Yes, I'll admit I am a little superstitious. I'm not OCD about it, but I adhere to a few random routines before shows: eating the same food, drinking the same drink, laying my clothes out in the same way before I go onstage, doing warm up exercise in a particular order, nothing out of the ordinary, I wouldn't say. However I did notice that my first show of 2012 was to take place on Friday 13th, and then tried not to think about it and treat the day like any other. In the morning I made some bread. I have forgiven our bread maker for some catastrophes last year and have made some pretty darn delicious chocolate croissants recently, so I thought I'd have another go at plain bread and set the machine off on its three hour marathon while I went through my show day rituals: running over lines, packing the car and ironing my costume. At lunchtime I removed a wadge of spongey goo from the bread maker and tried to convince myself that this disaster was not a portent of worse to come and that it counted as my dose of Friday 13th bad luck.
I should have concentrated more carefully while I was loading the car. When I unpacked it at the venue I realised that I'd left my microphone at home. I only use a mic in venues where I feel I need it and prefer not to use it at all. If I'd had the choice the hall in Ashton would have been a close call. It wasn't particularly big but the acoustic was dull, plus the large audience expected would add to sound absorption. But I didn't have the mic so I'd have to manage without - even for the finale song, when I really do prefer to use it. Time for the routine sip of diet coke - brilliant for zipping up the energy level and putting me in performance mode. Aaargh! I'd left that behind too. Then a horrible noise started to come through the speakers. I recalled the date and began to feel nervous about the show.
At this point David, John and John came riding in on white chargers. John produced a cordless radio mic for me to use during the song and assured me that he could hear everything else I said crystal clear from the rear of the hall. John II (St John actually, since he has recently agreed to tech for all future shows) obliterated the noise and David drove off to get me some diet coke.
From that moment on it was a dream night. The audience was perfect: a mix of lively young mums who were hell bent on having a good time and happy to laugh at themselves and me, and sprightly and attentive villagers - nearly a hundred of them, which is a fine number for a village audience on a cold January night. Ruth Rich was very happy to be back on the boards. There was only one disappointment. During the play Ruth "writes" in her diary. What actually happens is that I write my own remarks about how well the show is going down. There are some entertaining entries: "Could the person with a cough please shut up!" "Nose running - will they notice if I sniff?" "Love you, audience" "HELLO is there anyone out there?" But the pen had run out, so my effusive words came out as nothing but a few scratchy marks. Never mind, for lashings of bad luck this Friday 13th was a flop. But that's not to say I'm giving up my pre-show routines. Quite the opposite actually. Just imagine how the evening might have gone if I hadn't stuck to them.
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