I'm stuck somewhere in the middle of the junction between Shaftesbury Avenue and High Holborn, waiting for the traffic to find itself around all the road works. But even from my little island I can see the queues stretching all the way out of Shaftesbury Theatre and down the road.
People clog the pavement on both sides.
A wedge of solid humanity balancing on that small corner, and spilling right into the road.
The lights change and I manage to make it across the road, but that's as far as I can get. Every inch of this pavement is blocked.
Among the crowd people in waterproof jackets holding up small laminated signs with the logos of various ticketing companies on them.
I try to spot the familiar TodayTix red, but if they are here, I can't see them.
Looks like I'm heading to the box office. If I can even get in.
I join a queue at random. There seems to be at least three of them going on. And all of them have a mixture of people who are already clutching their tickets, and those feverously looking up confirmation emails on their phone.
"Where do we go if we have tickets?" sighs a young girl standing on tip toes to look around.
"I know, right?" says her friend. "This is so unhelpful!"
A woman standing in front of me flags down one of the waterproof coat crew.
"You don't happen to know where the box office is?"
He does. He points through the door where we can just about make out a sign stating "Box Office."
Right, well at least our queue is pointed in the right direction.
Slowly, oh so slowly, we eek our way through the doors.
"If you don't have a bag, you can go straight through," says a bag checker, ignoring the fact that there's nowhere to go. The foyer is just as rammed as the pavement.
I make it through the bag check and stand blinking in the entrance, trying to work out how the hell to get over to that box office.
In the chaos, a collection of people have gathered in what could almost be called a line. I join the end of it, and sure enough, we start moving, ever so slowly, towards the box office windows.
As the last person in front of me picks up their tickets, the woman at the window grins at me. I start forward, but the crowd have sensed the vacuum and is pouring into it.
But my box officer keeps eye contact, smiling encouragingly, drawing me through until I collapse out the other side.
"What's the surname?" she asks before I even have a chance to open my mouth.
I tell her, spelling it out in case she can't hear me over all this noise. But she's nodding. She's got it. And she's off to the back of the office to pull the Ss from their pigeon hole.
"Maxine?" she says, returning to the window.
That's me.
Okay then. I've got my ticket. I should probably go find a programme now.
There's a merch desk just behind me, and after a bit of shoving I make it through.
"Can I get a programme?" I ask, slightly out of breath after my exertions.
"That's seven pounds," says the merch desker promptly. There's no room for nonsense round these parts.
"Can I pay by card?" I ask, unsure I can summon up an entire seven quid in cash.
He nods and we go through the rest of our transaction in silence. I can't blame him.
By the looks of it, he's already sold hundreds of the things. I can see those shiny hot pink covers all over the place. I'd be sick of talking too.
No time to inspect the programme properly though. I need to get out of the scrum before I get trampled.
"Too many fucking people," growls a middle-aged man as he barges past me.
I stagger, clinging onto my hot pink programme as I regain my balance.I think I should probably go find my seat now.
I'm in the circle tonight. I follow the signs and go up the stairs, immediately feeling better as the crowds thin out. Crystal wall lights send simmering shadows skittering around the stairwell, soothing my battered nerves. I let my elbows drop out of their protective stance.
I've been to a lot of West End theatres at this point. Very almost nearly all of them. Only three more to go. So I think I've said everything there is to say about them. There are boxes and pillars and mouldings and velvet seats. And yeah, I like the Shaftesbury. It's a very nice theatre. Got all those Edwardian accessories that really do it for me. Just plush enough that you feel a bit fancy as you take your seat, but no so plush that you stress about the hole in your tights.
Excitement is high.
Now that everyone has made it out of the caning factory downstairs, the chatter is buzzing. Everyone gets out their phone to take a picture of the huge & Juliet sign on stage.
A performer appears on stage and serves up some quality b-boying action.
He's soon joined by a few other cast members and they get their groove on while the house fills up. I get up to let a couple past. The bloke steps right on my foot and I cry out in pain. He immediately leaps up and apologises. Which is a first. And much appreciated.
Still, doesn't no much for my poor crushed toes, which are currently throbbing away into my boot.
