Having observed last week that Disabled Gents and Ladies always have to share public toilets with each other, unlike their able counterparts (someone should protest), and visited a school where they shared with able Ladies too, I arrived at West Haddon in a state of anticipation, eager to see the set up there. Normally my first concern on arrival at a venue is where to place the techie, lights and speakers but I've been to West Haddon before, and this time I couldn't wait to get to the loos. I wasn't disappointed. Disabled men and women share facilities in WH, this time with able Gents (fair enough) but also, yes AND with the Baby Changing Unit! Oh, the joy of laughter! Those poor West Haddon mums, never allowed to go into the baby changing room because it is in the Gents. No wonder they all looked so happy! But what about the dad in a wheelchair? Enough on his plate, I'd have thought.
Family Matters is my most complex play. 18 speaking parts, 33 characters, tricky props (don't mention the fairy lights or condom), sound and lighting cues and, now an onstage costume change. It has always bothered me that my character, Ruth, wears the same clothes to go shopping as she does for a party so I put in a costume change and spent a happy hour explaining to a shop assistant that I needed a long sleeved top. The colour didn't matter that much but it mustn't clash tonally with my Ikea tablecloth and apron. I would be wearing it to go to a barbecue and it had to be made of fabric that was warmer than what I would be wearing during that day because the weather was going to get cold and it would be illogical to change into something flimsy for eating outdoors (this is January). Oh, and it also had to be something with a wide neck so that I would be able to take it off really quickly. "When's this for, madam?" "Next Friday." If the shop assistant threw rolled eyes and finger-twirling-round-the-ear bonkers signals to her colleagues (like, how did this woman, who is clearly a slut, know what she'd be wearing during the day next Friday or that the weather would suddenly change?), I didn't notice. It hadn't occurred to me to mention that this whole scenario was going to take place in a play. When I finally mentioned the fact, quite incidentally, a tangible flood of relief that she wasn't dealing with quite such a loony after all overwhelmed her. She set to, producing multitudes of tops of differing weight and design from every shelf and store room. She totally cottoned on to the style of the play and I finally left the shop swinging a bag containing a snazzy, warm, red top in my hand. Worked a treat, I thought.
No comments:
Post a Comment