I was born to be on the Stage

I am a Thespian, I am truly a Thespian! Actually I just really like that word. It rolls off the tongue and It's posh and British and best said with a plumb in your gob, unless you have a lisp in which case it's probably best to avoid, or if you're in a club being chatted up by Mr Hot who thinks you've said you're a Lesbian - Game over.

Anyway the definition of a Thespian is basically an upper class way of saying Actor and that dear friends is exactly why I feel justified in sharing my Oh so varied Stage career with you. I have acted, I have I have, I ruddy have!!!

My debut appearance was at St John's Nursery School, Orpington where I starred as the King of Spain's Daughter in "I had a little Nut tree". I almost was the Nut Tree but was the only child to have a Bridesmaids dress that fitted. Actually the Nut Tree had a bigger part but wasn't nearly as glamorous and had to stand still and wear brown and look wooden with crepe (crap) un-bloody realistic leaves . I also managed not to wet my pants on stage, hanging on until we visited the Library Later - "Cleaner to Children's fiction, Aisle 3"

The next appearance was that of a Fairy in the parent dreading School Christmas Concert. Why School's torment parents with these occasions baffles me especially when the school orchestra is involved. I still hear those recorders screaming in moments of extreme stress, trust me.

We fairies wore green dresses, not Christmassy Tree Green Velvet , more sludge sackcloth. Someone obviously had a surplus of the stuff, Lord only knows where it came from but without doubt it was from a location where garments were made to torture. The stuff itched, gave you a rash and stank of kerosene. Thank God the school hall was non smoking and thank God twice we didn't have to wear matching knickers.

We stood on those wooden blocks that sufficed as a stage though when you're only 2ft no-one could see you beyond the first row anyway. Probably just as well because 99% of the audience missed the parting of the blocks resulting in 4 of the six fairies falling off. The hysteria was masked by the screaming Recorders, maybe they did have a purpose other than a migraine trigger, maybe that's why God invented them - Hey there has to be some Goddam purpose! We were allowed to go to school an hour later the next morning due to a "late night" -Yea right,  this was obviously to allow for parents and teachers to have a much needed bloody drink, or two, or five.

In my final year of Primary School some Goddamn genius of a Teacher / Lloyd Webber wannabe decided to put on The Wizard of OZ. Mucho excitement as you can imagine! Every bloody girl in the place wanted to be Dorothy, they walked, talked, ate and slept freakin' Dorothy. Friends and enemies were made, the cool kids became cooler and the un-populars became more so.

Auditions were held for the main parts and of course if you're wondering, YES I DID AUDITION! and if you're wondering again YES I GOT A PART!! and NO, IT WASN'T BLOODY DOROTHY!! It also was not either Witch, the Lion, The Tin Man or the stupid Scarecrow. It was not a Munchkin or Jitterbug or even a Freakin Tree. I was cast as a Skeleton, Yep a Skeleton that took the place of the Flying Monkeys in the real film cos the school was too goddam lazy to winch kids up and fly them around the stage DUH.

The Irony of the whole thing was that I was the fattest skeleton in the tomb. They picked the small emaciated kids to be the Munchkins, and the dainty pretty ones to be Jitterbugs. The ones who they weren't quite sure about became foliage and the no-hopers became Arsehole skeletons. Bloody skeletons , they didn't sing or dance just jigged about in a weird bony, calcified fashion to a really piggin catchy Death march - Great.

Our costumes were black leotards and tights, a white swimming hat to resemble a skull that left huge welts across your forehead and black and white face paint. The body bones were made out of some rotten white sheets sewn onto the black Leotards and Tights which some kind hearted Mums did for us. Unfortunately this was done when we were wearing the costume and hence mine were attached to my Goddam Knickers which deemed it impossible to take the costume off without A) showing everyone my front and back bottom, or B) Ripping apart my Skeletal embellishments and freeing my pants. After opting for plan B (sensible) my Mum then was forced to trace and cut some more bones out of less rotten sheets which caused huge bloody upset and re-attach to my then Knickerless outfit in the privacy of my own home. Hurrah for the ensuing bloodshed.

