Regular little drama queen
When I was sixteen, I had to play Ralph in our school's production of Lord of the Flies. Those familiar with the play/film/book may know that Ralph has to do a handstand at the start of the play, and blow a conch, both of which I was given two weeks to learn how to do.

Being a particularly gangly, ungraceful and lung-capacity bereft teenager, I could do neither.

Come the big day, I fell over in front of everyone, and made a wet farting sound instead of crystal clear fanfare. It was highly embarrassing. Slightly more embarrassing was that everyone else in the cast continued as if nothing had changed, and I'd done the best handstand ever! Nightmare.

There was also my part in a Midsummer Night's Dream, in which I had to pull a particularly fit girl, who was not my girlfriend. Oh, the rehearsals we had! Much to the chagrin of said girlfriend.
(Rotten_Cointreau is a proper scientician, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 13:03, Reply)

A Scottish soldier
Primary school. I had a song to sing in front of the whole assembly ("There was a Scottish soldier" I believe. Very nervous standing up in front of 800 kids plus teachers. Did what a young lad does in these situations: checked my flies. Standing up in front of the whole assembly. Whole place erupts in laughter. Then I forgot the words midway through the second line. Oh the shame/stage fright. (delete where applicable for QotW).
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 13:02, Reply)

School production of a schlock-horror vampire thing
Right at the end the vampire was supposed to open some curtains and fall down some stairs as he decomposed into mist.

As we weren't allowed any dry ice until the actual performance, the vampire had no idea what was coming as he fell shriveling to the stage.

A huge cloud of dry ice fog enveloped him, making it appear he'd disappeared. Dramatic final music, pause, lights fade, applause from the audience.

It was only afterwards that the vampire comes up to us screaming, "you bastards, you nearly killed me. I couldn't breathe at all." Which is understandable as dry ice is just solid carbon-dioxide and sticking your head into it isn't really to be recommended.

He's since gone on to star in various TV sitcoms and won awards. Quite glad we didn't kill him back then.
( chthonic, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:58, Reply)

Stiffy Horror
Not me thankfully but an arty friend at school who was always doing plays and all that shite. After every play we had there were photos plastered over the notice boards.

Unfortunately for my friend one of the photos consisted of her pointing to a fellow cast member's pant area who had the biggest stiffy ever. So much so I knew from then on why they call it 'pitching a tent'.

Just in case anyone missed it someone also drew a great big bastard arrow pointing to the offending member. How thoughtful.
(chakaflange, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:57, Reply)

Its all Gobo's & Gaffer tape to me.
Despite doing Drama GCSE, A-level Performing Arts & being a member of the local youth theatre, my preferred place was in the wings, or with a reel of gaffer tape in hand halfway up a scaffold rig fixing the lights (usually because some twunt had overloaded the circuit).

There was the usual, expected drunken antics in the sound booth, pranks with gaffer tape, shining spotlights in to the snobby leading ladys eyes...

There was an incedent about 10 years ago when I was almost potentially seriously injured when some nameless wanker who is now doing quite well in the West End writing his own stuff, decided to push the rig (50 foot tall scaffolding tower used for reaching lights & other high up things) violently across the hall knowing full well I was on top of it changing a bulb. I almost dropped the spotlight, did drop the bulb (it smashed), lost my balance and fell flat on my arse thankfully onto the platform on the top of the scaffold tower. Sadly I knocked off the roll of gaffer tape which as if by fate smacked him on the head leaving a nice black bruise for opening night.

