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This is a question On the stage

Too shy to ever appear on stage myself, I still hung around theatres like a bad smell when I was younger - lighting and set design were what I was good at.

Backstage we'd attempt to sabotage every production - us lighting geeks would wind up the sound man by putting the remote "pause" button for his reel-to-reel tape machine on his chair, so when he sat down it'd start running, ruining his cues. Actors would do scenes out of order to make our lives hell. It was great and I don't know why I don't still do it.

Tell us your stories of life on the stage.

(, Fri 2 Dec 2005, 11:02)
Pages: Popular, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Wrong Song
So it was compulsory to do a music class in our school early on.
This year though happened to be the bi-annual school review. Our class was nominated to perform in a choir.
Weeks of practice was done, and all was fine till the moment of truth.
My mates and I decided to sing the order of songs backwards - while all others would sing the correct order.
Queue the choir stuffing up 5 songs. Everybody thinking that they were singing the incorrect song and changing mid way thru.
The crowd were confused to say the least. What will never leave me tho is the scowling face of my teacher waving the baton staring directly into my soul.
Queue many afternoon detentions copying word for word each song - IN ORDER. (worth it tho)
(, Tue 6 Dec 2005, 10:01, Reply)
I was 'lucky' enough to be Joseph during my primary school's Nativity - but the selection process was nearly scuppered by a Nazi parent who decided it was unfair I was chosen only on the basis that I was 'a bit foreign looking' - because Joseph was a local Yorkshire boy, wasn't he? Git.
(, Tue 6 Dec 2005, 7:18, Reply)
Rule one, know what your ment to do.
Ok, so last week i was at a club, bumpped into a rather pretty girl from my psychology course, and we chatted a bit. Evey week theres somthing on, wet t-shirt, bucking bronk, all hosted by the same cunt. We decide to volentere for this weeks offering, but we don't know what it is. Well about 30 seconds after i got on stage i thought it was rather odd there was a bed on there. We were told "all you have to do is pretend to fuck" Fuck indeed. I hardly knew the girl, and im not the type of knob head who likes to make a scene of my self (ok, i love to but not in that way). after the gays did there bit, my friend did a cracking show witha girl who kept screaming she had a boyfriend while waving her arms and gerealy making him look like a rapist, it was our turn. after her expert advice of "just be sexy" was met with my shocking revolation of "I don't do sexy, I do clumbsy and awkward" the music started. i did my best, rled her over, did a funny little thrust, even got her legs on my shoulders, making us look at least funny, she decideds to bugger off. lituraly climbed over me, with just a courtasy upskirt before jumping off the stage and leaving me alone on the bed, blinking like a stoned fish. I collected her shoes and drank from my two bottles of VK apple at the same time, still holding onto her shoes. I was aware every one was judging me to be both a drunk and a lousy shag, but had to sit there. but then the lesbian 3some arived and managed to return me to a ahppy medium, i looked stupid but there were lesbians.
In the end i came 3rd, just ahppey to have beaten my friend and his amazine rape show.
(, Tue 6 Dec 2005, 0:54, Reply)
Ohh it gets worse stick with it
I'm a married man of more than a few years but IT, the IT event, that had been bottled and pushed into a deep hole, came back to haunt me from the past like you wouldn't believe.

One fine day I was in Sainsbury's wondering which queue would travel the slowest, (something I was cunningly trying out to speed up the checkout process) when I noticed this leggy blonde woman in a short skirt looking at me?....at me!..., as a look over the shoulder confirmed!! She smiled, licked her lips, and then and there I thought go for it..go for it, all systems are go......
"erm do I know you?"(I know,smooth eh)
"Mmm yes I think you do" (WTF???).. she continues with the gobsmacking sentence..."I think you are the father of one of my children."
KAPOW!!!And other assorted Batman effects apply...
Fuck me, the traumatic memory block gives way like a chinese dam and the 'IT' event comes flooding back, every nerve, the neurochemistry kicked into action by the firing of a million electrical impulses.And so, the link to the QotW finally revels itself, as I vividly and uncontrollably recall my one regretful moment of alcohol+ fuelled weakness at a Stag Evening........

