A Crying Shame

This month, Olly Mann reveals how a performance of Teletubbies Live unexpectedly moved him to tears.

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When was the last time you cried? You may be able to answer that very specifically, if your tears were triggered by a traumatic event. Euthanising a beloved pet, for instance. Or you may be the kind of person who cries all the time: at romcoms, at weddings, at Christmas carols; each and every time the plane lands, or the kids get a new sports kit. In that case, you probably won’t even remember when you last cried, because it’s such a routine occurrence.

I fit into neither of these categories. I’m somewhere in the middle. I cry when something truly awful happens, of course. I shed a few tears the day my father died, and (such are the eccentricities of grief ) wept more heartily on perhaps half-a-dozen subsequent occasions, initiated by sudden, small sadnesses, such as wanting to call him for a chat, or seeing how much his grandson admired his vintage car.

I’m not a serial blubberer, though. I’ve never been moved to tears during the final reel of a movie, or a stirring verse of poetry. But there is something that gets my waterworks running, and it’s a little embarrassing. Without fail, the one thing that always increases the flow of oxygen through my body, and provokes an instant moistening of my eyes, is… children’s theatre.

I know, it’s weird. I’m not even referring to emotional historical dramas, like Goodnight Mister Tom or