It’s a little known fact about me, but I’ve lost track of the number of fantasies I must have had about running off to perform on Broadway as a child. For years and years I tortured my parents by prancing around the house (I’m sure I ruined our expensive pine floors with the incessant beating of my tap shoes) belting out jazz hands and showtunes at the top of my lungs. To me, there were few things more magical than the song and dance routines of a Gene Kelly musical, the sight of a red curtain and the sound of the orchestra tuning on our frequent family trips to the theatre.
Although these days my head is less in the clouds, I do still love the magic of the stage (I make time to go to a show every few months). Amazingly, I’d never been to see a show in New York, so this time around there was no way I was getting on the plane that evening without seeing the loudest, jazziest show I could find. And so on my last day there, I woke up early, slipped on my own version of Dorothy’s ruby slippers (those glittery Miu Mius felt as though they were born to be worn that day), and raced off to 42nd Street – the mecca of theatre – to buy my tickets for a matinee show.
Afterwards, I grabbed bagels and the world’s largest ice tea for breakfast (nowhere are they as good as in NYC), and just sat and pondered and watched New York go by before me. I had no idea how long I sat there – the time seems to move differently there – but I was perfectly content playing out all my childhood fantasies of broadway whilst sitting on those shiny red steps smack bang in the middle of Times Square, staring up at the names in lights around me.
Just before lunch (at Shake Shack – possibly the best burgers in the world, and the perfect last supper in New York) dear Nicolette joined me and off we went to see the show (‘How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying’, which was utterly brilliant by the way, and not just because I have an inappropriate Harry Potter crush on Dan Radcliffe). I might be a grown-up now, but the sight of that red curtain and the glee of watching a fully-blown song and dance routine were still just as magical to me as they always were. It might not be curing cancer, but in my world, there is always room for a little glitz and an exuberant showtune.
Love, Miss B xx