Dansin' in the Stalls

"Do I get a concession? I'm 96 and my friend's 84."

"Well she's a spring chicken then."

"Och I know, son, I wish I was 84 again. But I've had a good life; I've lost my legs and I'm off to Heaven."

"But first, madam, you're off to panto!"

"Yes, son, that's right - I am! Happy days!"

The spring chicken transports her to the accsessible lavatory as my tickets will transport her to happier times.  Not hat she seems at all disatissified with life.  There's a knowing wisdom that comes upon some people in extreme age. A contentment borne of patience and experience.

I hope they flush.

Ruth returns form lunch like she's returning from a fortnight's holiday in Lanzarote. Bags and scarves sprout from every arm, so much so in fact that she has difficulty squeezing in through the electric door.  Paper sachets from Greggs contain a world of heartache and crispy salted goodness. She breezes by to passport control or somesuch and I go back to texting my dealer.

Fourteen years ago there was nothing around these parts.  It was a former inner city factory that had famously caught fire in the eighties and been left to wrack and weeds.  Then graffiti artists broke in and made the palce habitable for skaters.  The skaters brought their music and their politics along with the flips and grinds.  This meant that Ali's chippy on the Porphyry Road started to sell more chips.  He branched into the unit next door and Ali's Milk Bar was born.  A skatewear shop opened next, then young couples began moving to the cheaper flats round here, trying to start a life as adults. We eventually got to the stage where cafes in the neigbourhood sell quinoa as an option and mini pizzas are served on fake Chinese Choppers with hoisin duck topping.

Theatre thrives here. We stage modern dance and touring shows for yoof that turns breakdancing into Shakespeare and Proust into urban rap. Then, every December, panto hits town.  Ours is urban, course.  Ours features local characters and the princess gets to choose not to marry, (last year she married Queen Troll and everyone went to Ayia Nappa for the honeymoon).  But it remains popular with young and old alike and it pays for our outreach work in the locale.

We're a little slice of Heaven ourselves, considering what things looked like during Thatcher.