I was a clown once, for about a minute.
'd been very excited when I heard there was a circus coming to town. I'd seen them on telly, and there were lions and elephants daring young men on the flying trapeze and all sorts. Before internet pornography, circusses were just the best fucking things in the world. On telly. Provincial northern touring circuses, on the other hand, were basically a magician and a clown.

So we're watching these two clowns being about as funny as getting chewing gum stuck in your arse hair, when they ask for a volunteer from the audience to help them with their next bit. This was my chance for fame! Maybe I'd be a big hit, and they'd take me on the road with them, and turn me into an elephant so no one would ever bully me again and they'd finally have an act worth watching! This is it! I raised my hand, as did eveyone else because raising their hand was probably the most fun they were going to have all day. But they picked me! Yes, me! I think I must have been wearing my magic Dick Turpin T-shirt that day.

I walked up onto the stage and Clown Boss told me I'd be helping with a simple trick. I liked Clown Boss – he smelled a bit like my dad did when he came home from the snooker club. Except stronger. Clown Boss must have loved snooker. All I had to do, he whisp-slurred in my ear, was sit on this dining chair, and wait for him to hit me on the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper. When that happened, all I had to do was perform a forward roll head-first off the chair, onto the stage and over to Underclown, who would help me up. That was all.

Reader, I shat myself. I was 7, on stage in front of a load of people, I'd never been to a circus before and I was terrible at normal ground-level forward rolls, let alone diving off dining chairs and THWACK! The impact of the newspaper practically did the forward roll for me, propelling my head towards the ground. I rolled, probably as a survival instinct, and Underclown pulled me onto my feet. The whole routine went off without a hitch, and the audience applauded no more half-heartedly than they'd clapped anything else that afternoon. As a reward for not having my stupid neck broken by child abusing clowns, I was given a goodie bag of crap non-brand sweets and a colouring book with pictures of polar bears chasing ghosts around an ivory tower. It remains the best day off my life.
(electricteeth, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 19:01, 4 replies)

Humbug!
I was nine years old and the school was bucking the trend of awful nativity plays with an ambitious stab at Dickens' A Christmas Carol instead. What made this so much better was that there were proper characters for nearly everyone in the class to play. No more being palmed off with "second sheep", "person at Inn" (no line) or "Yonder Star"; all of which were on my acting CV from previous years.

Furthermore I landed a decent part. Okay, I'd really wanted Scrooge or one of the ghosts but playing Bob Cratchett knocked wearing a bed-sheet and shining a torch at three shepherds into a cocked hat.

The opening scene was beautifully simple. Two desks on stage, Scrooge's front and centre with Bob's slightly behind and to the side. Each, in turn, illuminated by a single spotlight as the characters introduced themselves; Scrooge saying how he believed in hard work and that Christmas was a nonsense before moving on to Bob extolling the joys that Christmas can bring.

I'd expected to be nervous but, sat behind Bob's desk in the dark as the audience slowly quietened, waiting for Claire Williams to do her Scrooge bit before I blew them away with my monologue, I was *buzzing* with excitement. This was real theatre!

Claire's light comes on, she stands up, and is away; "My name is Ebeneezer Scrooge and I run a tight ship. I have no time for joy or frivolity and detest Christmas. It's a poor excuse to rob a man's pocket every December 25th and a humbug! HUMBUG!"

Her light goes off and she sits down. The audience are silent, you could hear a pin drop. This is actually pretty damn good. I clear my throat ready for my moment to shine.

My light comes on. This is it. I stand up and, addressing the audience in my finest theatre voice, loudly proclaim: "My name is Bob Catshit."

I was a tree the next year.
(R. Jimlad twitter.com/sirmarkymark, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 18:56, 2 replies)

Millionaire (tangential)
A friend of mine once managed to get a spot on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. He asked me if I'd be one of his phone a friends. I said yes, naturally, hoping secretly that he might win a fortune with my assistance and that I might be granted a small fraction of it as a thank-you.

They film it the night before it's broadcast and beforehand we got a call from a member of the production team reminding us that, really, we ought to in by the phone, just in case. On the night in question my partner & I were sat in, just a little bit nervous, and the phone rings. It's mister production team again. Our friend has won fastest finger first, and is in the hotseat. He reminds us that if we're chose we get to speak to Chris Tarrant and that we should try and sound "a little bit excited" .. you bet!

