Last summer, on a trip to the West End to watch Hamilton with my mum, as we were tucking into some outrageously overpriced ice-cream, she glanced around and muttered: “You know, I love the theatre, but it’s such a shame there are so few other black people here.”
It has become something of a regular refrain. Even in a city like London — and even at one of the most racially diverse West End shows in history like Hamilton — we always seem to stick out like a sore thumb.
