I’m tired. My hip has slightly packed up. It does this from time to time. I am walking in a somewhat ouchy way. It will unpack up in a bit, so I shall just carry on with a bit of light moaning. It’s being so cheerful that keeps me going. It’s one of the only things about old age I’m ready for, I’m an expert moaner. Gold star and smiley face level moaner. That’s me.
It is only Tuesday. I do not think this can be really true. It feels like Mananaday already. Mananaday is a day I’ve just invented that comes after Sunday to explain those weeks which feel like they’re never going to fucking end. That’s the sort of week it’s shaping up to be. ALREADY.
Wot news though? Wot news?
Let me share with you the new joys that the business that is show is throwing up for me. I use the term throwing up advisedly.
Tallulah’s rehearsals continue to flay me alive for many reasons, most of which I am not at liberty to share here because I have vowed to be nice to people and am a believer in karma, but boy, it is a test. It is a test I am resolutely failing except in my ability to endure and not kill people. These are the two most important things, so go me, for being down with that.
I will give you a brief glimpse into the state of things when I tell you that it is like Acorn Antiques crossed with The Kids from Fame (without Mr. Shorofsky, who was my favourite).
I do not remember if I only Tweeted this or whether I blogged it too, but it bears repeating. Everything about the whole experience can be summed up in the line from last week:
‘I’m going to share with you my idea. It’s Riverdance crossed with a Mexican wave.’
I did not know whether to laugh or weep, dear readers. Honestly and promisedly. Mostly I made a small ‘urk’ noise and went out into the corridor to get it onto Twitter as fast as my little fat fingers could type.
The worst of it is that it looks nothing like a cross between Riverdance and a Mexican wave at the death. It looks like more a flailing jazz hands crossed with a Cold Stream guards type stamp. This was the greatest disappointment to me. The greatest.
I demonstrated to Tallulah what a cross between Riverdance and a Mexican wave SHOULD look like when I got home. You may be able to picture the scene. It was mightily impressive. Were it not for the fact that my hip is royally bollocksed I’d have got one of the children to film it for me and stuck it on here. I note here that my hip only started hurting after this extremely athletic manoeuvre. If I find that I have been brought low by it, I shall never forgive The Kids from Acorn Antiques. NEVER.
That move, had I filmed it and unleashed it on the world, would, I am sure, have won me a whole legion of new fans. In fact, I might keep it secret and work it into a new routine and audition for Britain’s Got Talent next year. I am sure to win. Particularly if I wear leg warmers and some kind of feathered headdress. I shall embrace ALL the dance cultures. At once.
Rehearsals are now twice a week. Last week there was an added one. Luckily her father had her that weekend so he had to do it. Ha!
I have also now got to spring for some ‘character’ shoes. I have never heard of ‘character’ shoes before, but apparently they are a real thing. Much less interesting than Fuck me pumps, although I am glad she doesn’t have to have those. I have ordered them. They are not as interesting as they sound, which is a bloody waste of the word ‘character’ in my opinion, which is a word brim full of interest, whereas the shoes look like sub standard Flamenco jobs with slightly hospital style fastenings. BOO.
Although they might look well with a split back nightie and green shower cap.
As well as the two rehearsals this week, I now have to find the time to take her to the theatre to the costume department for a fitting. They only do these on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursdays. Rehearsals are on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We are out this Wednesday. We will have to see what next week brings. Or she will have to go on stage naked but for her ‘character’ shoes. That would certainly bring out their character I suppose.
As far as the singing goes, I am sick to death of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I am sad about this. I loved the film as a child. I used to have sweaty, screaming nightmares about the Child Catcher, but would beg my mum to be allowed to watch it again and again. I even had a Chitty Chitty Bang Bang bedspread (I wish I had it still), but now all the joy is being sucked out of it for me. All the joy. Tout suite. (see what I did there?)
She is also practising Mary Poppins a lot. I never liked the film of Mary Poppins so there’s a lot less to lose here, although I am getting quite a few nasty, Dick Van Dyke related flash backs I could cheerfully live without. I always thought the books were infinitely superior to the film, and so dark, and so sad, and so poignant, and not a bloody cartoon penguin in sight. I am beginning to feel dark and sad about the songs too now, just in a different way. What is interesting me is hearing someone trying to impersonate Dick Van Dyke’s absolute hash of a Cockernee accent and hashing it in a whole new way. It sounds slightly South African with an indelible twang of Lestah.
We will draw a veil over Somewhere Over the Rainbow, which was ruined for me at an early stage by Vicki Finn, the only girl in the village who had a video recorder. She had two films, The Wizard of Oz and Jaws. I preferred Jaws. She preferred The Wizard of Oz. No contest. It was her house. Eighteen times in one summer I watched that frigging film, because yes, even watching the same film eighteen times was preferable to having to go outside and make your own entertainment.
You think it would have stood me in good stead for fourteen weeks of drip feeding high schmaltz musical numbers, but no. It is still torture. My only gladness is that they seem to have overlooked Annie as an option.
Unless that’s going to be the encore.
Pray for me. In legwarmers or out.