I got my own back proper on the night when I made sure that the dry ice for his act billowed out superbly completely hiding his ugly bruised mug from view of the audience.
(Ariaxen, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:47, Reply)

being hit by a house and an impromptu ice skating performance
Just a couple I can think of at the moment - Firstly when I was about 12 or 13 I was playing Mr Beaver (no jokes, please) in The Lion the Witch and The Wardrobe. Everything going swimmingly until one set change. I was standing on stage with the rest of my beaver family when the lights went down for a scene change - from forest glade to beaver house. Unfortunately I was stood about 1 foot too far forward and the entire house came crashing down from onto my head. A big thunk can be heard in the video of this, followed by the dim view of a shadowy pair of legs sticking out towards the audience. Luckily my chicken-wire constructed beaver hat saved me from concussion, but for the rest of the play Mr Beaver had a serious dent in his head.

Secondly, not acting this time but backstage for a play (name forgotten) I was suspended on a very wobbly and dodgy gantry swinging from the eves of the theatre in charge of the dry ice machine - I had to operate this at certain points during the play to provide a misty atmosphere. Nothing as strong as fog, you realise, just mist. For those of you who don't know, these machines are operated by lowering a basket full of frozen carbon dioxide into a container of water. The water melts the dry ice and the wonderful misty effects are produced. Dry ice is VERY VERY cold (about -80 centigrade) so wearing gloves is a must. After the second ambient misting, things were going fine. Until one of my gloves fell off into the dry ice machine. This blocked the vents completely and wedged the basket of dry ice into the machine. "Oh well," I thought, becoming increasingly enshrouded with smoke, "I've missed the cue for this one, but hopefully I'll be able to work the blockage loose for the next one."
Wrong. Very wrong.
Missed two more cues whilst trying to extract my glove. Eventually however, I worked the wedged glove loose, but at a completely inopportune moment. The machine belched forth its entire stored quantity of smoke all over the stage. Which at that time was set as a living room, and not a misty forest.
Bugger.
The amount of dryice and liquid that poured from above all over the stage hit the stage floor and turned into a layer of ice. Real ice, not dry ice. The play was immediately turned something that closely resembled 'muppets on ice' which although hugely more entertaining than the actual play, still earned me a bollocking.
(coderboi, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:45, Reply)

Far away farce
In 1987 my parents decided to up sticks to South Africa and dragged me along too. Before I knew what was happening I was enrolled into the local high school, whereupon my music teacher was thrilled with my "plummy" English accept (I hail from the Essex/Suffolk border). He was busy adapting an English farce for the xmas play, set in 1940.

Anyhow, this up with me having to sacrifice two hours every week staying after school to train the lead actor in the role of the English Bobby to speak like one. His broad (to me) South African accent made things very difficult. Not being one to relish the challenge I shirked my responsibilities somewhat.

My lack of enthusiasm didn't get me out of the play however, I became a stagehand and when the actor scripted to play the part of the downed Nazi airman (an Austrian chap by the name of Jorn) was struck with flu on the opening night, I had to take his place.

Picture the mismatch. Jorn was four years older than me and played 1st team Rugby, so his uniform (complete with swastika and peaked cap) was several sizes too big. I looked more like a refugee from Belsen than an evil Nazi. On top of that, my German accent made the Saffar Bobby sound authentic...

"Zis is der tag!" screamed I (in a teenage Damon Albarnesque voice) has I raised my right arm in salute, dropping my imitation Luger pistol on the floor.

I am then put under arrest by the bobby with the line:

"Ja, you's unda arrist in de naam of ze law".
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:42, Reply)

The word 'naked' made me giggle and pick my nose
Our school decided to hold a carol concert in the nearby church and as I liked singing I wanted to take part.

I was only eight though and I was rubbish at remembering the words. My brother, who was 11 and in the same school, promised the teachers faithfully that he would make sure I got it all learned for the night. He made it clear to me that I was only in the concert because the teachers trusted him to make sure I would learn everything properly and not look like an idiot.

I let him down utterly. I couldn't remember anything, so I just joined in with the choruses and picked my nose (and ate the contents with obvious relish*) for the rest of the time. This process was only interrupted by me giggling, out loud and at length when the words "I was cold I was naked" were sung in one carol. Naked! That's a rude word! "Teeheeheeeheeheeheeeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee...."

