|Photo copyright Gregory Deryckére . Re-used under this Creative Commons License.|
But what a fool I was. For it wasn't just re-opened, it was transformed into a thing almost unrecognisable, changing into something vaguely reminiscent of an overgrown cake.
I must admit that my entire experience of having been inside the Lyceum is of attending a version of Dick Whittington starring Vince Hill in the late 1960s. This would have made me four at the time, meaning it's remarkable that my memories of the visit are so clear.
I remember Vince striding around with his worldly possessions dangling in a spotted hanky from the end of a stick.
I remember his cat looking suspiciously like a woman in a costume. I was most impressed by her tail.
Most of all I remember my nan telling me the theatre's boxes were for visiting royalty, like the queen, to sit in. I can confess I was highly disappointed that the queen didn't show up for that performance.
And you know what? She's not shown up in my life at any other point either. Grrr.