Sometime in the dim and distant past, somebody got a bit of translation from even dimmer and more distant times wrong and the Roman vomitorium (big passage to enable people to get in and out of theatres etc. easily) became the Roman vomitorium (special room to go and throw up in between courses at banquets so as to make space for more food). The two don’t normally go together at all, but a couple of weeks ago I was right in the centre of an explosive conjunction.
Back in mid-January we went to see our fifth “Christmas” show by the Eastern Angles group. This year snappily titled “The Brontes of Dunwich Heath… And Cliff” which fit the pattern we have experienced before of borrowing characters and authors from great literature and adding in a silly Suffolk plot and songs. As has become traditional, we met up with friends for dinner first then all bundled down to the Seckford Theatre in Woodbridge for the show. All was fine and enjoyable until nearly the end when the person sat behind me started coughing. Just a little disturbance to start with but then, suddenly, splat.
As can be guessed from the first paragraph, said person was not well at all and threw up all over me. Which did rather bring the show to a halt. I’ve not had the pleasure of washing my hair, neck, back (and indeed shirt) in a theatre toilet before and it is not an experience I want to repeat. The Angles volunteers were very good, provided me with a t-shirt and all so I was able to sneak back in to the performance for the last few minutes. Then it turned out that MrsB had also caught some of the extensive splattering so she too got cleaned up and t-shirted before we headed home for a very hot shower! It is already becoming something we can look back on and laugh, but at the time…
They have given us tickets to the next production in recompense, so hopefully that one will pass off without incident.