We wait. Nothing happens.

Next morning we find out that he blew it and won the minimum amount. When we watch the show that evening we discover that he actually used his phone a friend on the question he screwed up. The question was something along the lines of ... "The French for what object is the term Love in tennis derived". He phones friend, friend gives him the wrong answer, wrong answer is delivered to Mr. Tarrant, game over.

I knew the right answer. It was "Egg". He never asked, and I never told him.
(MattDP (Squiggle), Tue 23 Aug 2011, 16:11, 7 replies)

Drum stage
I played keyboards in a band. At one gig we had a drum podium: our first ever. The singer decided it would be good to start the gig by leaping off the podium, so he did, with an ear-splitting scream, and promptly knocked the drum kit over. The singer stumbled head-first off stage into the audience, followed by the drum kit. Badum-tish.
(Smale is stuffed, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 15:09, Reply)

I once blacked up and dressed in drag to do "Babylove"
I was 8. Wouldn't happen these days.
(McChinaman banned, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 13:19, 7 replies)

No business like show business
Warning: Rant

You know that actor's mantra 'never work with children or animals'?

The musician's is simpler - 'conductors'.

Overpaid, pompous arseholes.

They call themselves 'maestro'. 'Master'.

Master.

Right.

Master-beaters, the lot of them.
(roysin, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 11:53, 5 replies)

I have an obscure hobby, which gets me on TV from time to time
Basically, it's so obscure that whenever a newspaper, radio or TV company needs a rent-a-quote on that subject, Google finds me. For the same reason, I can't satisfy your natural curiosity as to what it is, as you'd easily find me and break the "No Personal Details" rule...

Anyhow, as I say from time to time I get hauled in front of the cameras as a tame expert. Or possibly laughable weirdo, I'm not sure. Often it's the news, and if you've never been one of those talking heads that the newsreader goes to for comment, it's an odd experience. You sit in a room in the bowels of the local BBC studios, alone apart from a monitor and a remotely operated camera, waiting for your moment. But they don't give you any prior warning of what the newsreader is going to ask, so you'd better not concentrate on just how many people are on the other side of that glass eye as you desperately ad-lib some kind of hopefully coherent answer...

As I walked out, I realised that I had a slightly obscene T-shirt on, which amused me until I discovered that, unfortunately, the on-screen titles and news ticker had obscured it!

I've also been on a Mastermind spoof, on the Johnny Vaughan show. The idea was that the subjects were too obscure even for Mastermind. This time I was sitting on an exercise bike, for some reason, with a light roasting one ear and a camera shoved so close to my face that I felt like suggesting they put a flavoured condom over it.

The best part of that was that, as a gag for the last show of the series, Magnuss Magnusson himself barged in and took over the questions. Sadly he died shortly afterwards, which means that I'm the last person in the world that he ever said his catchphrase, "I've started so I'll finish," to.*

In both cases, there were potentially millions of people watching, but I managed to put this out of my head, and didn't embarass myself - well, more than the inherent embarrassment of doing what I do, anyway. I have been recognised in the street several times, and even acquired a stalker - though he turned out to be a nice guy, and we're still in touch...


* On TV, at least. He may have said it to his wife at some point after that, I suppose.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 11:41, 25 replies)

Stereoroid just reminded me...
I was a member of a short-lived band in late '99. I was keyboards/backing vocals

Our first, and last, paid gig was infront of about 700 RAF people.

One of our covers was Comfortably Numb. It sounded not too bad according to the, undeniably, drunk audience, but when it got to the bit where i was supposed to scream (those who know the song will understand), i copped out.

There was just a quiet moment and a disappointed look from the singer (who, as a side line, had lost his voice), and lead guitar.

We'd been asked for and hour show, but ran out of songs at 55 minutes. We filled the last 5 with the longest version of unrehearsed 'Wild Thing' ever.

Audience participation. Don't you love it.
( Another_tragic_case wished he hadn't eaten all the cake, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 11:20, Reply)

Bass + Vocals = Bloody Difficult
I play bass, and I like singing, but when I was in a band I found it rather difficult to do both at the same time. I'd forget to sing because I was too busy with the bassline, or the bottom end would drop out if I tried to sing. The cure is practice, I hear, but I'm too lazy for that ...
( bnt what, me worry?, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 11:13, Reply)

Learn When To Stop
Because it is an important way of preventing mass embarassment.
When I was about 14/15 in secondary school, it was decided that there would be a mini talent show for just our year. God knows why, the biggest talent in our school was either being able to roll a spliff or roll your skirt up as high as possible without turning it into a belt.

