Warming Up

Walking on to stage during someone else’s show is the stuff of nightmares. It’s the kind of thing you dream about all the time and would be an absolutely mortifying thing to happen to a professional theatre-smith. But tonight the nightmare partially became a reality.

I had had another tired and tiring day, watching a children’s show that had promised slapstick, but was light on falling over and heavy on monologue. The actors were great and engaging, but the script just not right for a two and a half year old, who sat watching largely unmoved, but had laughed for a full minute on the way to the show when her friend had banged her umbrella into a wall. This is someone who wants to laugh and wants to be entertained, so it would have been nice if there had been some more knockabout stuff for the little ones. She enjoyed it when polystyrene went everywhere and she got to pick a bit up. Interaction and spectacle is all that is required. I liked the show a lot more than the jam sandwich one (which is selling much better) but that one had little for adults and this one, perhaps a bit too much. They also had to cope with a precocious child, who was initially quite cute with her insistent joining in, until it became apparent that she’d seen the show before and was just piling on the spoilers. Literally spoiling it for everyone. And for some reason not being told off by the adult in charge of her. I wanted to sleep too, which didn’t help. Instead becoming part of the show (as did fellow comedian Keith Farnan at a different point) when one of the actors needed to use my hands as binoculars. I was impressed with the performance, but a little disappointed that my daughter didn’t get too much out of it. “Not as good as an umbrella”. Maybe none of us are.

I took charge of Phoebe whilst Catie was in a show and I managed to get through two hours without breaking her. She is obedient and sweet when it’s just the two of us (mostly) and nothing makes me happier than just walking around with her holding her hand. I can’t believe that I can love another human being as much as I love her, so baby number 2 is going to have to go some to catch up. But apparently you like them equally (unless one of them turns out to be a dick). Surely I have no love left inside me, but I thought that when I met my wife and then found even more for my daughter. So we’ll see. Good luck with that unborn child.

Phoebe watched a street performer with me. He was up on a bit unicycle juggling fire and knives. Phoebe wasn’t that impressed. She’s a tough audience member.

We went home and I almost slept, but didn’t quite. I headed out for my sold out Saturday show. Derevo who are on before me, had been over running until the last couple of performances when they’ve been coming down on time. And at about 7pm there seemed to be lots of people moving around in the corridor outside. I assumed they were done, and aware that I had a lot of programmes to put out made my move to go backstage. I was a bit out of it, so it didn’t strike me as odd that there was an unfamiliar prop in the corridor, or that the theatre seemed a bit darker than usual. The curtain I had to go around seemed a bit stuck so I moved it aside a bit. I then realised that Derevo himself was curled up on stage and I could see the audience beyond him. I was really only just in the wings, but had been about to blunder out into the final moments of his performance. I must have been seen by a few of the audience and by another cast member who seemed to be holding up a mirror or something in front of the star. I exited quickly and with embarrassment. It was a horrible feeling.

Had I disturbed the performers? Had I ruined the show? Or had they not noticed me at all? Should I apologise. I felt awful. What a terrible, basic error (brought on partly by them beginning to over run again). But I like this Russian clown who has given me some respectful though debatable, “we’re in the same job” thumbs up as he lies exhausted on the stairs after his performance. At least I can now also claim to have shared a stage with him.

Luckily it seemed to be OK. I did mention what had happened to one of the cast and she said I should have styled it out and joined in. My black and white striped T shirt fit in with the colour scheme of their show.

My show went well. Sometimes Saturdays are tough, but this one seemed fine and the show is improving as we go. 

I got a cab down to a restaurant, though the driver had been arguing with another cab driver when I tried to get into his empty cab and then on Waverley Bridge shouted something in Scotch to some drunk men, who then delightedly invaded the road, walking in front of cars to greet the driver and get selfies with him. I didn’t understand anything any of them were saying, or if they were friends or my cab driver was some kind of local celebrity. But I laughed along as they drunk men gleefully and incomprehensibly shouted at me and him. 

He apologised for the incident, but I didn’t feel confident enough to ask him what it was about. He said, “The worst thing is that it will already be up on Facebook.” God knows who he was.

The day had that air of invasion.

We've added an extra RHEFP on 25th August at 3.50pm at the New Town Theatre. No news of guests as yet, but please book tickets if you can, as it won't be publicised anywhere else.