Tonight I turned up at the cosy South Street to see Jenny Eclair. I’d bought a ticket a while ago (on the strength of the fact I’d heard of her and also seen “Grumpy Old Women”) and wasn’t going to let my cold get in the way of getting value from my expenditure. I was feeling slightly guilty at the thought of passing my germs onto innocent strangers … but not guilty enough to waste £17.50.
As usual, I managed to get a front row seat – this is not always a good idea but I like the extra legroom and lack of obscuring heads. In this case it was a safe choice as Jenny does not interact with the audience – she’s definitely in the monologue camp.
The show seemed to be a practice run for ideas as Jenny occasionally had to refer to her printed script to remind herself where she was … although it could be old age. I’m now more and more noticing how old other people are and, by extrapolation, how equally old I must therefore be. Jenny is now 52, which means I’m not too far behind at 48.
Jenny’s target audience is (I now realise) middle-aged women, of whom there were quite a number in attendance. Her jokes about being a woman of a certain age went down a storm with them but left me slightly bemused.
Reading was good, the audience were lovely and on the way home the moon hung heavy and yellow – Brighton tomorrow.
I loved Brighton – the audience made sense of all the new material and I felt like I was driving the show in the right gear (mostly)
So were the Reading audience better or worse then the one in Brighton? I can’t tell.