My kinky imagination, piqued by the queue for cushions at the Globe, went into overdrive during the production. See, one can pay a mere fiver to get into the theatre as a “groundling”, if one’s willing to stand in front of the stage throughout the three or so hours of the play. Various stewards, in Globe uniforms, are positioned amongst them to supervise the crowd – and make sure that the walkways onto the stage are kept clear at the necessary junctures.
Only.. the incredibly cute steward standing below us had other plans – spending the entire play at the very front, looking up in rapture at the players.
The chief steward would notice, naturally, and would keep her behind at the end, in the empty theatre. Holding a vicious whip taken from the props department, he’d summon her up onto stage. “If you wish to remain in your post, it strikes me that you need to learn which way to face. So remove your uniform, and bend over and touch your toes on the edge of the stage facing out towards the audience. I’m going to thrash you until I’m satisfied you’ve learnt your lesson.”
She’d protest, but the shameful alternative of dismissal from her coveted post couldn’t compare to a few moments of pain – could it? Even when she was in her underwear, under the cold London skies of the open theatre roof, and he insisted: “Completely naked.”
And so she’s learn exactly how the character whipped in the play would have felt, only this time there’d be no fake stripes, no action (purportedly) taking place off stage. This would be very real – and the crack of the strokes and the sound of her screams and her desperate apologies would be all-too audible to anyone taking a later-night stroll along the south bank outside the theatre.