So that's a stag night

So I managed not to end up chained naked to a lamp post, or put on the sleeper train to Aberdeen (difficult, from Oxford), or lap danced by a stripper. But with the superior intelligence and moral endowment of my friends (though possibly not my relatives), I would have been surprised if I had.

My stag do was a thoroughly pleasant meal at thoroughly pleasant Browns, followed by "Buddy" at the New Theatre and retirement to the Grapes thereafter. And if you can think of a better way to get a seller of kidnap insurance, an unemployed actory type, and a pair of PhDs in respectively nuclear fusion and lasers all chatting together at one end of a table, you're welcome to suggest it.

"Buddy" starts as a no-great-surprises run-through of Buddy Holly's career from first recording contract to the first buds of real fame, including the obligatory bust-ups over creative differences and a reminder that even the sweet, preppy boy from Texas could be a right git for his art. That's Act 1, whose purpose is essentially to make him famous enough that most of Act 2 can just be a recreation of the gig (complete with souvenir programmes handed out to the audience) on the fateful night of February 2nd, 1959, led by Buddy with the able support of the Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens, and Ritchie's very tight trousers and amazing performing roll of socks. (Bringing to mind Edmund Blackadder's critique of the Prince of Wales's stance: "Here are my genitals, please kick them.") Never wise to have the support steal the show from the lead, but the highlight had to be the Big Bopper doing "Chantilly Lace"; still, the rest was pretty neat too. Odd to think that Buddy was just a year younger than my dad.

So, thanks to Andy 1, Andy 2, Dal, David, Derek, George, Jonathan, Marcus, Richard, Rupert and Steve for a time that could only have been improved by slightly more - some! - legroom in the New Theatre. See you on the day if not before.