Final reckoning

I thought I'd begin my final broadcast with the opening lines of one of my favourite songs and which seem to be appropriate:

The party's over
It's time to call it a day
They've burst your pretty balloon
And taken the moon away
Now you must wake up
All dreams must end
Take off your make-up
The party's over
It's all over, my friend

Actually, I think I may have combined bits of the first two verses, but the point is well made. It's amazing how empty life becomes when you suddenly finish a show. The applause dies away, the camaraderie of being with your fellow actors is gone and you're stuck at home washing your smalls when you feel you should be out rehearsing. Of course, there will be other shows, but until the next one comes along you just bathe in the memories with a warm friendly glow. For a time, Thelma and I even forgot our differences and patched over the unpleasantness about the incident with Dickie's gnomes last year.

Our lady President, Dame Vivian AuFait, told me in passing that she thinks Murder at Checkmate Manor has been one of our greatest successes. Almost, she said, a triumph! She particularly loved being in the new theatre at The Playhouse and enjoyed regaling the younger ladies with stories of her early years on the boards. And she actually did perform on boards. She was quite a looker in her day and was a bit of a Forces sweetheart. Oh yes. When she first started performing it was with ENSA, going out to entertain the troops by singing songs round the piano in foreign climes where the stages tended to be made out of two empty Tizer crates and a couple of planks. She was very popular with the boys and whenever they saw her arrive they all came running. Because they'd been starved you see.

For those not in the know, Gordon had to finish the remaining three nights of the play as Sylvia was not well enough to come back. I am pleased to report that she's up and about again now, but she has got to appear in court next week charged with assault. Apparently she lashed out at one of the doctors when she went in for her scan after the accident last week. It transpires that after performing a scan, the doctor was going through Sylvia's medical records and she misheard what he was reading out about one of her existing conditions. It's amazing how the words "acute angina" can be misconstrued.

There will be the usual classes throughout July but all Guild activities take a break in August as so many of our members disperse for annual holidays and the like. Come September we shall start up again and that month we shall be holding auditions for our South Pacific on Ice extravaganza which I am pleased to report that Rev Reg is hoping to be back in harness for as director. Not that we weren't very grateful to David but I know Deep End are keen to get him back in their fold.

I am trying to gloss over a certain troubling rumour that there is disquiet in the Guild. We have an AGM coming up and I am told there is a plot to try and oust me as Chairman. Some people think I have let it all go to my head and that I'm turning into Margaret Thatcher. Dickie tells me I should be flattered as at least she's a Blue and that it could have been worse - I could have been compared to that Hazel Blears creature. I am not sure who is at the bottom of all this. I have a feeling that my predecessor, Emma Royde, has something to do with it. Or possibly Estelle Urtz. I always said we should never have allowed an American into the Guild. I mean, you don't find English surnames with Zs in, do you?

So, dear readers, until the next production, au revoir, and thanks for reading!

Not quite a final comment

This morning, I was going to post a little report on the success of our recent show, Murder at Checkmate Manor, which finished last night. But as so often happens with these events, I find myself too upset to write coherently about the experience you all witnessed. One gets so closely involved with one's fellow cast and crew that after building up to a climax the morning after is a bit of a damp squib and there is an aching empty vacuum.

So, dear readers, I shall take the afternoon to compose my thoughts, dry my tears, and report back here tomorrow. I'm sure those of you who had trod the boards yourselves will know the emotional condition I am in right now.

A close run thing

A minor miracle happened yesterday afternoon. There we were, sat round Gwyneth's dining room table, with several committee members urging me to cancel the show, when a knight in white armour rode in to save the day. Our Gordon - henceforth known as Our Hero. With no one else seemingly willing to step into Sylvia's shoes, dear Gordon manly volunteered to play Inspector O'Reilly. Our treasurer was particularly pleased as we've spent quite a lot of money on this production - as you'll see with the special effect at the end of Act I - and the thought of having to refund ticket money gave her palpatations.

Although he hasn't acted since he was at school, he is of course blessed with a photographic memory - if only the same could be said of Thelma - and it seems that Act II was already in his head from reading it in at the dress rehearsal. So he went away and learned Act I during the rest of the afternoon and, it has to be said that, under the circumstances, he didn't do too bad a job (a few pauses, missed cues and prompts aside). He's now on standby for the rest of the week, as obviously we'd like Sylvia to return to the role if at all possible, but it's all going to be very last minute as to whether she has the stamina.