I only stopped my childish laughter for more nose-picking.

As one of the smallest, I was in the front row so all of the audience got a good look at me being an arse.

My family were all there to watch and I am often reminded by them of this (and other acts of stupidity on my part).


*I may still be doing this at age 36. In fact, I'm picking my nose while I write this!!...and did someone just say naked!? "Teeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee..."
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:40, Reply)

I work in a theatre so you would have thought I'd be full of these stories...
...but to date my most exciting theatrical moment has been meeting Nadia off Big Brother.

Meh.
( Peregr1n @peregr1n, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:38, Reply)

Elton John
I was ligging a gig in Paris where Elton John was playing. My ex was the lighting tech for the gig and I'd whizzed over to join her for the French part of the tour.

As I was familiar with all of the lighting kit I was helping Liz out where I could and during the gig I was at the side of the stage with the backup lighting deck with a headset on listening to the crew chatter. The gig was going well, the lights show was spectacular and Elton was really working the crowd. (BTW, contrary to what you hear in the press I found Elton to be a really nice bloke. Generous, thoughtful, polite - a pleasure to work with. bent as nine-bob note but a really smashing bloke.)

And so the gig went on. Then, suddenly I heard my GFs voice over the mike:

"Just lost all Vari-Lites. Decks dead"

And then the tour managers laconic voice:

"Elton's down. Elton's just collapsed"

As soon as I heard my GF say she'd lost the lights I'd jumped into action and was readying the backup deck. I ripped the cover off and then unscrewed the multicores that led to the main deck and started to power it up and go the the diagnostics while keeping a running commentary up on the lighting radio channel to my GF who was making her way through the crowd with the lightshow on a floppy disk. One by one the lights reported back that they were online and ready to rock and roll. Just as the final bank reported in as ready Liz appeared at my side with the vital floppy. She shoved it into the deck and loaded the pre-sets and the deck burst into life and all the Vari-Lites went through their reset routine.

"Vari-Lites back online" says Liz over the radio

"Elton's back on his feet" says tour manager

And with that, the show went on.

I still swear to this day that Elton John is really a robot and he's controlled by a Vari-Lite lighting desk.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:37, Reply)

Badger Badger Badger
Having auditioned for the part of the aforementioned meles meles (what a fantastic latin name for a badger, it's so badgery) in my school's production of The Wind in the Willows I was unhappy to be given the part of Mole. I mean it's bad enough that they made everybody do it in the first place but at least Badger has some bloody balls unlike the sniveling bugger I had to play, I mean I had my reputation as a nasty little psycho to protect and how the hell was I to do that as a mole? Luckily fate was to provide as we shall see. Anyway, much pain and practise later it comes to Opening Night! Toad Hall is about to be stormed and various vermin thrown out on their fury ears. I let loose my fearsome scripted battle cry of "A Mole, A Mole!", which is by far and away the least effective such shout ever devised in the field of combat, and charge along with Ratty, Toad and Badger into the heat of the fight. Here's where I feel there was a slight misjudgement on the part of the drama teacher. Who would actually give out real oaken staffs to a bunch of vicious ten year olds? Especially when the kid that was playing Chief Weasel was detestable thief with a nasty habbit of trying to steal everything of value that the the now enraged, tactically aware and heavily armed Mole possesed, as well as trying to generally piss him off no end, safe in the knowledge that he could run faster. Much method acting later he is dragged off by some less well battered ferrets and I and my comrades launch into the final number knowing full well that come morning this is going to require an explanation. The video is still in much demand on Christmas mornings in my household, my father going so far as to claim it's the only school funtion he's ever enjoyed going to.
(mrbastard, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:37, Reply)

Cocktails
I have a friend called Martin who did the whole drama school business. Now at these schools, the number one rule is 'don't corpse' (that's getting giggling fits for all you non-thesps). The punishment for this would be the drama teacher making you stand in front of the class and haranguing you in a Sgt. Hartman (Full Metal Jacket) stylee. "Are you happy you ruined everyone's performance? Are you proud you ruined the hard work of the whole cast?" kind of thing.

