I’m having to get to know Paddington. For such a long time my route into London was via Victoria station. Every nook and cranny of that enormous railway station was etched into my brain. I could go from A to B with the speed of a swift. Southern trains trundle backwards and forwards, in and out of London. For the last 8 years, I’ve been able to navigate from my doorstep to the Royal Albert Hall (RAH) in about an hour. Only occasionally being marooned in Croydon.
Once I’d discovered the BBC proms it became a regular part of my annual schedule. That knocked off August and part of September. Promming[1] is a wonderful tradition that opens access to great music of all kinds for a token sum. Standing for me is no big deal.
Last night, I travelled through space and time. A different space and time from my normal one. Now, I’m having to get to know the ins and outs of a different railway company. To some extent they have “proper” trains that go somewhere. I mean, cities in Wales and the West of England.
This was only my second BBC prom of the year. This one was going to be different. For a start it was Bank Holiday Monday. It was the main day of the Notting Hill Carnival[2]. For those who don’t know that sat on my route into Paddington and round the Central Line to the RAH.
Busy, busy, busy. I don’t know if the National Orchestra of Wales to the same route as me. They were on stage for prom 48[3]. Thankfully, GWR speedily and safely got us into London.
The buzz was infectious. Whovian community folk like to dress-up. Standing in-line outside before 6pm, conversations were about favourite monsters and the authenticity of other prommers costumes. Fantastic handmade scarfs. Elaborate purchases from e-bay. Eccentric illusions to long lost baddies. I felt grossly underdressed. That said, I shouldn’t have been surprised but the audience was about as intergenerational as is imaginable. Maybe, I should have said intergalactic. I was standing next to a would-be William Hartnell in his 20s. Further along the que there were 2 Sylvester McCoys in their late 50s, at least.
What can I say about the evening? Hat’s off to all concerned. It was a dam good show. I don’t count myself as a Whovian even if this small screen fiction has populated most of my life. I was struck, not just by the obvious theatrics but how important the music had become to the whole drama. It really does pull on the emotional strings. Story telling needs that magical music.
Standing in a crowded arena, I wasn’t for one moment frightened. Which I would have been as a young boy with a cyberman walking straight toward me. An authoritarian Dalek called for the interval. Ordering the orchestra off the stage. The revered Russell T Davies was in the audience. They played out with the Doctor Who theme.
For an evening learning a new route in and out of London, all my effort was more than rewarded. Time and space well spent. I shall now turn my hand to inventing a working TARDIS. Then I could go back and do it all again. Well, that is except for the cool breezy late-night hanging about at Reading station platform 3.
[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/3598F306c3KnN6t3x6ThKpN/what-is-promming
[3] https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m00224zh
John Vincent 