The dreaded has happened. And no, before you ask, my skirt did not fall down again. There has been a tidal wave of repercussions involved since telling that story, mainly from various relations sending good luck cards with the HYSTERICAL post script: “Try not to let your skirt fall down… AGAIN!”
It wasn’t funny the first time people, the third was barely tolerable and I was gauging out my eyes with a conch shell by the ninth.
Tenuous ‘Lord of the Flies’ reference there. To reassure you, the acting company of Theatre by the Lake has not started eating one another just yet. Ask me again in October and it may be a different story. If I’m around to be asked that is. I may be gently resting in some unknown duodenum having been forced down via the medium of peristalsis.
(THANK YOU MS HOARE AND GCSE BIOLOGY...
Second name check in two consecutive blogs, she’s a lucky gal.)
If it came to it, I would definitely be one of the first to go. I’ve got very little upper body strength, am prone to making excruciating puns and am blessed with my Mother’s breasts. Yep, I’m a gonner.
What actually happened was that I dried, on stage, in front of 400 people. Yep, I dried.
For those of you not familiar with the theatrical term to dry, it does not involve any form of towelling and or moisture. Actually, the latter part is a lie; it does involve a certain amount of moisture, mainly the sweat coursing off my clammy palms.
To dry, is a term that actors have coined for when you forget a line, that hideous moment when your mind goes blank, time stands still and all you can do is look at your fellow actor with the facial vacancy of Father Dougal circa 1997.
Yes, I dried. And then I cried. Not on stage mind you, I waited until I was safely ensconced within the comforts of my dressing room and then let a single crystal tear streak down my face to the tune of Mariah Carey’s ‘I Can’t Live, If Living Is Without You.’ DAMN YOU SHUFFLE!
It hasn’t happened since university when, during a ridiculously promiscuous play called The Balcony by Jean Genet directed by our tutor Terri Power (I KNOW, WHAT A NAME) in which one of my friends had to wear a strap on and various members of the cast were clad in fishnets and or corsets, I lost my train of thought and thus forgot my line.
Considering my surroundings and the aforementioned costume attire, I think a little line slip can be forgiven.
But that was 2006 and this is now. And the fear is still the same. Luckily, it was only the first line of a speech where I blanked and so I managed to “create” a dramatic pause (probably of about 20 minutes) and then start the speech from about half way through. BRILLIANT.
It was only superfluous exposition that I missed out… No one would have cared that they didn’t find out that Gerald was having an affair with the girl and that it was Eric who got her pregnant. Right?!
I’M KIDDING. Of course I’m kidding. I simply forgot to say, “No that’s no use.” Four little words. But when you can’t think of them they feel like the BIGGEST four words in the history of all words.
Luckily, I’m great at improvising so I told a few jokes, got the audience warmed up and then carried on with the play. KIDDING. Again. We carried on pretty seamlessly without my jokes, although for the record, I think they would have DEFINITELY enriched the audience’s experience.
There would have been audience participation, balloon animals and a good old sing along to an SClub7 song of my choice. What's not to like!?
It’s amazing how one little slip up can feel MASSIVE but actually, at the end of the day, nobody notices.
A bit like when my dad forgot my birthday. Just kidding. That WAS massive and I definitely DID notice.
Until next time folks!