Despite this there was quite a keen contest to see who could make who corpse and in what imaginitive ways. The week before the end of year performance that they would all be graded on, Martin was currently in the lead. During dialogue between him and his main rival in the previous weeks rehearsal he had spent the whole time muttering obscenities under his breath while his colleague was speaking his lines, loud enough for them to hear but no one else. Therefore when his colleague suddenly burst out laughing no one knew it was because Martin had just whispered to him "You're not even good enough to be Richard Madeley's fluffer'.

Martin relaxed with a seemingly unassailable lead. Until, that is, the night of the big performance. One of the many climactic scenes took place in a cafe between Martin and a girl playing his wife. The scene was supposed to reach a crescendo shortly after the waiter brought them their drinks. The wife said something cutting, Martin was meant to down his drink in one, call her a 'selfish bitch' and storm out of the imaginary cafe. Easy. The problem was that Martin's rival was playing the waiter and, being that Martin was so engrossed in the dialogue, waiting for his cue and doing his best 'angry face', he didn't notice the smirk on his co-stars face as he did so. The girl finished her line, he began to down his water and that was the moment he noticed the condom floating in it.

Instinctively he spat his drink all over his shocked-looking 'wife' and, quickly recovering, called her a selfish bitch while openly laughing in her face before running off in hysterics.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:36, Reply)

5 dead cats hanging off the wall..
I was 4 - it was butlins bognor and somehow I had got onto the stage to sing a song. My lovely rendition of 'five dead cats hanging off the wall' went down a treat
I got a magic set for my effort.
(The_artist_formally_known_as_alz0r, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:29, Reply)

Ballcony scene
My best mate Dan at secondary school had some kind of bizarre scrotal fluid-retention condition which resulted, for a period of about four months in year 10, in him having one ginormous, majestic nad alonside his suddenly-relatively-folorn-looking normal one. Since he was understandably a touch sensitive about the exotic and terrifying contents of his y-fronts, it was agreed that it'd be a secret - one that I'd sworn on our friendship to carry to my grave.

After weeks of militaristic organistion, favour-pulling and dinnertime bribery, he finally landed the role of Romeo in the school play opposite - you guessed it - Chloe, the girl he'd been obsessed with since junior school. She was popular even back then, but now she'd blossomed into an implausibly beauteous maiden and was basically beating them off with a shitty stick. Dan saw his opportunity to woo her on a more intellectual and intimate level, and, to be fair to him, he used it well: rehearsals went brilliantly, and by opening night, rumours were rife that he was in for a bit of corset-popping at the aftershow shindig in the main hall.

Alas, fate wasn't smiling on him that night. The curtain went up at the start of Act II, and, as he emerged from the wings for the famous weepy scene, a hushed murmur of confusion rippled around the audience of parents, teachers and friends. There appeared to be a large protuberance in his trouser area - given that he was wearing a cod piece coupled with sheer lilac tights, it looked almost aggressively tumescent. Dan clearly hadn't noticed, but while he was "wherefore"-ing for all he was worth, people were starting to laugh quite loud. So, from the front row, I did the only thing I felt I could. Feeling like I was bellowing at the top of my lungs, I tentatively hissed "Dan, your...um...costume...". Fucksocks - not quite loud enough. Like the true pro he wasn't, poor chap, Dan turns round mid-sentence and, squinting in the full glare of the spotlight, says: "What..?"

What the hell was I supposed to do? By this time everyone was looking at me, including Romeo and Juliet, and everyone sitting around me knew exactly what I was trying to do. I panicked. I was embarrassed. I was mortified. We'd had a half-joking conversation before the show about how awful it would be to get a hard-on just before you went onstage, and for some reason I was convinced this was precisely what the audience believed they were gawping at right there and then. I didn't want everyone to think he had a lob on for his would-be-bride. That'd ruin his chances of romantic conquest. He'd be gutted.

