Frankenstein accidentally my soul.

Oh, there's nothing like wondering around the South Bank and foyer of the National Theatre, darlings, with your best bossmew talking about walls of vaginas, the 'c' word, the current OMG!RACEST shenanigans going down at Midsomer Murders and how much we love "her off of My Family" and 'that bloke, you know. Ian. Ian McGandalf. And that James McAfee.' And talking in bad South London accents, laaahke, and giggling like schoolgirls about we 'liked that fackin’ Johnny Lee Miller back when he was fit' and about our barely-contained (or disguised) excitement at the prospect of being Cumberbatched IRL from only this far away.

'We need a computer game based on acting. Shakespeare Hero.'
'Shakespeare... Idol.'
'Pinter Idol.'
'Haha. What would they do, stand on stage and be like, *awkward silence*...?'
*winning loltears*
'I love the fact that everybody here is probably thinking we're terribly loud and uncouth and lowbrow, not even knowing that we've just made a Pinter joke.'

We had AMAZING seats. So close. Oh, Benedict. Oh. As you probably know, my fangull status was already well-implemented with all the grammar Nazi-ing, hilarious attempts at stocking the fridge and cautiousness around shoes, and then I fell in love when I realised he was a ginger. But now? I am besotted. He blew my mind. He is… just... I want to go again, and I don't even know if I liked the play.

( SPOILERS YONDER )

Then we loitered outside the stage door, being uncouth of course (I wondered aloud if Ben would let me touch his hair, but we decided that asking him that question wouldn't just be uncouth - it would be slightly rapey) and the other people waiting were laughing as we narrated the TV we could see through the doors. A lady came down and said that Ben wasn't coming out to play, because he was having a party. Promptly, over half the group disappeared. Cumberbitches gotta eat chocolate biscuits. So, the remaining six of us waited to see if Johnny or anyone else came down, but it must've been a good party. Boo. Kyra: 'So he can't be arsed to see us because he's getting pissed? What a twat. He can fack off if he thinks I'm buying the next Sherlock DVD. I'm just gonna give Mark Gatiss a fiver.'

Then we lol'd our way to Waterloo and I gave a homeless dude half of my chocolate bar and ate some salt & vinegar Squares on the train the end omg. HAPPY BIRTHDAY KYRA AND FANKS FOR A FACKIN' AWESOME DAY!