The West End Whingers pride themselves on their metropolitanism so it’s always worth of comment when the journey to a theatre is considerably longer than the play.
Unaware that Shepherds Bush tube station was closed and engrossed in his reading material (Andrew’s well thumbed copy of Quiltmaker magazine) Phil suddenly found himself in the wilds of White City. Not for the first time he really had no idea where he was. Thinking that Emerald City conventions might apply he clicked his heels together and uttering “There’s no place like The Bush” but to no avail. Read the rest of this entry »
A West End Whinger 