So long, and thanks for all the fish...net tights

Well with rather impeccable timing, an old flame of mine - who hadn't been in contact for about 6 months - sent me an email on the afternoon of the first night's show. He was very intrigued as to the possibility of seeing some fishnet tights. Well, that was enough to keep the smile on my face and put a spring in my step.

The show was fairly uneventful, apart from over-running by about 20 minutes, and then during the sing-a-long finale, the over-enthusiastic lighting guy managed to blow a fuse. So there we were, on stage, in complete darkness, unable to read the words to Won't you come home Bill Bailey? and the pianist unable to see her piano to play it. But in true showbiz tradition, we carried on regardless.

The middle show is usually reckoned to be the best night to go see a performance that's runnning for 3 nights. Opening night nerves and snags have been sorted, and the final night's performance is usually a bit OTT and subject to over-runnning what with extra encores and thank you speeches etc. This was definitely the best audience of the run - enthusiastic clapping and cheering, even stamping of feet after our dance routine! And they got all the jokes and weren't afraid to laugh heartily at them. Even the corny old ones like 'I asked the girl in the bookshop where the self-help section was. She said if she told me that would defeat the purpose!'

The strange things you hear (you thought the non-sequiturs thread was surreal!)in a communal dressing room. I'd lent my spare girdle (like black cycling shorts, only much tighter) to the choreographer/ drag act since he'd forgotten his G string, which prompted the compliment 'Ooooh, thank you darling you've made me feel like a woman again', which you don't often hear from a guy. There was also a revealing insight into the lifes and loves of Luxembourg's drag queens, as he had to wear a different fur coat tonight, since someone in the audience would recognise the one he usually wore. Saucer of milk anyone?

Meanwhile, I managed to demonstrate the subtle art of upstaging by wearing my 'You're a naughty boy - go to my room!' T shirt while helping to serve tables, hence getting more attention and laughs than some of the acts had. Very subdued audience, this lot; the whole cast felt we were working our socks off to get any response.

Well, that's the end of that show. I did get very tearful as the final curtain fell and, yes, I did drown my sorrows a little too enthusiastically, so if anyone can enlighten me on how I got this big bruise on my right knee I'd be much obliged.

Hopefully I'll be back in the future with more tales from the dancefloor but, in the meantime, I'm hanging up my leotard, and putting my tap shoes in mothballs. I might keep the fishnets handy, though.

Murder on the Dance Floor
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