All Life's a Stage (The Questor's Theatre)

Ealing Calling

One late Midsummer’s night, I saw
Bottom roaring down the street –
half-cut – but he was friendly enough.

Living on our street,
the old lady stands alone on the pavement
in her nightie.

“Can I help you, Annie?”

“I am a slave to solitude,” she explains,
tears running through her veins.

My son’s an adult
but yesterday aged eight
he was on stage, again.

He asks me,

“Daddy, please tell me,

where’s the Secret Garden?”

I don’t understand,
so I ask my friends in the pub.

“Don’t you know?” they laugh.

“The Thespians have broken out.”