There’s an international conspiracy that the musical Mammia Mia! (their exclamation mark, not mine) is a Good Thing but I’m not buying into it, no. I saw Mamma Mia! at a theatre in London a couple of years ago and didn’t enjoy it one bit. And I am, as regular readers might know, a huge fan of musical theatre and I’m quite fond of Abba songs too.
But anyway, there, I’ve said it. Mamma Mia! is rubbish. The lead man we saw was (and I hope fans of Eric Morecambe will forgive me for skewing this famous line) singing in the right order, but not with any of the right notes.
“It’s great,” some posh friends told us after they’d been to see it. “We were up dancing.” (They pronounced it darncing). My boyfriend’s mum saw it and loved it. My sister in law loved it so much she went back to see it again. And so, with such hearty recommendations, we went. Andy Gray the football commentator was there with two blonde bits, nieces of his probably, and yes, the three of them were up darncing in their private box. But not me and not my bloke. We just sat, bemused, wondering what all the fuss was about and wishing we’d stayed in and saved the best part of £100 we'd wasted on tickets.