Of course, the theatre insisted that we had to check every single floodlight we'd put up after the calamity. I think the trouble is that poor Martin has had far too much to do in a short space of time. At one point in the show last night I was lying on the floor (for plot purposes you understand, I hadn't slipped) and saw several decidedly shaky looking lamps on the rig overhead. This despite the fact that I have spoken to Martin about tightening his nuts. I had him down on the floor several times after the show last night but I have to say I am still not satisfied.

We did have one slight issue before the show yesterday but, to be fair, Doug wasn't expecting to have to take over stage management duties from Gordon. Gordon hadn't had time to finish off the aforementioned special electrical effect for the end of Act I, so Doug and Henry were tinkering with it about half an hour before curtain up - fortunately before any of the audience had arrived - when there was an enormous explosion backstage. All we could hear was Doug's falsetto voice screeching something along the lines of "You blithering idiot! I warned you this might happen. It's backfired and burnt his knob off!" This was all too much for Felicity who passed out on the spot. Luckily we had some smelling salts on the props table (at least that's where they should have been; Audrey please take note).

Let's hope that after all this excitement, tonight's performance passes off without incident.

Calamity of Biblical proportions

Well, it hit the fan last night. Actually, that's not strictly true. It would be more accurate to say that it hit Sylvia last night and we're now in a bit of a pickle. We'd just completed the song and dance routine near the beginning of Act II - which Thelma seemed determined to turn into a tribute to Michael Jackson (despite my protestations that you can't really Moonwalk to "I Could Be Happy With You" from Sandy Wilson's The Boyfriend) - when with an almighty thump, Sylvia was whacked on the noggin by a floodlight. Yes, the same one that I reminded Martin about safety-chaining here only yesterday.

Doug (stage crew) insisted on giving her the kiss of life, despite the fact that she was quite clearly breathing, and merely somewhat stunned. Mrs Gilhooley rang for an ambulance and while Sylvia was carted off for observation and Xrays - still quoting lines from the play as they removed her from the auditorium - we gamely struggled on to complete the dress rehearsal with Gordon reading in from the script and David weeping into his pint glass.

Other than that, it all went rather well. Felicity (playing Pawn the butler, pictured left) really excelled herself. I've never seen her be quite this good before, particularly in the climatic scene (which I'm still not altogether happy with). She's really thrown herself into the part and I may have to up my game a little or I'm in danger of being upstaged and that will never do. Audrey is still getting the odd fit of the giggles, however. David had to take her outside for five minutes during the interval and I assume had stern words with her, as she came in shaking, looking quite flushed in the face and unusually silent. It must have been quite a tongue-lashing.

We're having an emergency committee meeting at 2pm to determine exactly what we're going to do about it, as I'm not convinced that Sylvia is going to be up to going on stage this evening. We've never cancelled a show in our history and we don't intend to start now. We may have to jiggle the parts around a bit, maybe cut a little here and there, but the show will go on one way or another.

Incidentally, Miss Clark (one of the lovely girls who run the box office at The Playhouse) tells me that the bookings for Friday night may break records for our society and that seats for that performance are now at a premium. However, Saturday could do with a little boost, so if you were dithering over which of those nights to come, do make it Saturday, won't you?

Technical Rehearsal

Well, last night we moved into the theatre for our technical rehearsal. Gordon, Doug and team had obviously been frightfully busy bees on Sunday shifting the set from Gordon's garage to the stage and although they haven't actually finished building the whole thing, there was enough of it there for us to work with. I know the menfolk will be at the theatre this afternoon tinkering with their tools and I have no doubt that by the time I get there tonight Gordon will have a magnificent erection on his hands.

Getting into the theatre is always a tricky business because there is always so much to do and never enough time to do it in. At the same time as they are building the set, Martin (our lighting designer) is working around them, flying up and down ladders, putting floodlights up in the necessary places and it always amazes me that no one crashes into each other. Murder at Checkmate Manor is quite a technical show with a lot of lighting cues - in typical Agatha Christie fashion, including thunder and lightning! - and there will be lots of frantic action going on in the lighting box during performances. Martin will be very pleased, I know, to have Sarah to help with his knobs and switches. Oh, and Martin - you asked me to remind you that the floodlight downstage left still needs to have the safety chain attached. Consider yourself reminded.

The technical rehearsal itself passed off with only one or two minor hitches - I'm sure Mrs Cavendish will be able to do something with Felicity's best frock; Audrey didn't mean to pour red wine over it in the dressing room (I'm sure she's drinking too much again) - and, bearing in mind we started at 7 pm, I was quite pleased that we got finished by 11.15 pm (but then it is quite a short play after all). Mind you, there was a bit of dissention in the ranks at this juncture when someone asked if any member of the cast could stay for another half hour or so to help paint the set. Now, I am all for everyone 'mucking in' together to get the show on the road as it were, but sometimes it is important for everyone to know what their place is and to leave people to concentrate on just the one aspect. I mean, Thelma has enough difficulty acting without asking her to take up a paintbrush as well.