"Oh my god, you must be the blonde stripper I screwed on stage in front of fifty strangers whilst your ...Uurgghh dirty, dirty erm...girlfriend took the opportunity to whip me, piss on me and insert the whip handle into me and making me wag my 'tail' by gripping my testicules?"

Here that link I have tried reasonably hard to build becomes weaker I admit,
as the womans now puzzled and shocked look is overtaken with the sentence causing such SHAME! (I missed last weaks QotW btw!)

"Oh no,I am er your daughters form tutor!"

Fit SHuck Bart and Follocks I would have thought if it were true.

But probably deserves two clicks on the I like this button for the link to 2 consecutive QotW
(, Tue 6 Dec 2005, 0:38, Reply)
Oh No
this is the 1st qotw i aint enjoyed/answered. shame on all you thespians.
dont mention the scottish play.
cant wait till next week
(, Tue 6 Dec 2005, 0:35, Reply)
What part of "I don't want a singing part"
do fucking drama teachers NOT understand? I didn't even want to be in the bloody play, they made me, the cunts. I had to sing a bloody song about haircuts.

As a young'un, I was the girl who was always chosen to play a male part. My proudest moment was when I was in Jonah and the Whale, and to act out my "journey" I had to walk around the church, but I got stuck on someone's wheelchair. Then a multicoloured whale swallowed me. How ... dodgy.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 23:07, Reply)
Used to appear in the village pantomime
Was in the childrens section (usually involved being on stage thrice, once being the finale, usually dressed as children or small animals) until I was about 12/13, when I started taking on slightly bigger roles with a couple other guys my age (known as the teenagers section, suprisingly). These included a teenager (wow!), a tree, and my personal favourite, a washing machine.

Also once appeared in the Oxford Gangshow (a show for all the scouts, cubs, brownies etc. to perform in) as a soldier, which was great because it was one of those things where you have a large hat covering your head and a face painted on your stomach. Made a tit of myself though, because my dad came to watch, and I didn't consider that if I could see out from under the hat, the audience could see my face
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 22:48, Reply)
One of my angel underlings peed her pants on stage...
...totally upstaging me of course.

I was the Angel Gabriel and during one of my monologues, this one little annoying angel kept saying her line - over and over - before she was meant to. "Shall I go and fetch the children?". I kept saying "shhh" and continuing my anglelike performance, only to be interrupted again, each time in a more desperate manner.

Finally she gave up and pissed her pants. At which point the whole show had to come to a standstill while the teachers came and removed the sobbing yellowish angel and cleaned up the stage while I sat fuming.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 21:45, Reply)
And it comes back to haunt me...
I remember when I was about 7 years old... 1984.

It was the Christmas nativity thing at school. I was one of the narrators. A school hall FULL of parents, AND there was somebody there with a VIDEO CAMERA. Of course, in the mid 80s, they were very rare, so us kids were all excited that we were going to be on telly :)

So we performed the thing. Then afterwards, going back into the classroom, happy at a job well done, I was greeted by the sight of a sobbing 7 year old girl, with the teacher comforting her, and several pairs of eyes glowering at me like I was the most evil thing on earth. Turns out I'd jumped in with my line too soon, so poor Susie missed her only line in front of her parents and in front of the video camera.

I still feel bad about this 21 years later.

Susie, I am so sorry.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 21:30, Reply)
I joined an amateur dramatics society to meet girls.
And I did. I went out with one for a few months but then she did my head in so I dumped her and never saw her again (I never went back).

Still, at least I did one play. It was rubbish though - a stupid farce, that was probably quite racist, especially if you were the Chinese man in the audience that Saturday night.

I'd like to do a proper play one day. Who knows, I might try it one day.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 21:28, Reply)
Whilst not strictly theatre-related...
My work colleagues were kicking up a right old song and dance today. It might have been something to do with my Wagnerian operatic farting. Which might have been something to do with the fact that I had the day before drank several pints of very heavy Tetleys. Either way, it was a right old Carry On...
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 21:01, Reply)
Mixed up lines
My friend always gets his words mixed up on stage - for example, he once said 'Lilting willies' instead of 'wilting lilies'.

