The one where the obsessive gene kicks in

As I checked twitter before getting out of bed, I saw that David Tennant and Catherine Tate were going to be on BBC Breakfast to make ‘an announcement’. Given the rumours that had been circulating for the last couple of weeks this could only mean one thing.

So, I got up, and I turned the TV on, and I waited. Around 9.45am they were finally on and confirming their joint project of Much Ado About Nothing at Wyndhams Theatre from May to September. Great news, but then David casually confirmed that tickets were on sale ‘from now’. While the BBC were still showing Doctor/Donna extracts, I was already texting Corinne to set the wheels in motion. For the problem was, commercial West End, no priority booking!

The next few hours were to make me realise just how easy getting tickets for Hamlet and Love’s Labour’s Lost had been with my priority RSC booking status.

As soon as the interview finished, I was on to the Delfont MacIntosh website. The trouble was, so was everyone else, and it had already crashed. After a few tries, I tried the phones. This wasn’t just about getting tickets, it was about getting good tickets. Whites of the eyes, not back of the balcony.

Engaged. But again, eventually, I got into a queue. I listened to music. I was told a few times that ‘all their operators were busy’ and I may prefer to try the website. Then the line went dead, or to an engaged tone. I never actually spoke to a person. During the next couple of hours, I got rather tired of the suggestions to ‘try the website’.

I did keep checking. The first time I got to date selection, my heart rose. I was in, I chose seating area, and then it crashed. The next time I got as far as having actual seats. Then I got to put in my card details, and it was only after I clicked ‘confirm’ that it crashed. This happened at least three times, the third time, as I looked at the selection of seats in the middle of C row, I felt that it was mocking me. These were OUR seats, why wouldn’t it let me buy them?!

What was worse was that by lunchtime it was coming through on Twitter that ‘lots of you are getting your tickets now’. Well, not us, and this didn’t help, as they were being sold, but not to me. And I was running out of time.

You see, I’d arranged to pick up my new car yesterday. You’d think that was a very exciting prospect, but it turns out it paled in comparison to booking theatre tickets. At about quarter to one that garage rang me to ask where I was, as they’d expected me in the morning.

‘I’ve, ermm, been distracted. I’m on my way.’ As I left, Corinne continued with the assault on the website to no avail. I kept checking, but we’d made no progress, though clearly others had.

We had one last strategy, personal box office assault, which Corinne was dispatched to carry out. It was, finally, the one thing which worked, as just as was setting off out for the evening, I got the call.

‘We’ve got them, Row F.

Phew. Though honestly, David, next time, do us a favour, and go back to Stratford. It’s much easier on my nerves, and my blood pressure.