Stephen Pollard
I get on well with my sister. We speak most days, although I’ve noticed a certain froideur recently. It took me a while to work out what was wrong. The issue, I realised, was my penchant for offending against one of the most bizarre of all middle-class shibboleths. I’ve committed just such an offence twice in the past few days. I’ve walked out of two plays because I hated one and was bored by the other. (I left at the first interval, I should point out; I’m not so uncouth as to leave while it’s going on.)
It did take me a while to realise I could leave these things early, and the middle class guilt that made me stay was pointless
It seems to me entirely obvious that if I’m not enjoying something I’ve paid for then I should want to leave. Why persist with something that is meant to be entertaining or enriching when you’re finding it neither? When I’m not enjoying a book, I stop reading it. When I’m not enjoying a TV programme, I turn it off.
But I realised long ago that my walking out of a live event horrifies some people. It’s as if the theatre, or a concert or opera is some sort of penance and has to be seen in full. To leave early is a sign of a weak character or moral turpitude.