Anyway, I got asked to perform as the teacher who organised it knew I was taking after school music classes. Now this sounds very smart, but I was learning to play a Euphonium. It is essentially a small tuba... I wasn't too bad at it, although I was banned from playing it in the house. So I agreed to participate in this little show. Mistake number 1.

I get called up, I sit on a chair and begin to play a couple of tunes, damned if I can remember which ones though. I had done the two I knew the best, and had intended to leave it at that, but since I had been clapped I was feeling a little more conifdent that I should have. I decided to tackle a tune that I wasn't exactly good at - Yankee Doodle. If anyone in that audience knew it, they were either very, very gifted at mentally speeding up what they hear or liars.

I looked like a complete twunt. Never mind that I usually made a habit of not being noticed, I might as well have just come on stage and wet myslef.

About 2 weeks after the show I decided to give up on playing the Euphonium and started learning to speak Chinese instead.
(Cydonija well it sure as shit ain't sad, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 10:46, 7 replies)

I was in a one man play.
I mean, there were 12 of us on stage but we just sold one man a ticket.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 10:40, Reply)

School Play
Another school story, but a short one.

I had played several leading roles during primary and junior school, the Toy Soldier in some play with that toy soldier in it, the guy out of chitty-chitty-bang-bang (singing "you're my little chu-chi face....), and whatnot.

The final year we were doing a version of the nativity, but with Gabriel more of a reluctant hero. Anyways I got the lead and it was during dress rehersals a week before the show they produced a very (very very) tight cream coloured catsuit, with wings. Are angels genderless? it must have looked like it cos little monkey was hiding somewhere near my stomach...

Luckily I turned out ok and married an actual girl
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 10:33, 3 replies)

"Maid" of honour
To set the scene, I'm tall and resemble a brick outhouse (and I'm a bloke - just to clarify!). Therefore you can imagine the response of the grooms family when my best friend asked me to be her maid of honour at her large and ultra catholic wedding ceremony. This involved lifting her veil during the ceremony and giving a speech at the reception. I don't think I could have felt more generally unwelcome if I'd pee'd in the font during the ceremony.

I'm game for most things anyway, but felt I couldn't turn her down when she asked me to do it.

Was a cracking day all things considered.......but odd....definitely a lifetime memory though.
( repooc, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 10:29, 2 replies)

Baby Face
There I am, standing in the third of four rows of children, singing 'Baby Face, You've Got The Cutest Little Baby Face, There's not another who can take your place, Baby Face...'. I look cute, in my bow tie, stripey suit jacket, straw boater and...blacked up face...

Who the fuck thought that putting on Black & White Minsterel's Children's Christmas Show was a good idea. It was 1984 for fucks sake. Times change slowly in Pitsea.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 10:28, Reply)

Oh well.
Spent 8 years playing in a fairly well known orchestra.

Have probably performed live in front of several million people all together.
(username failed moderation, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 10:24, 4 replies)

Duh-duh-duh-duh du-du-du-du-BING!
Just over a year ago, I was on Countdown.

I got beaten by a smarmy arsehole Roller Coaster Operator from Adventure Island in Southend. I didn't score a point in the first four rounds (although I won most rounds after that,but couldn't quite claw back the defecit). I tripped over a cable and landed on Colin Jackson (and, yes, in answer to the unasked question, he is. Definitely.) I learnt that relooped is not a word, and then had to pretend I was learning it again when an old lady in the audience had a coughing fit while I was being told it the first time. I didn't find a single rude word to make (although the audience are so easily pleased that they thought it was hysterical when I won a round with the word "Idiots" - I guess everyone likes recognition). Then to cap a miserable morning, I got it in the ear from an angry other half for embarrassing her by flirting with Rachel.

And as for the goodie bag? Well, the pen has run out of ink, the clock doesn't work, the mug got broken and Susie Dent couldn't even be arsed to sign her shitty book. I do at least own a very expensive dictionary now though. Well, I say dictionary, it's actually more of a Private-Eye-Keep-Flattener-cum-Dust-Gatherer.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 10:09, 13 replies)

Playing at the Silver Moon festival in Alston
High on a mountain top in the Pennines at full moon, out of my brain with Opium and such stuff. So cold I had to flap my whole hand at the bass cos my fingers had ceased to move pretty much. Staring down at tents full of out of their mind travellers from The Convoy and other such colourful folks.

