If you like the theatre,
or going to live shows
there's a whole cast of characters
who to you are quite well known.
I'm not sure if they're real
or some sort of rent-a-crowd
but where ever there's a view to obscure
you'll find them gathered round.
It doesn't matter if you book seats
or turn up hours previous
to guarantee your front row view.
They're cunning and they're devious.
First up in this parade of pains
is the Giant Head-Geared Horror.
Whether hat or hair it doesn't matter;
its mass is a thing of wonder.
You crane to the left,
you strain to the right
attempt to secure
uninterrupted sight
of all the stagely treads afoot.
You finally find the best place to look
and now the 3 rows behind you's view's
hidden.
As you hear them all shift you're a bit
guilt ridden.
What you don't realise in your angsty
little quest
is that now you've taken the entire
armrest.
“That ignorant bloody space invader”
is how you'll be remembered.
But this about-to-be-a-bad neighbour
is of an individual standard.
He's invading space on the other side!
He got quite claustro when he tried
to avoid to being touched or crowded or
crushed.
Now it's becoming apparent he's the Great
Unwashed.
The stench started as just a whiff
the woman on the end wasn't sure so she
sniffed.
It made her eyes sting and her nose hairs
burn.
She gagged and the woman in front of her
turned
and over glasses chastised a “hush!
You're ruining it for the rest of us!”
Gagging woman sees her chance
and joins the crowd at the front to dance.
And just as she's found a great view of the
feature
enter the Four Legged Staggering Crab-Like
Creature.
United at the shoulder, mutually supportive
but with feet and legs at war with each
other,
attempts to walk are abortive.
Everyone they stumble into spills their drinks
in shock
but from their own never-empty glasses they
don't waste a single drop.
Another multi-organismed beast
makes incremental attacks and never
retreats.
It's starts in on your peripherals,
usually embodied by a group of girls
who over time push their way into the space
that previously was taken by your arms, or
your face.
They never tie their hair up
and it all goes in your mouth
when you try to light your cigarette,
then try to put it out.
Their bloody hair's on fire!
They use so much spray and mousse.
You put up with it for so long but in the
end it's just no use.
You sidle to the sidelines and go for a
quick wee.
At one point one of those girls ended up
sitting on your knee!
Upon returning to the scrum,
sweaty, dancing, joyful.
Your space has been taken by a man
wearing a coat half-duvet, half-hairball.
A firm-fan-favourite song begins
the surge forth irresistible
and you fall forward into him.
As least when you land it's comfortable.
His po-faced wife or girlfriend is leaning
over the railings
looking bored and slightly offended by
these audio assailants.
I don't know why she came along,
it's not like it was free.
I think her space would be better taken by
a fan. You know, like me.
Upon closer inspection, you recognise these
two.
They're the one's that annoyed you earlier
by pushing in the queue.
It wasn't fair, it wasn't cricket
But you 'd never say anything,
you're far too British.
And besides, you've been waiting a third of
your life
for this very gig, for this show tonight.
So you put up and shut up,
choose the obstruction least offensive
and if you can learn to live with it
be an audience attentive.
So if by some lucky twist of fate your eye
line's unimpeded,
you're comfortable and the toilet queue's
non-existent when you need it,
check you aren't just pushing in or
obscuring others' view.
Because you might be unaware that the
annoying bastard's you.
