I sat back in the theatre seat and shut my eyes.
What does a bus driver do on his night off? He goes to the opera, of course. The operetta to be precise, as it is a performance of The Merry Widow (Die Lustige Witwe) by Franz Lehar; the well known tale about a rich widow in Paris and the attempts of her fellow countrymen at the Embassy to find her a husband and keep her wealth in their country. It was a colourful affair - good music, colourful set and costumes, fun and only one attempt to update it from early 20th Century Edwardian Paris to modern day times with a joke about Whitley Bay.
Great you might think. A wonderful way to relax.
But I started seeing similarities between opera at the theatre and driving buses. Yes really. The seating was the same, side by side in rows. The seats were cramped. The attendant who stood at the door and asked for your ticket was similar in manner to an inspector. The rush to the bar in the interval was similar to the rush to get off a bus after a trip and the queuing was no different to Victoria Coach Station. Even the merry widow herself sounded like one of the pensioners I took on a trip recently.
I seem to be having a Walter Mitty moment. T will start counting the hairs on the back of my hand next. A holiday beckons.
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