The cast is getting the stage ready. One of them dangles her legs off the edge of the stage and chats with the front row. Another is attempting to finish that sign. They get the first ‘o’ of Romeo rigged up, but there's no time to finish it off. We're starting.
Oliver Tompsett's Shakespeare appears. He's just finished another play and he's rather pleased with it. But as he takes his players through the plot points, he soon finds out that they're not overly keen on the ending. Even his wife is having trouble getting behind such a tragedy.
Something needs to be done. And Cassidy Janson's Anne Hathaway is the one to fix it.
Romeo and Juliet is getting a reboot.
With some quality pop songs to help matters along. The audience laughs with shocked delight as we're launched into Larger than Life. And I am fucking loving it. Yes. This is what I want. I too dislike Romeo and Juliet as a story. Not for the same reasons as Ms Hathaway, I must admit. But whatever, I can see no problem with tearing that damned story to shreds and packing it wall to wall with absolute bangers.
Plus, the having Romeo as a total fuckboy... let's be real. That's pretty much canon, isn't it? Finally, someone just had the guts to say it. So, when we get Jordan Luke Gage's version of him, dressed like an emo Ken doll, dancing on his own coffin, while wearing a pink rucksack and singing Bon Jovi... I am done. Spent. In love.
And that's before we even get to Miriam Teak-Lee who is... I mean... that voice. That hair. She's just fucking everything.
This is literally the greatest show I've ever seen in my life.
Yes, it is also the most stupid show I've ever seen in my life. But why does everything have to be clever? This is silly. And fun.
And... it's the interval.
Thank goodness, because my heart is pounding and I need a few minutes to cool off.
"I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this," muses the girl sitting in front of me. "It's very entertaining," she adds hurriedly.
I get out the programme to have a look. That's lots going on it here. No boring biogs with a few cursory production photos to justify the price, oh no. There are notes from the director and the designers, and the book writer.
There's also a synopsis of the original play, just in case anyone in the world has managed to get to this stage in their life without absorbing the plot through cultural osmosis.
And an entire double-page spread about Max Martin. Slightly at odds with the more humble title of 'Who is Max Martin?'. But considering he's the man who pretty much soundtracked my formative years with all those Britney classics, I'll allow it.
The safety curtain is down. Reversed so it looks like we are the ones on stage.
A few people are happy to play along, singing not untunefully to the music still blasting out into the auditorium.
I use the opportunity to inspect the place.
These seats really are comfortable. And my view is top-notch. That's because the seating is offset. I have a clear view between the shoulders of the two people sitting in front of me. I don't know why all theatres don't have this. It's great.
And when the second act starts, I don't miss a thing.
And, I mean, I'm going to be real here. I'm not sure how I feel about the non-binary character. No shade against Arun Blair-Mangat or anything. Nothing to do with the performance. But something about the way this character is being treated is bothering me. And, you know, as a cis, very gender-conforming, person, perhaps I'm not the one to have an opinion on this, so I'd be real interested if a sensitivity reader was brought in to look at the script. Does theatre even have sensitivity readers? I'm sure it does. They're just probably not called that. Well, whatever. I hope there was one.
Because I really want to love this show. Like, I really want to love this show. I'm enjoying it so fucking much.
Over on the far side, an usher leans right out over the railing in his best Juliet impression to get a good look of the stage. He doesn't want to miss and minute, and nor do I.
And when the bows are happening, and the audience starts standing up to applause, I don't even hesitate.
You know I don't give standing ovations lightly, but here I am, on a chilly Tuesday night, ovating the heck out of this show along with everyone else.
"That was so good," says a bloke as we all make our way down the stairs.
"I don't usually like jukebox musicals, but..." replies his date.
"So good. So good."
"And so unexpected!"
Well, I for one knew it would be great.
But still, I kinda get what he means.
That shocked laughter I mentioned earlier. That wasn't a one-off. Pretty much every song got it's own giggle opener as we collectively, as an audience, recognised the song and worked out how it was going to be used.
Sometimes it was a bit... yeah, I'm still uncomfortable about May singing I'm not a girl, not yet a woman. But Anne ordering Shakey to do rewrites to the tune of I Want It That Way... well, that was fucking genius.
And now I have to hobble away on my injured toes, and make it all the way home without embarrassing myself by humming on the tube.
We both know I'm not even going to make it till Camden.