Went pretty well I thought.

Opposite end of the scale, playing in a bar on Kings Rd, not a single person present. I noticed a glove sitting on a table and after the set, said to the singer, "Hear that? the sound of one glove clapping!"

Meh, coulda been worse
( simbosan Hello you cunt, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 9:53, Reply)

I may - MAY - have mentioned this once or twice already, but I was on The Weakest Link earlier this year
Which means I've appeared in front of an audience numbering in the low seven figures. I know, they're not actually there in the studio with you. But Anne Robinson is.

And Anne Robinson is fucking scary.

I flattered myself beforehand that I knew what she was going to say to me between rounds. Something along the lines of "So you do Ballroom dancing, you must be a gay" or "What the fuck have you got in your ears", or - worst case scenario - "I hear you do Ballet - can you show us a pirouette?". I should take a moment to thank the denizens of OffTopic for preparing me for this by calling me a massive bender every day for the previous year.

What you don't find out is that whenever they're not filming, La Robinson is not on-set. She asks the questions, takes the piss out of the contestants and then disappears between rounds. When you're shitting yourself about saying something stupid on national TV, and the ever-increasing possibility of walking off with a couple of grand, a gothic ginger dwarf can become quite the personification of all your worst fears.

I mostly got away with it. She took the piss out of my ears, I made my usual joke about them being used to distract from the horror show that is my face. She said "I assume you don't have a girlfriend?", I told her how long we'd been together in days, months and years. She asked what my girlfriend and I did - here comes the Ballroom question - to which I replied "How much detail do you want?".

Hahaha, thought I. Witty. Risque. Sharp.

She just fucking stared at me.

Until I replied "We do Ballroom dancing, Anne."

"Can you show us a bit?"

"I need a partner..." *offers hand*

...she lost interest. None of that bit made it to broadcast. Which is just as well, as I realised when retracting my hand that it existed in an almost entirely liquid state.

The other thing that didn't make it to broadcast were the tie-breakers that the other finalist and I got wrong. Level at 2 correct answers each after the regulation five questions, we then proceeded to get another two wrong apiece before I nailed my EIGHTH question. Suddenly Anne Robinson is as nice as pie, but we're whisked off backstage before I can say so much as thank you. Consequently, my answer to the question I get asked more than any other - "what's Anne Robinson really like?" is the same as it was before I went. I have no bloody idea.
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 9:28, 9 replies)

I had one of those horrible dreams
where I'm giving a speech at the nudist colony and suddenly realise I'm wearing overalls.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 9:06, 1 reply)

I thought that went well, don't you? No, no I don't.
The boss once snookered me into attending a traditional Hawaiian gathering and celebration (think Hawaiian luau but authentic), “It’s on Saturday, so bring your family,” he said. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, he popped in to let me know I was representing the company. It wasn’t just a gathering, it was a graduation of the academy. An event attended by all the community leaders involved in our projects. I’d also need to say a few words. Sure thing, I said, trying to appear capable and professional.

In fact, it started to have career suicide written all over it, and also a more personal form of doom as Mr. Kila reminded me that my in-laws were prominent honored guests.

Fucksocks, I thought, sweating bullets as I composed short speech after short speech, trying to hit just the right notes, if not to show the boss that I could do the job, then to show the in-laws.

We arrived at the event on a beautiful sunny Hawaiian morning, country setting near the sea, balmy breezes, palm trees swaying, music playing. Not the largest crowd, but the most formidable. I was told I would be called up when it was my time to speak. I sat down with my written speech about to put it away, as these events have numerous speakers.

So of course, I was introduced first—FUCKSOCKS! My brain was reeling, I’m the opening speaker? I have a 4 minute speech and I have to welcome everyone! I couldn’t even frame thoughts of what to say to my boss if I lived through this!

I can do this, I thought, looking at the steely eyes of my in-laws. They seemed to be thinking what I was thinking, “Don’t embarrass me!”

