Wind beneath my wings

AUP1
Tuesday evening involved a rehearsal for the play. I am quite certain that by now, the world (and its mother) – well at least the regular readers of my blatherings – is aware of the fact that I have written a play – ‘An Unexpected Party’- which is taking part in the 14th International Dublin Gay Theatre Festival from May 1st to May 6th (book your tickets HERE…)
Tuesday is a regular working day at the coalface of the administration industry – in the grim, industrial wastelands of County Dublin. At about 5.30pm I trudged to my bus stop and I waited for my Dublin Bus chariot, hoping that my fellow passengers had taken their daily shower, and wouldn’t be involved in a hysterical domestic on the telephone during the journey. It is quite difficult for someone of my sensitive disposition to digest these arguments. Sometimes I feel like tapping one of my loquacious fellow passengers and whispering to them in an Australian accent ‘Where is your DIGNITY, Muriel?’

Today’s journey was routine. I was grateful for this little mercy. Much as my journeys can be an education in human behaviour, sometimes they can a bit too much.

I made my way to the Spar near the rehearsal studio where I ordered a brown bread tuna, pepper and onion sandwich from the whispering barista, whose faint tone of voice is a master-class in passive aggressive behaviour. I am quite fond of her surly nature at this point.

After some confusion over which studio to use in the rehearsal building, we were ready to get going – clad  in our (metaphorical)  leotards and legwarmers. Rehearsal occurred (I won’t describe the details – I am superstitious about not doing this –  I think it could potentially jinx the show). All the work we have put in will be visible in a few weeks.

After the rehearsal the director told us that he was heading over to the theatre where we will be performing to have a look at the theatre space, along with the lighting technician. We were welcome to join. Accessing the theatre involved a five minute drive. No problem you would think. The only issue was that there were six of us. This crisis was averted when the woman who will play the character of Karen in the play, volunteered to travel in the boot of the car. What a showbiz trooper. Although it was somewhat disconcerting when she started screaming ‘let me go, let me go’ when we arrived, and opened the boot. We knew she was joking. The people waiting at the bus stop looked quite concerned however.

The theatre is in the basement of The Teacher’s Club. It can hold an audience of up to about seventy people. The stage is a good space though, with plenty of room for movement. While the director and lighting guy took their measurements and notes, I grabbed a microphone.

I may have the singing voice of a sack of cats but that didn’t stop me. I raised my hand to the empty auditorium.  I clenched my fist, and clasped it to my heart. From the bowels of hell came a fearsome sound.

The sound of me.

Bellowing ‘Wind beneath my wings.’

Our theatrical extravaganza will be very good, but I don’t think Bette Midler will be glancing over her should worried about her Irish competition just yet.

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