So I shouted "Your water bollock is out."

He had about a week off school. When he came back, he'd had it 'sorted'. The water bollock was no more. Neither, alas, was our sacred bond of brotherly trust. :/

I don't even know where he lives these days. I do know it's not with Chloe, cuz she married an ice hockey player and moved to Canada - a journey almost as long as this entry.
( grey kid is breakdancing to save a community centre, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:27, Reply)

Classical music madness
Many moons ago I used to do quite a few classical guitar concerts - back when I could play. Nothing huge - church halls, W.I. meetings, art galleries.

Everyone going on stage gets nervous. When you get nervous you stop breathing properly. When you stop breathing properly you tremble. Trembling is obviously a poor thing to happen to you when you need accuracy in your fingertips of shall we say, 1/100 of a mm - like when playing classical guitar.

In order to assuage The Trembles, I'd have two double brandies (all right, 4 or 5) and go for a run round the block - the latter to get me breathing properly, the former to calm me nerves. And to make me feel better. Hic.

Once I shared the bill at an arts centre with some dancers, who went on before me. One of the girls, spied my "bottle of water" while I was out getting all out of breath running about. She took a giant swig, promptly coughed it straight back up and sprayed herself and the rest of the troupe with cheap brandy.

When they came on stage, I'm told, the audience were hit with an unmistakable whiff of hard booze. Those alkie girlie dancers. Huh.
( petuniadb, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:26, Reply)

me, in tight white pants, on stage.....
when I was 15 or 16, my class was doing a play.
We where playing the story of Marie Antoinette
and Axel von Fersen (The queens swedish
loverboy who got stomped to death by an angry mob).
For some reason I cannot remember now I got the
role of Axel. Don't think I had any say in the matter
as my teacher was a bit of a crazy bitch.
Anyway, we had to come up with costumes for this ordeal and the school had most of the stuff we needed. But they did not have any historicly accurate trousers. My teacher came up with the idea that I should wear my tight, white american football trousers (I played American football for a number of years).
Aparently she thought they looked a bit like those white/beige knee length trousers Axel is wearing in some painting. I objected, she wouldn't listen.

all I can say is, thank god we only did one show for a few other classes in the school.
Still felt like a tit standing there with frilly shirt, black vest, powdered wig, ugly shooes and my tight white (aparently a bit see through at the right angle) trousers.
( The little pink animal is mostly harmless, except on, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:24, Reply)

School Nativity play, aged 5.
I played a Shepherd. Had to wander through the audience dragging a toy stuffed lamb on a lead as 'my flock'.
Dragged said lamb up front of stage whereupon its head fell off in front of the whole audience.
The uncanny thing was, that at EXACTLY the same time, Baby Jesus' (played by a doll) head also fell off, rolled to the end of the stage and fell off.

There was a hush amongst the audience as if they were waiting i guess, for some sort of childish comment from one of us mortified 5 year olds.
But no, the comment came from a muffled voice about halfway back in the audience:
"Angel Gabriel watched down upon him my arse."


I am now a practising Athiest.

(returns to stabbing kittens with an inverted crucifix)
(nappy rash, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:14, Reply)

well it's not quite a story...
My 5 year old daughter has her nativity soon.

I keep asking her to tell me about "the little baby cheeses" in the hope that when she does her speaking part cheeses are mentioned... Am I cruel... [email protected]
(BadgerPirate, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:07, Reply)

Elizabeth Regina
As a kid I was in a play called Elizabeth Regina. I was too young to appreciate the potential humour in this, but that's not really the story... Everyone had to go to the audition, but I really, really didn't want to be in it. Naturally I was made the male lead.

