You may not know this, but I have a thing about Colin Firth. It started when the television adaptation of Pride and Prejudice was broadcast a few years ago. No, actually, it wasn't the swimming in the lake scene that got me going. It was the look that passed between Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett as she played the piano in the drawing room one evening after dinner. A long, lingering look of tentative love. I paused the programme and took a photograph. It seemed the most natural thing to do, but everyone laughs when I tell them.
Last night I performed to an audience in a Warwickshire drawing room. To my regret Colin Firth was not in the audience, not that I was expecting him to be there. Anyway, he is mentioned in the script which, I reckon, is about as close to my screen idol as I'm ever going to get.
I thoroughly enjoyed my parlour performance and noted the difference between that and the village hall venues I often visit.
First there is the green room. In village halls these vary considerably from kitchen cupboards, hallways, council chambers, toddler group rooms, schoolrooms, staffrooms to ladies loos. I have learned not to be fussy. Or I had until last night, when I was afforded a suite: double bed, magazines, full length mirror, bath, unguents, wet room, the works.
Then there's the theatre space itself. You tend to know what you're going to get in a village hall. Mostly they are the same: empty spaces that work for birthdays, discos, brownies, yoga, slimmers world meetings and my show. Last night I was in a grand and comfortable converted barn with books, soft furnishings and a perfectly sized and fitted stage for a show about family life.
I could get to like this.. and everyone has a stage in their home, don't they?
But you have to be careful when performing in someone's home. Things can happen: the phone or doorbell can ring. The cat can wander in. The dog can bark. Or, as last night, the dog can come in.
We are enjoined never to perform with children or animals, and I wasn't planning to. But during the first scene I heard the padding of paws on the stairs leading to the room and knew that for a moment or two I wasn't the main attraction. I had no idea at all what was going to happen next. I knew I could trust the owners to do all in their power to remove the dog, but I didn't know the dog that well. How obedient was she? How interested in what was happening on stage? Would the cocoa pops (a prop) prove an irresistible lure? Auto-pilot kicked in as all these thoughts flooded my mind. Happily the dog was as well-trained as I could have hoped and I regained my audience's attention as she returned to lie in front of the Aga.
I'll do it again though ... a parlour performance. And I quite like the excitement of the unexpected .. disconcerting though it can be. The last time I did it a hen came in through the window. Not such a well trained hen, either. But that's another story.
