in the stalls

A night at the theatre with Fenella De La Rochefoucault.
The Dublin Shakespeare Company production of Romeo And Juliet no less.
It is in the best sense of a phrase made famous by my cousin Yankee Joe, bor-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ring.
Until Juliet arrives on the balcony.
I've dozed off but I wake up to hear:
"Johnston Press, oh Johnston Press, wherefore art thou Johnston Press? Hast thy company gone completely bust? Hast thy shares fallen through the floor? Wert thou a bunch of useless incompetent swine for presuming to fire Heelers? Wert thou a shower of worthless parvenu classless toe rags with delusions of grandeur who weren't really fit to tie up his shoe laces let alone fire him? Ah Johnston Press. What art thou? Art thou a heap of crap? For I canst not find thy shares listed anywhere. Lo prithee art thou caput? Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of people. Maybe next time you low rent skangers will think more carefully before firing someone."
I looked at Fenella whose head was by now resting on my shoulder.
"It's starting to get good," I whispered.