We performed the play a number of times and got invited to perform at the Little Theatre in Bristol. All I can remember about this was getting on stage for the first scene and tripping over. After that I have no memory whatsoever. I have a newspaper clipping that says I was rather good though! I then failed to turn up for the second night as my Mum was worried about how nervous I had become...

Finally, to add to the fun, Points West, the local news service, invited us to perform the play on Plymouth Ho and recorded it. The only bit they showed on TV was me, dancing in a pair of tights and a ruff...

As you can imaging, the emotional scars run deep...
(spudmonkey Now MrPineapple can sex me from behind. Don't ask!, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:06, Reply)

Shakespeare
When I was in 10 I played Peter, in "A midsummer nights dream" as all the classes in my school had to put on a play.

Thankfully, I don't remember too much about it, all I can remember is that I wasn't the one who fluffed the lines up but I did get embarressed trying to help someone out.
(tranmerefan, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:02, Reply)

Hmmm....
Once I had to sing "Away In a Manger" solo in front of hundreds of people.

Another time, a girl sang "Chick, Chicky Chick, Chicky Chicken" to me, while I was dressed as a chicken - wearing orange tights, and covered head to midriff in patches of yellow toilet paper.

Break a leg indeed.
( bobmitch - 2 : Electric Boogaloo, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 12:00, Reply)

Bit of a Thespian me! Yes I love that Hairy Clam!!
It was the last technical rehersal before our opening night. The play way Cabaret I was playing Sally Bowles the Lead Female. We were pulling a late one to get the final lighting, pyro cues etc so the director decides that he will feed us all and ordered Pizza too keep us all going. Cue me waking up at 3.00am with the worst belly cramps I have ever had basically I was like a double ended fountain all night, my bedroom lookerd like something from a 70's horror film and the smell was enough to make a fly turn up his nose!!

Now I know that they say that the show must go on but when you are in the middle of singing a heart felt song and you let a wet one go in your tight black pants the moment can be a little lost!! I can never look at liza minelli in the same way again!
(Roxy_Bees, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 11:59, Reply)

If You Do It Bad Enough......
Appeared in only one primary school nativity. Walked on stage threw up all over Mary and fainted. Never asked to be involved ever again.Job done.
(charliesays, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 11:58, Reply)

Hehheh.
Not quite on-stage, but rather in the sound desk.

For my Drama AS practical exam, I decided to do something different and go into the Sound teching department. After a week of perfect run-throughs of the performances came the actual public performances, which were being recorded to send to the [nazi] examiners AQA for marking. It went wrong from the very beginning:

The lighting systems failed - meaning a lot of the plays were completely blacked-out. There is a link-up between the soundbox and the stage, so us poor sods in this 2 metre x 2 metre box actually know where our cues are. It failed. Me, and my good friend Brian who was doing lighting for the performances started going ballistic as the plays started too early.

What they didn't tell us is that the soundbox wasn't soundproof due to a small hole in the front. Cue loud shouting of "WHAT'S LISA DOING ON-STAGE?!" A darth Vader style "NOOOOOOOOO" and finally...Loudest of all: "GET OFF THE FUCKING STAGE".

All of which were heard by 250 parents, children and OAPS. Not only this, but that tape was sent to the examiners, who could also hear it.

Still got a B for it though. Woo!
(Little Miss Randomo, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 11:57, Reply)

When I was in my school play
I ran on stage, couldn't see the audience because of the lights, I was so nervous I shouted my lines then pissed myself with fright in front of the whole school, parents and teachers included and ran off crying.

Oh the shame!

[edit]Fucksocks, the QotW has finally changed![/edit]

When I was in primary school, the nativity play was very inclusive – you were involved onstage, whether you wished to be or not.

Needless to say, all parents wanted their children to be one of the principles – Mary, Joseph, a Magus or failing that a shepherd.

My friends and I, on the other hand, wished to have absolutely no involvement at all. Unfortunately, when one was cast as a shepherd thanks to particularly pushy parents, the rest of us were also.

