"Do you want to sit on the grassy knoll - it's great, I sat there for the dress rehearsal and it's like you get your own private show," Royal Court press officer Iain Christie asked me on Monday.
Why not? I thought - after checking with him there was strictly no ritual humiliation, I mean audience participation, involved.
Well, apparently Iain had his fingers crossed when he told me that as I learned last night.
Although it was gentle, mild and hippy-like participation - being "talked to" as the cast went past - so it wasn't too embarrassing.
Oh yes, apart from having to get up and dance at the end that is!!
I did feel a little underdressed though as most of the people sitting around me on the picnic rugs and cushions were in tie-dye shirts, maxi dresses, kaftans or sporting flowers in their hair.
I had a flowery top on, and someone found me a scarf which they tied around my head, but I was never going to pass muster at Woodstock.
Mind you, I wasn't the only one who hadn't made much of an effort.
Willy Russell was sitting behind me on the front row in a very un-flower power like black singlet and jeans.
Back to my on-stage sojourn. While everyone in the sensible seats tucked into curry and rice, I had a picnic basket delivered filled with quiche, cold meats, coleslaw, salad and strawberries and cream.
That's more like it.
And what of the show itself?
Arts editor Joe Riley (who got bumped on the head by a giant "cloud" balloon that went skittering over the audience) was reviewing it, so I could sit back and simply be "one of the audience".
I thought the set was great with its grassy field, blossom-laden trees and psychedelic Morris Minor traveller.
I thought the music was also great - I'm a big fan of late-60s music anyway and the cast's playing was often cracking. To that end, being that close to them on the stage was the best seat in the house.
Alas, where was the storyline? I know the whole point was these people had turned on and dropped out, but the plot was as soggy as a half-baked hash cake and the characters Technicolor cartoons.
And while Keith "Guy Fawkes" Carter was a revelation on the guitar his repeated efforts to get a reaction out of a press night audience verged on the desperate.
Chill man, chill!
In the end, I think I would have been perfectly happy with my picnic and two hours of great music.
