Silent heckling

Last night, I was taken out on a Mystery Valentine's Surprise Date.
The mystery was not in the date itself; I knew I was going and I knew
who I was going with. This much was not mysterious.


I unravelled a riddle which revealed my rendez vous. Half past six,
I'm standing outside said meeting point, watching a long stream of
commuters, lovers and sometimes both, emerge from the mouth of the
train station heading for a restaurant, his home, her home or home
alone for a Pot Noodle and some private time. My Valentine arrived and
we left the flower seller to steadily reduce his prices in line with
the flow of potential customers.

First of all, we head for a restaurant and eat far too much meat. Then
it's off across the bridge, up the High Street to number four where we
find a dimly lit basement bar, thronging with perhaps two couples, a
barmaid and a huge bar. For old times' sake I have a couple of
Desperados and is all is good. The music is turned up a notch with
every entrant so conversation is impossible but we're happy; we just
people-watch to see if their ears are bleeding too.

A little later, it's time to switch rooms for the show is about to
begin. I hang back to buy another reminiscent Desperados and enter the
room last to find that my Valentine and I would be occupying the two
remaining seats in the front row, so close to the six inch stage that
I could put my feet up.

The MC comes on, makes some funny noises and talks to the crowd. There
are perhaps ten couples and a man called Ross, centre stage, also
front row. Ross is married but alone, bitter and is the sort to sport
a mohican on his helmet. He is a natural target for the people on
stage and the other front rowers breathe a sigh of relief; Ross would
be their saviour.

The first act comes on. A female comedian as I believe comedienne is
outmoded and perhaps non-PC these days. Kerry Godliman is her name -
I've looked it up since. She told some jokes, some were amusing, I
thought I recognised her from TV while my Valentine laughed more than
me. All was well.

Ms Godliman asked some questions of the audience, twisted the answers
for comedy, made fun of Ross and then proceeded to question the chap
directly behind me. I forget the questions but they were probably
around being married, whether he was happy and other standard
Valentine fodder. It was excruciatingly painful for the audience and
comedian alike as the chap behind me failed to respond to a single
question and, by all accounts, simply stared back at the lady on
stage.

Despite Ms Godliman clearly getting more and more agitated, he would
not respond. Eventually, exhausted of her efforts to get a response
she moved on to the rest of her set and quickly finished, thanking the
crowd for being kind before starting to walk, stopping directly in
front of me, pointing at me and exclaiming 'except for you, you need
to lighten up'.

I was as surprised as the next man. Well, actually, I suspect I was
the only person surprised as the other 20 punters seemed to know it
was me she was talking to. This explains why my Valentine was poking
me with each question. Unbeknownst to me, she was encouraging me to
respond.

Ordinarily, I would be hugely embarrassed to have been the centre of
attention but as I didn't realise it was me, it didn't bother me in
the slightest. I feel as though I should apologise to Ms Godliman; not
just for being inadvertently rude but also for failing to notice her
boss-eyedness earlier.