Our disappointment at being on stage, however, was short-lived when we discovered during rehearsals how much fun it was!

Following the star to Bethlehem was a slapstick procession of tripping each other with our crooks.

Gazing in speechless adoration at the baby Christ became plucking him from the crib, against all instructions to the contrary, and passing flinging him amongst us with comments likes “Blimey, what’s wrong with his hands?”.

Yes, it was childish but then we were, after all, children.

Finally, only two nights before the main event, the director had had enough and we were hastily recast in roles that were restricted to a brief jog across the stage.

We were to be Herod’s soldiers during the massacre of the innocents.

To this day, I really can’t understand how our director could have been so naïve, so optimistic. We were, after all, children.

So, come the big night, the stage is set, our moment has come and, dressed in legionnaires uniforms and clutching our plastic swords, we formed up and, accompanied by a soundtrack of wailing, we trotted across the stage.

Half way across, we stopped to enact our revised and more realistic scene. We whipped out the dolls that we had secreted about ourselves and ripped them to pieces, tossing limbs, torsos and heads into the audience and spraying stage blood in every direction.

Needless to say, despite being in the best traditions of the theatre, our improvisation was appreciated not by our head teacher, nor the director nor even the audience members who were struck with bloodied bits of baby.

The following year, the scene had been cut and we weren’t even allowed in the auditorium.
(SpittyWoonerism, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 11:55, Reply)

Mrs Bumble
in Oliver Twist.




I took great joy in punching Oliver on the arm too....well, that's what she does....didn't she.
(Oops....did I say that out loud cos I really bloody want to., Fri 2 Dec 2005, 11:48, Reply)

umm
i've been on crimewatch, does that count?
( wierdo was bored @, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 11:45, Reply)

So Many
In a past life I used to work as a lighting tech for bands and have many, many tales of those days (dancing with Barbara Bach, asking Jayne Seymour for a blowjob, having Billy Connolly ask me if I really enjoyed drinking as I was throwing my ring up and more) but this story is about a gig at Manchester Uni.

In the 80's a punk called Johnny Stack was running the events at Manchester Uni. He was an unmitigated disaster as he was always booking bands he loved at exorbitant fees who nobody had ever heard of. The Events Crew was going bankrupt fast. But he did have one notable success - he booked Curiosity Killed The Cat before they were famous and they were due to play the Union in the week when they were number 1.

Well the kiddies of the North West turned out in droves. We oversold the gig by about three times what the fire limit was and had to draft in all sorts of extra security, crash barriers etc.

During the gig I was in charge of onstage security which meant that I was standing just to the side of the PA stacks watching the crowd. The crowd was a mad pulsating thing, surging backwards and forwards and, inevitably, some poor sod would lose their footing and disappear under the feet of the seething mass. When I saw someone go down I'd whistle (I've a fucking loud whistle) and point where someone had went under and a couple of bouncers would jump into the crowd and haul the unfortunate to their feet. Real adrenaline pumping stuff.

Anyway, about halfway through the gig I heard a cheer and saw some random bloke, on stage, with his arm around the lead singer. He'd grabbed the microphone and was bellowing out the words to the bands hit. Well this wasn't fucking on! How the hell did they get past security?

Galvanised into action I ran across the stage, grabbed the offender and rapped a nerve in his wrist. The mike fell and the lead singer got it and I grabbed the offender by the arse and collar and with a quick run, hurled him into the crowd. He sailed forward and landed head-first and then slowly sank so that only his feet could be seen waving frantically in the mob. Funny as fuck.

Job done, I retired to my perch on the PA stacks and the gig went on. At the end of the gig I went backstage to see the band and when I got into their dressing room, sitting there was this poor bastard who I'd chucked into the crowd. His face was a mess where the crowd had trampled him. Black and blue with a really puffy split lip. Turned out he was one of the friends of the band and his participation on stage was part of the act.

Oops!
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 11:44, Reply)