It would be fair to say that I've had some strange experiences at The Edinburgh Playhouse. Hopes raised and dashed. Low hopes spectacularly exceeded. And then some experiences that can only reasonably be described as strange.

Saturday night fell into the latter category.

Priscilla Queen Of The Desert starring Jason Donovan would not, under normal circumstances, be top of my prize picks list but Sister loves the boy star of Neighbours so let's put my selfish wishes to one side for one second.

On arrival at the theatre, it was clear that we were in extremely excitable company. We squished into our little corner of the whatever circle and prepared to enjoy.

The two boys next to us were well on their way to enjoying themselves. A late Christmas present for a mother and the girlfriend of one of them also appeared to be in tow. As were a very large number of plastic cups which may have once contained alcoholic beverages.

The (beautifully polished) orchestra struck up and the boys went wild. Singing. Perhaps mistaking this for a karaoke show. Waving their arms along the row of our seats as if they themselves were conducting.

The story progressed along its slinky way. The flying angel girls who were hung suspended to deliver much of the singing launched into Hot Stuff. The boy next to me licked his finger and touched it excitably to my cheek. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and he slung his arm round me and swayed to the compelling rhythm. Always On My Mind and he kissed his hand, gently touched my cheek and gazed into my eyes. My fastest ever romance.

Except the second the show was over - in fact, seconds before the show was over, he darted up and off to the toilet. Again - he leapt up and they flew out of the theatre with mutterings about driving to Yorkshire early tomorrow. Good luck, fellow road users.

And jilted again. Dark un-Play(ful)house Days.