Thursday, 10 March 2011

Should anyone be interested in experiencing the General Laws of Relativity on a very practical level, I would highly recommend losing one's way when speaking on stage.  Amazing how the search for one blasted word can last for utter eternities.
It was just the ONE word.  I started the sentence OK ... "Ich will nicht..." then ground to a halt.  What *should* have come out was, "Ich will nicht exkommuniziert werden" (I don't want to be excommunicated).  The following is a rough transcript of what went on in my mind during the space between getting lost and getting my act back together - in "normal" time a matter of a second or two:
"Ich will nicht WHAT?  Bloody hell, I've lost the word.  I'm going to dry on stage. I'm going to panic. NO!!  No, I am NOT going to panic, I am cooler than that, I've done this role loads of times, if I just carry on it will probably just happen, and... ahhh, um yeah, it DIDN'T just happen, what do I do now? (don'tpanicdon'tpanic). 
OK, so I just go ahead and say it in English.  No probs; my character speaks in English half the time anyway.  Only thing is, I can't remember the bloody word in English either.  Right.  Something to do with getting chucked out of the church.  Ex, ah yes, I'm pretty sure it starts with ex.  Then, it must be something to do with the church, right?  So, Latin?  Rats, what's the Latin for church?  Ecclesia?  Hmmm, not sure about that, sounds a little Greek to me.  Put it together and damn it, it's definitely not what I'm looking for.
Keep breathing.  Smilesmilesmile."
Eventually it wandered back in and made a belated appearance - the whole thing being far, FAR more relaxed than I have ever been about mislaying my text.  I don't mind admitting that I was jealous.  Being jealous of one's own mind in a slightly-less-than-natural state, mind, is probably not the healthiest option, mentally speaking, so maybe we'll just ignore that. 
And, in terms of "mentally speaking", I am happy to say that I survived the carnival in this city once again.  Photo is of a few of the papier-mache heads that generally express a lot of political opínions.  This year, I understood some of them!!  (Some, mind.  Definitely not all.  However a general sweep of the papers weekly means I have a vague idea of the political arena.)
Helped greatly that I ended up behind the barriers next to an immensely sweet girl, mentally subnormal, with a childlike ability to enjoy the moment.  She was forever turning to me with a look of absolute wonder.  Look at the FROG!! Look at the CLOWNS!!!  Huge grin.  In the absence of children, I reckon this was probably the best way to appreciate the whole thing.
The parade lasted over four hours. Luckily there was glorious and unseasonal sunshine, offsetting the icy-cold winds.  And even luckier, I had ventured out for coffee on the Sunday and had realised how bone-chillingly cold it was, and altered my costume accordingly.
Details of bone-turningly high heels and ridiculously late nights suppressed, mainly because my mother is an avid reader of whatever I post on the internet.  Suffice it to say that it terms of wild carousing, it really doesn't help to know that you have to be on stage at 10 a.m. the next morning, sufficiently sober to be able to sing your lines and march on in all the right places.  And given that we have far more places than lines... Ah, this profession does take it out of you unexpected ways!

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