During 'Romeo & Juliet', instead of 'no such sight to be shown', he said 'I'll go along, no such shite to be shown'.

Pity it wasn't a comedy really.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 18:48, Reply)
I'm no musician but
A few years ago at a local music festival a drunk friend and I decided it would be fun to jump the security barrier and get on stage. Being a couple of years older and a bit bigger than most of the band members we relieved two of the musicians of their backstage passes while pretending to be security; then proceeded to go from stage to stage introducing all the acts as we went, until we got to the heavy metal stage. I have vague memories of a Bruce Dickinson type "Scream for me Essex" thing going on and waking up the next day with a splitting headache. Best bit was hearing one of the organisers a few months later in the pub say that the whole festival had been crap and the best bit was the two drunks who did the acapella heavy metal rap!
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 18:39, Reply)
Magic show
When I was eight, I was dragged out of the audience at some bloody awful variety show at our village hall to help the magic act. I had to help hold up a curtain while the Great Wazoo's old and wrinkled assistant, Brenda, escaped from a box she had been padlocked inside.

Well, fuck me stupid, if the old cow was only escaping out of a flap in the side. Nobody would listen to my protests at the extreme lack of actual magic going on, so I took it into my own hands to reveal the fraud that was going on in front of my very eyes.

I let go of the curtain, to reveal a surprised looking pensioner in a leotard trying to crawl to safety.

I remember the Great Wazoo's words as if they were yesterday: "Brenda! Get back in that fuckin' box!" Then: "You little bastard."

I fled.

My stage career was over.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 17:47, Reply)
I was once in a school "comedy" play in which I played the lead role, a German soldier. In once scene I had to pretend to be drunk on schnapps (the bottle was empty, I was only about 12) and stagger around whilst singing Lili Marlene or some such tripe.

On the final night of the play the mayor and his wife came along to watch, as did my parents. Very proud I was too.

As I reached the start of the "drunk" scene I realised I had an enormous fart brewing. A whopper. The thought of letting this one blow whilst on stage right in front of the mayor suddenly struck me as hysterically funny. In a moment of method acting brilliance that belied my tender years I thought sod it, go with the giggles, it'll make the drunk act more realistic.

Except that the giggles really took hold and the more they gripped me, the looser the grip I could maintain on my sphincter. I ended up hooting like a gibbon, tears streaming down my face, and with every laugh a small but perfectly audible portion of fart trumpeted out.

None of the audience were laughing by now. Mr Mayor didn't look very happy at all.

The time came for the staggering & singing part - but by this time I was in no fit state to do either. I tripped on the edge of the stage, fell off, rolled over onto my back - and found myself staring straight up between the legs of Mrs Mayor.

There'd been a big gasp, and then silence. I lay there thinking what the hell do I do now? I have disgraced myself comprehensively, I've brought shame upon myself, my school and my parents. Then I decided. Fuck it. It's better to hang for a sheep than a lamb.

So I took a deep breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and let rip with the rest of the fart with every ounce of strength in my body.

If only I'd shat myself too.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 17:42, Reply)
I was on stage with
Sooty, Sweep & Sue

'nuff said
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 17:20, Reply)
And this one time…
At band camp.

Got drunk, fell off stage, forgot my lines and wet my pants. Instrument broke and I played a small part. And my best mate got the lead whilst all the technicians were fools.

Sheesh. What a dull question. What am I going to read all week now…?

The End.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 15:55, Reply)
Robin Hood, Men In Tights
I was in Year 6, so I was about 11, 12ish?
Anyway, I was quite into the whole Drama/Acting thing at that point in time, so when 3 of our teachers wrote a script very loosely based on the Robin Hood Story, I signed up. As my audition piece, I recited the intro to Jeff Wayne's War Of The Worlds, snazzy eh?
So, the cast list appears... And I have been cast as the Sherrif of Nottingham's sidekick... The Guy of Gitbourne... fuck.

I had to wear a bright red costume, tights and silly fucking shoes.

