It was rude, exuberant, raucous, joyful, a little bit sad, brimming with youthful joie de vivre. I found myself sitting at one of the tables on the stage - stacked with bottles of Irn-Bru  - well, I hadn't expected that when I booked a last-minute ticket and didn't realise until I collected it from the box office ... but it just added to the fun, and now I can claim that I've appeared on the West End stage, tapping my feet to music that I'd have been up and dancing to on a Saturday night - errrr, nearly 40 years ago. (It took me a while to place this more recent tune.) I wasn't quite as naughty a convent schoolgirl as the choirgirls of Our Lady of Perpetual Succour on their day out to Edinburgh - I'd never heard anyone use language like that! - but it did make me think fondly of a school trip to Stratford-upon-Avon c1971, smoking Consulates with the bad girls at the back of the bus and not letting on that I really didn't like them once the Polo-mint taste wore off.

I hurried straight home at the end of the show, completely unaware of the terrible events that were unfolding only a mile or so away across the river. So sad to think of those who didn't make it home safely.