I stood on stage. I took a deep breath, and began. Welcome, everyone, I said, and continued, saying it was a beautiful morning to welcome everyone to this special gathering. Then I paused. My eyes met the eyes of my in-laws. My mind went blank. No, I thought, I have to pull out my notes, read my speech, argh! Total n00b move! I opened my paper, my mind still blank, getting obvious that I did not know what to say next. I looked for my next line, it read:

My name is Kila…
( kila is reading clocks upside-down as usual, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 8:28, Reply)

Almost
When we were in the 6th form (1981 or '82) I co-wrote a whole pantomime with one of my best mates. It was a version of Cinderella, all in rhyming couplets and it would have been a hoot.

We were asked to submit the script to the deputy head for 'vetting' and he ruled that it wasn't 'suitable'. Don't forget this was the early '80s, so it must have been our version of the famous hit by Ottawan 'D.I.S.C.O.' that was too risque...as our version was adopted for the panto and we'd changed the words to 'B.A.L.L.S.' - from memory, it went something like:
B - they are so beautiful
A - we all adore them
L - they're so luscious
L - really lovely
BALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLS!!!
B.A.L.L.S. etc.

A tragic loss to the world of musical theatre.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 8:18, 4 replies)

Silent night
I just remembered,
When I was a spotty lad of about 16 circa 1975 and still enjoying drama, the drama class put on a very edited version of Oh! What a Lovely War, for the old folks Christmas Party.
Gawd knows why, maybe something to do with my last name, I was chosen to sing Stille Nacht from the back of the hall, with the English on stage joining in after the second line.
So there I was, in a second world war Nazi helmet, and a first world war bayonet singing Silent Night, in German, and those miserable Tommies NOT JOINING IN! Thankfully the line Hey Fritz, come over and share a drink echoed around an absolutely silent audience, which I had to walk through.
Halfway there, and one of the pensioners leant back on his chair and blocked my way, took one look at me, and said 'Good on ya Fritz' shook my hand and wiped his eyes.
I'm positive it was not my singing, good, bad, or otherwise, but a long and distant memory he had.
I never felt that humble for a very, very long time.
But that's another story.
(lordy lordy, Tue 23 Aug 2011, 6:20, 1 reply)

Guest Star in Red vs. Blue
I once had the privilege of starring in a special episode of Red vs. Blue, written for the Edinburgh festival many years back.

They had held a radio competition to win the spot. To qualify you had to be 16+ and be able to attend the Edinburgh festival. Luckily for me the numpty who won it was neither 16+ nor able to make it to Edinburgh on the day. Fortunately I was/am good friends with the organiser at the time and he called me up asking if I wanted to do it.

I was a HUGE fan of the series at the time, so I jumped at the chance! Not so much of a fan after getting to meet the people behind Red vs. Blue...

The object of the exercise was for me to meet up with the guys who produced the show before the festival and record a few lines and see how it's all done. Then later in the day they would be up on stage and I would join them to attempt a live version of the Machinima.

So, I dutifully recorded my lines - hamming up my Scottish accent a bit, which they seemed to like and we parted ways until the live act later.

Suffice to say, I screwed it up, muttered my lines and completely forgot to animate my character. Not brilliant for my first stage appearance. They did show the pre-recorded version at the end, but it seems they were either too lazy, or too busy to do it properly and used the worst take possible.

I learned many things that day...

1. The Red vs. Blue guys were a bit of a bunch of dicks (they may have just been busy, but they had no interest in entertaining a fan's enthusiasm) and thus lost a fan that day.
2. They were generous, I ended up with one of their XBox 360 controllers.
3. Being on stage isn't as terrifying as you'd think - you can't really see the audience because of the lights shining in your eyes.

Sadly, the version of the show with my voice in it is no longer to be found (I can't find it anyway).
(anonymousreality tickled your fancy on, Mon 22 Aug 2011, 23:56, Reply)

Because my primary school was so small...
I always got a part in the nativity plays. They were pretty strange at times (I once played the Pope!), but I never got any lines (yeah, the Pope had nothing to say about the birth of Christ...)!

Until my last year and my last play. I was the innkeeper, and had only one line...'There is no room at the inn.' 6 bloody years of that crap and one measly line. That innkeeper can suck intimate parts of my anatomy, the boring, one-sentence dick!

Anyway, that's my performance story. I was unnoticed by the audience for 20 out of the 30 seconds I was on-stage.