(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 14:57, Reply)
I was on a performing arts course for a year once...
...don't get me started. Okay then, do :)

The problem, aside from the shite our tutors chose for us to perform*, was that we were knee-bastard-deep in luvvies, both the established boorish 'I've been in the business for...' type and the up-and-coming, misguidedly superior proto-luvvies, most of the latter being my classmates. I was on the course solely for one of the modules on studio sound engineering so tried not to mix with them much. Degrees of success in avoiding the more effete cunts varied. The contemporary dance classes, for example, were firmly in the 'fuck that' category for numerous reasons so I used to break in to the upper catwalks of the college theatre where the classes took place and watch them farting about in an Isadora Duncan style whilst doing some written assignment or other.

One of these written assignments was to compose a short story about the human condition, the best of which would be turned into an equally short play. I wrote one about a young man with self-inflicted relationship problems (semi-autobiographical lol) and it won. Thing is, by the time it had been rewritten as a play by the group, it was about a guy in a wheelchair coming to terms with his disability. Spot the difference? Try every fucking word of it, bar the title. Granted, my story didn't really make for compelling drama, but it was still better than the lame-ass, superficial, fawning bollocks they turned it into. If I'd been enough of a pompous luvvie wanker myself, I'd have disassociated myself from it entirely.

Excepting a mercifully brief stint with the Territorial Army (don't do it, kids), it was the biggest waste of time and money that I've ever been daft enough to be a part of.

AFTERTHOUGHT: Just remembered that years later, I saw one of the course's budding actresses, a particularly snotty luvvie-larva at the time who was a year above me and wouldn't have pissed on me if I was on fire - she was working behind the counter in McDonalds, with a face like a smacked arse. Mwuhahaha - straighten your kite, shut the fuck up and bag my burgers, bitch.

Oh yes, I hate luvvies alright - first up against the wall if my revolution ever comes, for sure. I'm a nice bloke, really, but they just bring out the evil in me.

* Take a version of Noah's Ark with all the dialogue in rhyme, for starters - we had to go around the town's primary schools doing that one, delivering an entertaining and educational workshop** afterwards. Take also a 4-week project making a not-really-televised drama about a deaf guy in a dance troupe (WTF), supervised by some soap director who used to work on Brookside. And then of course there were the plays written by the main acting tutor - fuck me :|
On the flipside, I played a nasty fascist type in a Harold Pinter play during my time there, where I got to shout 'YOU'RE ALL SHIT HOUSES!' at the top of my lungs with added manic spittle for effect - I enjoyed that bit, especially since the same couldn't be said for the girl playing the downtrodden wossname I was shouting/spitting at :)

** During the 'Pretentious' QOTW a few weeks ago, someone quoted Alexi Sayle - 'Anyone who uses the word workshop and isn't involved in light engineering is a TWAT' - never a truer word - I certainly felt like a prize twat every time I used it, including just now.

(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 14:12, Reply)
Dip me in chocolate and theow me to the thespians....
Being somewhat of a musical persuasion I have been on stage a few times (drunk, in drag, exposing myself, etc, etc). But one time has stuck in the memory for some reason.......

At college doing a BA in Popular Music Studies, (why????). I was a singer at the time and one of the course modules was to sing in a choir.....no particular problem with that, however, come to the big day of our christmas concert and we are to sing a collection of pop songs (abba, beatles, ect, ect), in and old church in the middle of barnsley to the cast of emerdale! (Even seth was there god rest his soul).
Cue me turning up 15 minutes late, having to make my way to the front of the crowded church, then realising they had not put a chair out for me (assuming i wasent comming for some reason!) so i stand on my own in front of all of emerdales cast and crew, at front and center stage singing Martine McCutchinson's 'Perfect Moment' at the top of my voice.....the Shame!!!!!

P.S. Did get a good review in the local rag that week though so its not all bad.

P.P.S. No i take that back it IS pretty much all bad....oh well!
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 14:04, Reply)
Childish mis-hearing causes humour
My cousins daughter came home from school extremely excited as her teacher had told her that they were doing a nativity with "Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the leopards and I'm going to be one of the leopards". How disappointed was she when she found out that she would have to wear a stupid tea towel and dressing gown rather than a big cat outfit.