On to Senior School and my illustrious career continued. Our English Teacher put on a short play called the Ragged School, a sort of Oliver Twist type thing. I auditioned using my best Cockney accent and YES I GOT A PART, and YES it was a Goddamn SPEAKING PART!

I was cast as a Ragged Child, actually we were all cast as a Ragged Child - I think I was number 30 out of 35. But Mine was a speaking Ragged Child with one line, actually two words which technically do constitute a line. In my speaking scene us Ragged Children were hauling another somewhat unlucky Ragged Child onto a roof. My words became immortal, on perfect queue I boldly said, in my best Cockney Accent, HE'S COMING!

Thank you English Teacher for giving me that line and making all the other Ragged Children fall about with Laughter. It meant nothing to me, at this point I thought a baby still came out the top of your leg....

And this dear friends was really the end of my Stage Career, Oh apart from dressing as a chicken in a musical adaptation of Rooster Rag. I was so fat, Bernard Matthews would have salivated. Also I had red ballet shoes but all the other Chickens had pink and I had huge feet and was such an unhappy bird........

So that's it friends, was it destiny that has put me where I am today, in an office, crunching numbers on crappy spreadsheets? No, possibly not, It was the fact I couldn't act or sing, had large feet and was a fat rubbish Skeleton (Although the make up introduced me to the idea that Black Eyeliner quite suited me!), an unhappy Chicken and an itchy fairy.


I have acted, I have I have, I ruddy have!!!

Mel
   

When to Dye...

The closest I have come to dyeing my hair was back in my teens when Shaders and Toners were all the craze and probably the only thing your Mum would allow or indeed  even notice.

My mates were all Blonde haired and how I envied the effects of those squidgy little sachets of colour applied before Youth Club on Wednesday night. 

Being a very dark brunette the effects on me of course were somewhat less striking, actually lets face it, invisible, but oh how I tried to keep up.

In moments of defiance my Fair friends managed fabulous streaks using food colouring and felt tip pens. I have a lasting memory of waiting for the school bus in the rain, green rivers running down my face - Oh the shame.

 

Of course in those days I'm guessing that the products weren't there to covert. I don't remember any of my commrades actually changing their colour as such, only maybe in the late 70's when the Fair ones got streaks to go with their curly perms and I just got a curly perm that was more frizz than curl.

My daughters all started young in the hair colouring department. They too are dark like me but have been a variety of shades to which my towels are testament. There's been highs and lows or rather highlights and lowlights along the way. One of the best was middle daughter attempting Blonde, ending up a rather unpleasant hamster colour and wearing a wooly hat despite it being mid-summer. We did laugh...sorry.

So here I am, a vitual hair dyeing virgin at almost 51, and if I'm honest a rather smug one at that. To me it's almost my party piece!

I have a box of colour in the bathroom cabinet purchased on a three for two offer when buying or rather dyeing for daughter 3. It's probably out of date if that's feasible in the colourant world and it's gathering dust. I'm not even sure if it's a suitable shade, I grabbed it and ran, heaven forbid that I bumped into someone I knew and they suspected me of faking it for all these years.

The trouble is I am faced with taking the plunge in the not too distant future. I can't keep blaming the silver "threads" on my shedding scarf for much longer and if I keep plucking the little white critters from my temples I am soon going to be bald.

My plan is to discard the dusty box and make an informed purchase. I am loath to pay an unearthly sum of money at the hairdressers for the sake of a few unruly follicles and if I do it at home the packaging will go in the re-cycling bin and no-one will be any the wiser (Unless something goes horribly wrong of course).

Ok, so how do I choose between the seemingly vast array of products out there? Well just maybe I'll ask my well informed daughters at the risk of turning out like some weird rodent or worse.

Well dear friends wish me luck on the loss of my colouring virginity and yes I do have a wooly hat available should disaster strike.

Love

Mel