The show must go on.

Yesterday evening was the third of five performances for ‘Everyone’s a winner’ in the Players’ Theatre in Trinity College – an entertaining comedy about how Dublin reacts when a jackpot winning Lotto ticket goes missing. I play a surly Ukrainian road sweeper. It’s a small role but great fun to play (and last night, after the show someone asked me where in Ukraine I was from.


My reply: ‘Limerick’.

I have already mentioned that my dungarees are a touch figure hugging. A bit snug, shall we say. Having been donated to me my someone who is smaller than I am, this is not surprising. I had developed a good working relationship with these overalls however. With some prodding and stretching and rearranging of buttons and straps I was confident that they would see me through to the end of the run on Saturday night.

Yesterday’s performance was a success – lines spoken – once more with feeling, props moved, music cues on time. All went swimmingly. My scene is the penultimate one, so I spend most of the show backstage chewing my knuckles silently, while silently reciting my lines like a mantra. You can never be over-prepared I always say – unless you are a lasagne. Occasionally I will hold a curtain back to allow someone be dragged offstage with speed. Or help someone with a quick costume change.

During the scene preceding mine I gathered my dustbin bag and litter picky-uppy yoke and waited for my cue.

And on I went. I emoted as emotions have never been emoted before – in other words I was satisfied with how it went.

I ran backstage. The final scene progressed. To close the show there is a song and dance number. As the show is called ‘Everyone’s a winner’, this is – understandably –  the song used for this sequence. We have choreographed a dance to go along with this.

Last evening I threw myself into the dance with gusto – I was a proper Little Michael Flatley of the Limerick branch of the Flatley clan. I moved, I twerked, I shook those hips.

Suddenly I heard a rip, quickly followed by a burst of cool air to my Netherlands.

My seat of my trousers had burst. Now they didn’t fall off or anything drastic but the seam up the back had ripped in s straight line. Thank Dolly I wasn’t going Joey Tribbiani (i.e. commando) last night. )

My cheesy grin became a grimace of terror and I retreated from the stage, bowing and smiling graciously.

While moving backwards.

So my plan for before tonight’s show involves a trip to Penneys for colour co-ordinated underwear; and whatever shop sells a needle and thread and masking tape.

The glamour of showbiz.


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