But then, who on earth would consider putting a big cat predator in charge of a load of sheep? So we beat her and sent her to bed without supper for her stupidity*

* 2nd sentence not true.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 12:50, Reply)
Cocking with Elvis
A couple of years ago, I was cast as Stuart in an Amateur production of the truly magnificent play, "Cooking with Elvis".

Those of you of a more (or perhaps less...) cultural bent will know that the play involves the thick-as-fuck Stuart shagging an underaged fat lass, wanking a cripple off and licking the resultant manfat from his fingers, kissing said cripple...oh, and nudity.

Initially, none of this concerned me. Everything apart from the nudity was, of course, merely acting. And I was under the impression that the nudity would be of the "back to the audience, arse only" so beloved of raucous, provincial comedies (cf. The Full Monty).

However, I'm nothing if not an arrogant and unlovable fuck. And the director, who is mates with the writer, wanted this production to be as good as the original play (and better than the one featuring world renowned alcoholic brummie poopie-poker, Frank Skinner).

"So," she said to me "are you going to do full frontal nudity?"

"Wh....what?" I said, feeling like a starlet encountering the first Casting Couch moment.

"Well, you can do it with your arse to the audience, but...well, they did it full frontal in the original play. And I know what you're like; you won't want people going away thinking you're a coward for not going all the way like the pro did".

Bugger. She had found my weakness; my vanity and sense of superiority.

So; the week of the play arrived, and I got my knob out twice a night in front of an audience of baying, cock-hungry "women of a certain age". And the play went down a storm; standing ovations every night, and in my case, an ego that threatened to block out the sun.

Come the last night, we were told of an unexpected treat; the cast of the original play were coming to watch us. Much glee ensued, and I like to think that we did ourselves proud.

After the show, whilst exchanging luvvie-related smalltalk with the chap who played Stuart in the original, he remarked "Mind, you're very brave."

Gears started to whirr in my mind. In particular, the gears marked "You been stitched up GOOD and proper".

"What d'you mean?" I asked, a rictus grin frozen to my face.

"Well, I always just showed my arse to the audience and...where are you going?" he asked to the back of my head, as I exited the room to shouts of "Where's that FUCKING director?!?!"

So yes; I was tricked into displaying my trumpet and flute. And I wasn't even allowed to put a note in the program explaining how cold it was onstage...

I'd apologise for the length, but it would come across as a cheap pun.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 12:48, Reply)
My name is Tallulah, I'm dressed like a whore...
It’s 1988 and out local young person’s theatre group are doing a production of Bugsy Malone. I’d auditioned (rather well I thought, my rendition of Memories from Cats brought a tear to the eye of the director, dahling…). So I waited for the cast list to be announced… and there it was, next to my name… Knuckles. I was playing a bloke. Not Tallulah, the sexy star of the piece but a sodding bit part and a man to boot. I had a quiet word with the director who pointed out that the fact that the guy playing Bugsy had barely gone through puberty and as I was six foot and blessed with a chest flatter than an X factor contestant’s singing, it wasn’t really appropriate casting me as a sex kitten.

Rehearsals duly followed and I did my best not to be insanely jealous of the voluptuous 14 year old who’d landed the part of Tallulah. She had frilly little costumes, while I was stuck in a 3 piece suit that someone had probably died in. She got to wear false eyelashes and red lipstick; I got to wear a moustache drawn on with eye pencil.

Finally the big opening night arrived. Now being a local group with limited cash, most of our moveable furniture props consisted of polystyrene boxes. They could be stacked to make a wall, used as tables and chairs and generally, with a little effort, be transformed into anything. For Tallulah’s big number, they were being used as part of the dance routine, with Tallulah finishing the song atop one of the boxes in a classic showbiz, jazz hands style. I’m watching in the wings as she sings her heart out – everyone in the audience is mesmerised. She climbs on the box for the final bar of the song and…
Her stilettos go through the polystyrene. She lost her balance totally and went arse over tit, backwards, with the block still kebabed on her shoes and her pants on full display. Everyone rushed to help her, stuck as she was like an upended turtle. They pulled the block off her shoes and she jumped up, slightly teary and a bit winded, but did an oh-so-professional “ta-daaaaah” ending and got a bloody standing ovation.