I still have one or two misgivings about the play as a whole. I'm not quite sure the authors have got the ending quite right. Or perhaps it's a question of miscasting, I don't know. Still, I don't suppose there's much we can do about it now - we open tomorrow night! You have got your tickets, haven't you? I can tell you that one lucky patron at each performance will win a prize, so it is well worth coming along just for that.

Sweltering

Well, we've now got less than a week to go and things are hotting up - and I don't just mean the ridiculous temperatures in the rehearsal room this week; I'm sure I detect a little frisson between Audrey and Glenn (sound effects).

Things always get a bit fraught this close to a performance as nerves and excitement start kicking in, and there have been one or two raised voices. Halfway through rehearsal on Wednesday Gordon turned up in his overalls directly from his garage where he and his merrie band of men have been constructing the set. Everything ground to a halt as a heated discussion took place with director David over the fact that Gordon had run out of yellow paint and wasn't able to get any more. Eventually, under threat of a paintbrush being shoved where the sun don't shine, David agreed with Gordon that it would look much better if he did use burnt orange beneath the dado rail.

We have our first dress rehearsal in the theatre on Monday evening, although we have been fortunate to have had most of our costumes made for us by the redoubtable Mrs Cavendish and team, so we've been able to practice some of our quick changes already. She's done a particularly good job of making Thelma look dowdy with minimal effort.

I should point out that, as usual at this juncture, Sylvia Frobisher becomes the harbinger of doom. She wanders around saying that everything's going to be a disaster, that no one is going to come and watch it, that she's bound to forget her lines etc etc. We're used to it by now, having gone through this lark with her for every single show of the last nine years with nothing ever going wrong before. This time she says that she has had the same dream every night for a week which is obviously a premonition of bad tidings. In this dream she imagines herself watching the play whilst laying prostrate on the floor, unable to rise, while her part is played by a block of wood. One worthy of Mystic Meg, I fancy.

We shall be without our prompt and president, Dame Vivian AuFait until the dress rehearsal on Tuesday night, as she always makes her annual pilgrimage to Wimbledon for the men's final on Sunday (she used to know Fred Perry in every sense of the term). Even at her age, she insists on driving herself all the way to London and back on her own. It always amazes me that the battery in her powered wheelchair lasts the distance.

Health and Safety

As D-Day approaches (have you booked your tickets yet?) I feel I must mention Felicity who has been beavering away in the wardrobe with Mrs Cavendish. Acting, cooking, pilates, self help workshops, costume design and dressmaking - there really is no end to the girl's talents! We did encounter a slight hiccup in proceedings as our communal sewing machine had not been serviced for several years. The needle required replacing but Felicity just couldn't get it out. Anyway, good old Gordon came to the recue and showed Felicity how, with a few quick twists of the wrist, it comes off in a couple of seconds. As I pointed out to him, he hadn't had it off in ages which would explain why it was so very stiff. At this point Audrey rushed out of the room screeching hysterically.

I really do worry about that woman.

So, machine fixed and costumes well under way. Although, we did suffer a minor set back. Let me just say - when giving vital statistics to the costume department, certain cast members really would benefit from attending Felicity's class on Body Dysmorphia.

Everything else is now rattling along at a fair old pace but there are still one or two things that need licking into shape. Last night's rehearsal highlighted one scene in particular - the dance routine involving Thelma Greenwood and Sylvia Frobisher.Oh dearie, dearie me! Thelma seems to think she's the reincarnation of Margot Fonteyn whilst poor old Sylvia is about as graceful as a giraffe on an ice rink..... in a wind tunnel (could the director of our Christmas Extravaganza, "South Pacific on Ice", please take note?). I fear it's the most serious case of miscasting since that very odd Mr Polanski put Pamela Anderson and Arnold Schwarzenegger together in the title roles of his disaster that was "Romeo and Juliet....Judgement Day".

I have to say that all our sympathies lay with Thelma as Sylvia continually trampled her underfoot (the dancing elephants scene from Fantasia springs to mind). That was until the moment when Thelma pirouetted with her arms flailing about wildly and caught poor Sylvia a cracker across the face with her open hand. It knocked her out cold and we had to prevail upon the services of a passing vet on call. As Gordon will tell you, Thelma is an incredible slapper.

All things considered, I'm very pleased with the way things are progressing. The odd little obstacle merely serves to re-enforce our Dunkirk-like spirit. In fact, as our director keeps saying: "There's nothing I like better than when we all come together."