Shottery and Foxt

Getting a little behind here .. this blog is supposed to be a catalogue of all my performances.  There are two to catch up with.

First the Girls’Grammar School at Shottery.  Toby and I revelled in the luxury of only having had to travel about seven miles.  We strolled in, chatted to friends who were organising the event and started to set up in a leisurely fashion.  At this point things started to go a little wrong.  One of the lights wouldn’t work, one of the electric sockets jammed and we took far too long deciding which route the cable would take along the floor from the lights to the control desk.  Before we knew where we were, we were in a rush and feeling a little fraught.   It all got done and I retreated backstage to sit in the girls’ changing room whilst the audience stoked up on food and drink.  At which point it occurred to me that I hadn’t checked the set but couldn’t go back onstage because the audience had assembled.  I tried to find Toby whilst remaining invisible.  Not easy.  Hoarse whispers from the girls’ changing room through the gap in the door didn’t work because he’d gone elsewhere.  But it was OK.  He reappeared in plenty of time, surreptitiously took a photo of the set with his i-phone and my mind was set at rest.

That was Double Booked last week.  This week we did Family Matters in Foxt.  Foxt is about as far away as it is sensible to travel in one night.  It felt like going on a motoring holiday.  But Foxt is worth every mile.  Everyone is so friendly and generous in their reaction to the show.  I still haven’t worked out where the villagers of Foxt actually live though.   I’ve been there twice and so far only noticed a pub, a church and the village hall.  There must be some houses, but I’ve yet to see them.  It’s mostly fields. 

Early on in Family Matters someone in the company has to make a loud farting noise.  I used to do it myself, but I’ve reworked the start of the play and that doesn’t work any more.  A couple of weeks ago when Toby II did the teching he seized the farting job with enthusiasm.  Three nights in a row he blew high pitched, Catherine wheel type whizzers across the audiences in Rolleston, Wellesbourne and Holloway – to universal hilarity.  He said he’d learned them from a boy named Hetherington in his primary school who had had a vast repertoire.  Toby the First took over the job this week, and it would not be unfair to say that he was less than keen – which is a triple negative way of saying he really wasn’t up for it.  But, fair do’s,  he gave it his best shot.  My mega-brained, aspiring choral scholar blew a gentle and polite raspberry right on cue in Foxt.  It sounded utterly authentic, but a little quiet, and I wasn’t sure the audience members at the other end of the room had heard it, so I said the word too, and got the laugh.  Only later did it occur to me that my saying of the word rendered Toby’s doing the sound effect redundant, which might have meant that the people sitting nearest to him didn’t realise that the noise he made was all part of the show.   Next time, we’ll re-think.