.
Kindle girl, indignant summoned a security guard who,
wimpishly, ducked out of the challenge.
So she tackled them herself, to no avail.

Eventually, there was movement and our tickets were stamped.
Inside we passed through the scanners,men removing their belts
and praying their trousers wouldn't fall down.
Interestingly, women were presumed not to wear belts,
probably on the assumption that those with suspenders
were out of date.
Once through security we were shepherded to the bar.
We snapped up the seats by the door.
Apparently, this is essential in order to get a head start
when the stream is unleashed into the studio.

The feral nature of the audience became overt as
the crowd around the door became denser and
people tried various ploys to bag an advantage.
The unholy scrum as the word came that we could
go to the studio was the epitome of "everyone for
themselves" and a stumble at that point would have
meant a severe trampling.
How naive of me to imagine a modicum of civilised behaviour
would prevail within the hallowed portals.
Half the stalls seat were already occupied as we entered the
theatre and occasioned puzzlement but was explained
when we realised that this was the end of the series and that
these were family and friends, plus VIPs.

A radio recording seemed to me rather like a public
rehearsal or read through, in format, except this was the finished
performance.
The setting is quite informal with the cast casually dressed, although
the female members were more chic than their male counterparts,
and simply sitting on chairs between trips to the microphone.
The fluidity of this had elements of the dance.
Microphones suspended above our heads could pick up
laughter, applause,(wanted) coughs and mutters (unwanted)
so we had to be both spontaneous and yet careful.

At the end of each session the producer bounced onto the stage for
the re-takes.
My heart went out to Richard Johnson, who probable had most re-takes
to do and one, to his great exasperation, three or four times over.
We willed him to get to the end of his speech ( he had quite complex syntax)
and when he finally did, amongst the cheers, I let out an emphatic "Yes!"
which will probably be edited out.

In the middle of the stage, on a stand, perched what I can only
describe as a smooth coconut shaped item with a green light on top.
The actors have to wait for the green light before commencing
their re-takes and the wait sometimes seemed interminable.
We had to remember to laugh, clap, cheer in the right places,
each time.

How different in so many respects from conventional theatre
and yet there are similarities such as the evocation of the story
in the mind's eye.
The imagination compensates for the limitations of the stage or
in this case a total lack of physical setting.
It has completely changed my listening habit as it is now enlivened
by remembrance of what listeners don't see or aren't aware of.

And I had to remember to laugh, not because it wasn't funny,
but I was so engrossed in the mechanics of the action that it almost
took precedence.
I'd love to go again but next time my Dorothy L Sayers will go with me
as will some extra protection against the scrummage.