I meandered down to the Palace at about a half-past seven, quickly scouted out the place (am I the only person who always feels slightly uncomfortable in a building unless I’ve explored the whole floorplan? Perhaps it’s a compulsion from playing too many FPSes) and bought a hideously expensive gin and tonic at the bar, which I drank, silently, alone, unconsciously mirroring Bob Harris in Lost in Translation, again. (That film follows me everywhere.)

To my seat, then. The theatre seemed very small and cosy, not quite as big as I was expecting. On my left was a Hamburger who, as he informed me during an idle chat during the interval, was on business in London and enjoyed the opportunity to go out in the evenings. Behind me were Americans. In fact, there seemed to be Americans everywhere, being endearingly American with their “We’re here for Wimbleton” and “So, what part of the States are you from?” and “Oh, Victoria, BC” and “Ah, so not actually the States!” and “You know, the Canadians say we sound like Americans, and the Americans say people from Seattle sound like Canadians, eh” (I will always remember my excitement the day I discovered that Canadians really do say “eh” all the time) and saying “Thank you, sir!” as I got up to let them get to their seats. Before I went to Japan and met my colonial cousins for the first time, I assumed the Yanks and the Limeys were essentially the same, just with different accents and different sporting/hot beverage preferences. But they are different, very different, in a wonderful way. I don’t know if it’s being more extroverted and sociable, or the accent, or calling random strangers “sir”, but the fact that they are different brings out that the British actually do have a distinct culture. Clearly, this will be something to look into over the next two weeks.

So, Spamalot. I was hoping to see Charles Widmore Alan Dale as King Arthur, but in an intriguing twist it turns out that Sanjeev Bhaskar, of Goodness Gracious Me fame, took over the role, and I was privileged enough to see his very first performance tonight. He’s pretty good: hardly the best singer, but carries the role well (so well that clearly I didn’t realise that this was his first night). There are a handful of knowing references thrown in, too (”Kiss my royal chuddies!”).

Being of Python descent, it naturally features some neat breaking of the fourth wall (especially in the surprising finale) and meta-theatrical tricks. At the very start, a lone trumpeter begins playing the Monty Python theme: the conductor, in the pit, draws a gun and shoots him.

Overall? Well, if you loved Monty Python and the Holy Grail, You’ll Love Spamalot! Which is the problem, really. It’s a show of two halves. The original portions, the new musical numbers and diverging plotline in Act II are funny, and there’s plenty of hilarity and fun songs and clever writing, but then on the other hand you have the scenes lifted almost word-for-word from the movie, and the trouble with that is that it just becomes a case of delivering the punchlines and catchphrases to the waiting audience. “Here’s the bit with the French castle! Ooh, in a few seconds he’s going to say “We need a shrubbery!”"

That’s not the point of Monty Python! It’s something I noticed with the League of Gentlemen live DVD, or whenever Matt Lucas or David Walliams turn up on charity events: the audience aren’t wanting anything new or original, they just want their favourite characters to say the catchphrases and leave.

But, hey, it’s a fun spectacle for the most part.