Did I mention that I had dinner with Simba the other night?
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Oh I didn't? Well guess what, I had dinner with Simba the other night (said in a loud voice, with type preferably in capital letters). Not the child Simba the adult Simba the very buff, lovely, talented adult Simba.
I have a bit of a thing about musical theatre and yes, I admit a weakness for seeing people dance and sing on stage, even if the storyline might be predictable and the plot a little shaky.
Not that I am saying that The Lion King is predictable and shaky no sirree. But if it was, it wouldn't matter because the majesty of the show, the sheer scale and cleverness of the costumes, the thrum of the African drum drives the show into the realm of the spectacular.
Yes, this one is a good one. The Lion King is the sort of show that leaves your jaw hanging, your body pulsing and your imagination spinning.
But I digress, because when I got my tickets to see the show, little did I expect to rub shoulders with the main man a few weeks down the track.
As a member of the QPAC choir, we had our own show on this fantastic day, singing with the Pops Orchestra and our matinee and evening performances coincided with The Lion King's.
That meant that between shows, we shared the green room.
It was easy to pick the choir members from The Lion King cast in the green room. Our make-up was basic or non-existent, our black outfits were inky blots against the vibrant colours of the African veldt and we didn't leap about the room with the same athleticism as our fellow performers.
(Come to think of it, I didn't notice even one middle aged, stooped, thin haired woman among the cast.)
Truthfully, even making that comparison between my choir and the King chorus (talented and amazing as our choir is), is all a bit presumptuous.
I bought my Thai chicken from the cafe and happened to spring up a conversation with the guy in the adjoining table. He came over and joined us. I knew he was from the show because he was bare chested, his face was made up and he was very fit (I picked that up from the bare chest bit).
I figured he was probably the legs of the elephant or even the guy who blows up the cactus. But no, if you have to choose a dinner companion, go to the top. It was Simba who chose to spend his dinner with me. And it was Simba who made my choir's performance seem special and important even spectacular. I guess that's the role of a king.