Moan over.
(CallMeNumberTwo had his 'last' cigarette on, Mon 22 Aug 2011, 23:48, 1 reply)

I go to Uni in a very shit city called Preston.
It's got all the chavs of Manchester, but none of the charm, and it's just a bit grim.

My accomodation is almost as lovely as the city. If you live on one side of the building you get the graceful view of a concrete carpark full of tosser-businessmen 4x4s and Mini Coopers. The other side faces a funeral home. Guess which side I lived in last year?

A couple of months back I had to get up for a horrifically early lecture, and actually felt good about myself at what felt like the dawn of time for quite a while. Springing out of bed, clad in my oldest, grimmest underwear, I went to the mirror to survey the damage from a night of hardly any sleep. I actually looked passable. Today could be good, I thought to myself, and started to get ready.

I put the radio on, and Shania Twain's 'Man I Feel Like a Woman' came on. It was relevant. I have boobs. I don't look like a creature from the black lagoon. Shania was obviously channeling me when she wrote this masterpiece of pop.

It's then that things took a turn for the dark. I decided that, feeling spring fresh, I'g go for a bit of a kareoke session and dance around my room. Armed with an empty bottle of vodka and my best David Brent impression, I twirled around my room with the rejected choreography from Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights video.

Half way through an ambitious pirouette, I saw them. Noses to the window, breath fogging up the glass, were the undertakers from across the road. I froze in horror, leg still stuck half way up in the air. This couldn't get any worse. I'm in my laundry day underwear, and there's two pervy funeral men sneering at me.

As it turns out, it could get worse. They were carrying a coffin between them to the herse parked about thirty meters away.

I would make a pun at this point about making them feel stiff in certain areas with my moves, but I'm pretty sure the DEAD BODY they were carrying made up for it.

Length? About as long as the curtains I bought on eBay that afternoon.
(SpamHammer thinks the world will end on, Mon 22 Aug 2011, 22:26, 1 reply)

Performing in a toilet
I'm heading for the toilets in a mexican restaurant. As I enter, I can't fail to notice a tall black guy at the sinks combing his hair, wearing an electric pink zoot suit*, complete with 70s-pimp-style pink fedora. He looked like the Cat from Red Dwarf, to be honest; I guess he was on his way to perform somewhere.

I head for the cubicle, and am innocently minding my own business when I hear the pink dude starting to sing "Boogie Nights" to himself. A couple of lines in, the unseen occupant in the next cubicle starts to harmonise, singing the high parts.

Now, I'm not particularly musical, but I do know this song and can hit low notes, so when the appropriate moments came I chimed in with the "Got to keep on dancing, keep on dancing".

After the song ended I heard him say "Oh man, I can't believe nobody heard that!"


* any similarity with the Rufus Thomas post is entirely coincidental
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 22 Aug 2011, 17:11, 3 replies)

Poetry recital
For some reason I suffered a massive anxiety attack but going on stage (in front of an audience of about sixty people). I had mainly memorised my poem, but thoughtfully brought a piece of paper with it the poem written on. A good job really because my mind suddenly froze and I experienced utter retardation of the brain.

Luckily I flipped the paper over and started reciting the words, but then my hand started shaking, making it look like I was flapping the paper around - and then suddenly my vocal chords began failing me - My beautiful poem was suddenly nothing more than a gargled shriek complete with impromptu twitching, although I did continue to the very end, barely stopping for breath and left the stage red faced.

Not cool.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Mon 22 Aug 2011, 17:07, 2 replies)

Rufus Thomas
My friends and I were at a funk concert and Rufus Thomas came on and did his stint.
He asked if anyone knew how to do the Funky Chicken so my mates and I shouted "WE DO" (teenage braveness in numbers).
They didn't actually know how the dance but I did, well.

He hauled us up on stage, played the Funky Chicken and we all danced. I think I impressed him with my professional Funky Chicken dance skills because afterwards, we went to leave and he grabbed me and said "you know this dance well, stay with me".

So there I was, on my own, no mates to infuse me with bravado, dancing on stage with Rufus Thomas in front of thousands.

I was mortified but put a brave face on it as I didn't want to freeze on stage and look an even bigger plonker.

There must be a picture of me somewhere, dancing with that mad nutter in a shocking pink hot pants suit.
( Flowerpot No longer has the vapours thanks to DTH, Mon 22 Aug 2011, 15:53, 4 replies)