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...but I just love London.
Not any more than Bath, and possibly not as much as Bristol, but I love it. Visiting it, even only for one evening, is great fun, and something I'm pretty sure I would become jaded to very quickly if I moved there.
However, for the moment, I'll keep enjoying the visiting.
Last night saw the continuation of an agreement between an old hall tutor of mine and I, formed when we both left in 2003, by which she would come and watch my shows, and I would go and watch hers. She was in the record-breaking crowd that watched Sweet Charity this year, so I returned the favour at A Chorus Line at the Bridewell Theatre, just outside covent garden and avowedly, avowedly amateur.
CentreStage are a very good amateur group.
True, Chorus Line hasn't got much to it besides ensemble acting, but it does allow the occasional spotlight to fall on one person or another, and for the first time since she joined the society, Cheryl actually got into one - and did precisely as she did when she was directing at Wills: No mistakes, and with an obvious joy to be performing to people, otherwise known as "very well, thankyou".
The best performance of the night came in the form of Paul's brilliant monologue on performing as a drag queen while attending catholic school in the early sixties, reducing the audience to stunned silence with how well it was delivered and how much it made them think. I'd like to hope that I did that with Lonely Room, and if I managed it half as well as Paul's player did, I'd call it a very good night's work.
The band was too loud, and drowned people out, but then all amateur show bands are. I knew most of the songs anyway, so I was probably in a better position than most people. I was, however, surprised by a gentle humming noise coming from under the seating rake - air conditioning, I thought - before I realised that the noise was in fact my air compressor, still in my bag from when the new double readybed arrived on Monday night, on for an hour and with red-hot batteries.
There was I thinking they'd laid on a means of keeping the audience cool. Should have known far better than that.
Would I audition for them if I started working in London? Damn right. They're good, but not that good that I would be consigned to permanent chorus duty - couple of years and I might end up with parts. Precisely the kind of thing I'd be looking for as I casually attended the odd professional audition.
Right - less than twenty-four hours until I need to be well and truly ready to tear out people's still beating hearts and eat them in front of their erstwhile owners. I'm sure I should be disliking 'Stalker's role more than I do...
Not any more than Bath, and possibly not as much as Bristol, but I love it. Visiting it, even only for one evening, is great fun, and something I'm pretty sure I would become jaded to very quickly if I moved there.
However, for the moment, I'll keep enjoying the visiting.
Last night saw the continuation of an agreement between an old hall tutor of mine and I, formed when we both left in 2003, by which she would come and watch my shows, and I would go and watch hers. She was in the record-breaking crowd that watched Sweet Charity this year, so I returned the favour at A Chorus Line at the Bridewell Theatre, just outside covent garden and avowedly, avowedly amateur.
CentreStage are a very good amateur group.
True, Chorus Line hasn't got much to it besides ensemble acting, but it does allow the occasional spotlight to fall on one person or another, and for the first time since she joined the society, Cheryl actually got into one - and did precisely as she did when she was directing at Wills: No mistakes, and with an obvious joy to be performing to people, otherwise known as "very well, thankyou".
The best performance of the night came in the form of Paul's brilliant monologue on performing as a drag queen while attending catholic school in the early sixties, reducing the audience to stunned silence with how well it was delivered and how much it made them think. I'd like to hope that I did that with Lonely Room, and if I managed it half as well as Paul's player did, I'd call it a very good night's work.
The band was too loud, and drowned people out, but then all amateur show bands are. I knew most of the songs anyway, so I was probably in a better position than most people. I was, however, surprised by a gentle humming noise coming from under the seating rake - air conditioning, I thought - before I realised that the noise was in fact my air compressor, still in my bag from when the new double readybed arrived on Monday night, on for an hour and with red-hot batteries.
There was I thinking they'd laid on a means of keeping the audience cool. Should have known far better than that.
Would I audition for them if I started working in London? Damn right. They're good, but not that good that I would be consigned to permanent chorus duty - couple of years and I might end up with parts. Precisely the kind of thing I'd be looking for as I casually attended the odd professional audition.
Right - less than twenty-four hours until I need to be well and truly ready to tear out people's still beating hearts and eat them in front of their erstwhile owners. I'm sure I should be disliking 'Stalker's role more than I do...
