At university, I asked a girl if she wanted to see a new student play with me.
It was written by a student who was part of the Footlights and was meant to be the next big thing, so I thought it was a sure-fire have a laugh, have some drinks, back to my squalid rooms kind of thing.
So, we rock up to the play, it’s all innocuous enough for the first half hour, before it suddenly changes pace and turns into a horrendous drama about domestic abuse. It ended with the husband of the piece pouring the scalding contents of a teapot over his wife’s silently screaming face.
Needless to say, such grim scenes did not set up the mood I was aiming for, and rather than go for a drink, we decided to call it a night.
We still ended up as a couple, but for humour’s sake, imagine I never saw her again thanks to my choice in creepy theatre.