December 4, 1959
Oh, I ache!
If that director once more tells me how fairies fly, I swear I will point my wand at him and turn him into company for my brother! We open next week on the sea front with our highly original pantomime version of Cinderella. Original because it is the only one with a genuine fairy in it; flying kind, I mean. Of course, I am not doing anything actually fairy as that would probably frighten the kids; you would not believe how much pain a mouse has to go through to become a horse, and how reversing the procedure can, on occasion, be fatal. Having said that, the man playing the front legs of the horse has already trodden on the child playing the rear mouse twice, so perhaps my way is not so bad; it certainly involves less pathetic whimpering and cries for “Mummy!”
I am determined that this is going to be my last season. Best Buddy is beginning to show his age and we are both sick of playing Cinderella year after year, though he makes a good Buttons, if an irreverent one. I have to remember that Buttons was not known for consuming fatal quantities of Southern Comfort and then threatening to relieve himself on the front row if they don’t do the done thing and laugh.
I went for a school reunion at the weekend which was interesting to say the least. As the biggest fairy of them all, I am somewhat of an attraction, though one the school is keen to disown. They tried several different ploys to prevent me from attending. These have included booby trapping the front doors, pointing a “this way” sign at an open manhole, and pretending they were a veterinary school; probably not a bad idea considering the number of student relatives that end up needing vets. Luckily for me, they still haven’t found the trick latch in the teacher’s lavatories that I rigged when I was in the seniors, so I managed to get in anyway.
Alright, it was probably not my finest evening, and my attempt, after too many Long Slow Dew Water cocktails, to recreate the famous photos that got me into trouble in the first place didn’t go down quite as intended. I am fairly certain that we were wearing bugger all when we were prancing around with those girls, but maybe my memory is getting hazy. I admit that it possibly worked better when I was a quarter of the size I am now and the older male members of the faculty less prone to unfortunate little accidents. Still, my rendition of That’s Why The Lady is a Tramp sung to the current Principal went down well with one or two of the less sober of the staff, and I am sure she will stop crying eventually.
Next: January 24, 1961 »