I find going to the theatre extremely challenging. You must sit perfectly still, and you have to concentrate. These are two things I find nigh on impossible. When I was a kid, everybody told me I had ants in my pants. In middle age I was told by a psychiatrist that I had attention deficit disorder. This pathologisation of having ants in one’s pants has been greatly reassuring to me, as well as a very useful sicknote for theatre invitations.
Sometimes, though, needs must. Jez Butterworth’s Jerusalem, directed by Ian Rickson and starring Mark Rylance, demanded to be seen. I’ve met Ian a couple of times and like him. He’s a Charlton fan, and theatre people who are also into football I’ve always found to be excellent coves. I liked him even more when I saw a sign in the foyer indicating there would be three acts, with two intervals. For the neurodiverse this felt like nothing less than an act of compassion.