Me? I stood in the wings and laughed until some wee came out.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 12:48, Reply)
Luckily as an adult I have avoided the stage like the plague (unless it involves drunken dancing), and this is likely due to my completely inept experiences as a child.

1) Falling of the stage when playing a munchkin aged 8.

2) Being put in the choir for everything as I was 'musical' but then not being allowed to sing in my naturally very deep voice and being forced to sing painfully high (for me), causing me to look like a villager with a hernia and constipation, a munchkin with same, various rhubarb-speaking parts with same.

3) Not getting on stage thank goodness as a very small child- my mother took me to a ballet lesson when I was 4 and I was so bad even she laughed as she watched me lumber across the floor attempting to portray Miss Muffet through the medium of dance. I thought my look of horror as the spider sat down beside me was brilliant, personally. In fairness, tall, strong, inflexible, short-haired deep-voiced little girls probably shouldn't be allowed to have a go at things like this.

4) Being completely upstaged by a 12 year old boy when I was 16, in a school production of Oliver, where (in a completely flawless piece of casting I was to play the old male doctor. Finally!) In fairness I can't act, didn't really get the concept of rehearsing, and he was rather good. Never again.

I did lighting instead. It was lush. Not once would I have swapped my place to be a mere 'actor'.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 12:41, Reply)
On stage eh?
well I've been a dancing sun, Chinese sorcerer, shepherd, ceaser.

But my proudest moment was when I was playing the part of technician.

Picture the scene 20,000 scouts, guides and leaders from around europe, some dodgy band on stage, and a mic out of place.

I run out to pick up said mic, but upon reaching the mic I lost my footing and ended up on my arse. Guess what the vision mixer decided to put on the big screen!!

Wouldnt be so bad if it wasnt on the opening night of a 10-day event where I would recieve a ribbing from pretty much anyone who recognised me.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 12:24, Reply)
Gang Show
Oh younger days; back when I was in the scouts. We did a gang show, this included various music, sketchs for grandmas to come and see. In ours we did a few songs from Oklahoma. Well my big part was to be one of the people who shouted "Theres a coach commin' in" before the song only i was bored and tired and missed my que of someone else shouting before me. So i walked on stage hand help aloft high and shouting back into my usual geordie accent

"Theres a boat commin in"

I then proceded to get wrong off the directors for not being serious enough, and everyone else took the piss out of me for the rest of the shows.
A happy days.......
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 12:13, Reply)
Aged 15, a 600-strong audience of peers, and a trombone Solo.
Put yourself in my position. Here's a moment from my past.

Imagine for one moment that you're not exactly the most popular kid in school. It's school that revolves around sport. The vast majority of the well-monied pupils eat, breathe, shit and wank sport.

You however, are not a born-and-bred sporting egoist. You're not floating on Daddy's bank-balance. You are a music Scholar. You in for for free. However, you're in way over your head. Will "I poked Di" Carling went to your school, and your ability to play cricket and rugby comes a close second to Your equally non-existant ability to shit Tiffany cuff-links

To all around you, you are nothing. A waste of space. Something that crawled from the abortion bucket in the corner of the clinic's most dank room, and survived when rightly, your life should have never been allowed to start. This vicious and blind view on life has earned you the nick-name: "Bucket".


You're on stage. Alone. It's 6' high. Infront of 600 lads who hold you with a special kind of disdainful contempt. Infact, It's the social equivalent of shoving O.J.Simpson up on stage at the KKK's annual NRA supporter's meet.

Your tutor has said "Go on... It'll be good practice for your Grade 8 exam" (Here Mr Christie... We're going to drop you off in the Savannah, just ahead of these rabid cheetahs.. it'll be great practice for the 100meters sprint)

True.. there's a big exam coming up and you've been playing this damned thing for 10 years. Your party trick which, though lost on the rugby toffs, will yeild ladies at university: 10 years of tonguing the steel has lead to the ability to push your tongue through a slightly yellow un-peeled banana... It doesn't matter now though: these guys don't give a shit. They want to see you fuck up.

This isn't a concert, this is morning assembly, there is no back-up act. The time is now. You're it.

