For people of a certain age, there is only one name that is Australian television royalty.
(And if you’re reading an anti-influencer blog built almost entirely on bitching, I’m assuming you’re also yelling at kids to get off your lawn as you read this.)
Noni Hazlehurst.
I remember being parked in front of the television and babysat by Play School when I was young and still full of optimism.
So when I saw an advertisement for her appearing at the Riverside in Parramatta, I knew I had to drag & Co along for a night of fine theatre.
This required some preparation.
First, I had to explain the concept of Play School.
Then I had to find something of hers he had actually watched. That turned out to be A Place to Call Home.
Satisfied, he bought the tickets and we were set for our theatrical tribulations.
I should point out that & Co is an excellent cook.
He is very loving.
He is occasionally useful for reaching high shelves.
He also has two blind spots that irritate me greatly.
His attention to detail.
And his sense of direction.
Both would come into play.
Before the play.
We arrived at the Riverside Theatre with time to spare.
Ten minutes.
Cutting it fine, but still technically early.
I sat down to catch my breath after our brisk trip from the car park while & Co went inside to find me some liquid refreshment.
My relief was short-lived.
& Co returned with a quizzical look on his face.
“Where do we go?”
Now, I have spent many years treading the boards. Admittedly, that was as a begrudging stage manager, occasionally dressed as whatever “Billy Wabbledagger”, the supporting cast member with no lines, was told to wear to save an extra bum backstage.
Nevertheless, I took the lead and went looking for the entrance.
That’s when it dawned on us.
While the Riverside Theatre is indeed beside a river, for some unfathomable reason there was a second venue.
Eleven minutes away.
In the other direction from the car park.
I’m sure the email advised us of this new locational latitude.
But as I have already mentioned, & Co and details rarely occupy the same postcode.
We hastily made our way to the basement venue.
Not remotely beside the river, but that is another argument for another day.
My mind raced. How soon would there be a break that would let us in without disturbing the actors? How much of the show would I miss?
On arrival, a security guard waved us towards the lifts and advised that the show was on B1.
Perhaps ironic for a well-known ABC actress, playing on the level named after one of a pair of bananas in sleepwear.
We rushed to the lift, where an equally breathless theatregoer joined us.
At least if we were going to be late, we would not be the only ones.
We arrived on B1 and, being a man of a certain age (as previously established), I needed a quick dash to the facilities so I could enjoy the show without an interval of my own.
When I returned, two more patrons had arrived at the door.
Also breathless.
Perhaps & Co’s lack of attention to detail could be forgiven on this occasion. It seemed there were others who had fallen for the “usual venue” trap.
We took our seats and, to my relief, weren’t interrupting anything.
There must have been a few of us who can’t read the fine print.
Not long after, the show began.
For over an hour, the great Noni captivated the audience with her portrayal of Rose Grey, Publican of The Lark.
And here I will give high praise indeed.
The show was great.
Aside from the people a couple of rows behind us complaining, “I can’t hear a bloody word she’s saying,” followed by the people in the row in front asking them to keep quiet so they could hear.
From where I sat, the sound was good.
I heard the entire thing.
Ms Hazlehurst swept us through fifty years at The Lark. Good times and bad. Happiness and sadness.
She left us feeling touched, moved, and other adjectives more commonly applied to a TV remote.
Leaving the theatre with my inner cup of theatrical thirst quenched, we paid for parking.
A whole $13.
A bargain for anyone used to big city prices.
Then we tried to leave.
The automatic boom gate failed to open, and we were prompted to pay $50 at the gate.
A brief complaint to whoever answered the buzzer got us on our way.
I only mention this because the exact same thing happened the last time we parked at this facility.
At least this time there wasn’t a grand final on.
Overall, it was an enjoyable night out.
And a small boy’s dream of sorts to see the nice lady he’d watched on TV as a child, in the flesh, while also enjoying the beauty and pain a story of life can bring.
A thoroughly enjoyable evening.
Would I do it again?
Yes.
Ideally at the correct address.
As they say in the theatrical world:
No notes.