Expectant silence... A couple of jeers, and you're sweating. You're the Beta-Male in a heard of Alphas. You can feel the sweat running down your spine, and suddenly seeping away into the shirt: Even your own SWEAT doesn't want to be near you...

You've been warming the trombone for 10 minutes now.. each and every breath you take has been ex-haled through the cold tubing... calmly trying to control your heart-beat with smooth breathing. There's good deal of condensation in the bottom of the trombone's slide.. people think that it's spit that brass players blow from the "water keys" on thier instruments.. it's not. It's condensation.. but that Doesn't stop you from blowing it all over a smirking brat in the front row... but as you blow you can feel your breath shaking: about as good as Kasparpov developing a migrane just as his opponent sends out the first pawn...


Raise the trombone, and Autopilot kicks in. Eyes closed, instrument raised high; years of practice launch you into one of the most complex and mixed trombone solos ever written. Ranging from ear-battering bombaste, to erie and spine-tingling melodies.

My Eyes stayed closed, all 7 minutes of the solo memorised after hours of playing it through.

Right at the end just after the last note rang itself out in the high beams of the building. I opened my eyes because I was suddenly aware of a the wind outside, and the gentle scrunch of the gardeners boots in the gravel. I could hear the smallest noises that the world had on offer... but not the people infront of me... A room full of 600 lads, and not ONE of them was making a sound.

A Seat creaked, and someone stood up and started to clap. Then the noise was deafening as hundreds of seats were pushed back and everyone else followed suit.

It blew me away. Completely.

My legs felt like jelly as I left the stage, but it didn't show.


Most of the special people from that school are living out of Daddy's pockets now, or sponging from better-off friends. Some are Lawyers, Some are brokers, but they're all still cunts, grumbling about how hellish london is.

The underdogs from that school have excelled. They're flung to the far corners of the earth living life to the full. I know of two who are surf instructors and life guards in north-east Australia. Some in Barbados, and others happily married in exotic countries.


I quit the trombone the day I walked out of that school. I keep my Tenor Trombone as a reminder, and nothing more.

Swings and roundabouts kids. Swings, and big fucking roundabouts.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 11:58, Reply)
A really shit play
When I was in the first year of primary school we put on a production, as always, of the birth of Jesus and that. The parts were few and far between so I really kicked up a fuss and wanted to be in the play. Unfortunately the only parts going were the parts of miscellaneous angels, of which I refused to be. So in there near biblical wisdom the teachers created a part for me, through which I would be present for the duration of the play.
I played the rock.
I sat in a bin liner with dust on me for 45 mins, beaming from ear to ear. Only now I realise how degrading this performance actually was. Can you imagine my parents going to watch the play expecting me to be Joesph or a wise man..
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 11:37, Reply)
On the stage
At school I was always one of the first to offer my services when the school drama society put on their annual show.
One year it was the obligatory Joseph & The Amazing Technicolour Dream Coat, and being one of very few guys at my school who could sing I was given the slightly more challenging calypso stylee song, the one that goes "Oh no, not he, how you can accuse him is a mystery..." to perform.
Anyway, that's by the by.
Opening night, on the guest list and all present are the headmaster, my year head, the school governor, kids from all the local primary schools, and someone from the local paper. Also amongst the crowd are my parents, my gran, my girlfriend's family, and other folks I know and would rather impress than embarrass myself in front of.
The time comes for my solo performance so I step up to the mic stand at the front of stage and reach for the mic.
It's stuck.
The mic has been forced too far into the clip and it's proving very difficult to loosen.
After some serious tuggage the mic very suddenly comes free.
Obviously I'm not prepared for it and rather than fall flat on my arse, which wouldn't have really been the best thing ever to happen to me, I smash the microphone into my forehead. Very hard.
Embarrassing enough you might think, but I managed to cap it off by whispering "fuck" without having the forethought to lower the microphone from it's position inches in front of my face.
Oh how we laughed at the after-show party.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 10:04, Reply)
were you at King's Cambs?
I did a production of Noye's Fludd there in 1990/1991. I was a mouse. Joy.
(, Mon 5 Dec 2005, 9:19, Reply)

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