It’s time. The second act. I’m ready. My skirt flows around my feet and I grab a tankard in my left hand. The funny curved glass feels rough and wet due to my sweating hands. It’s not nerves. I’ve done this so many times I could act it in my sleep. Maybe it’s adrenaline.
I love the buzz of showbusiness. The nerves as you line up, bowls ready, faces melancholy, caked with makeup. As you shush the idiots whacking each other with props, you feel that worry that the audience can hear you. And then the overture. It’s grand, and a powerful start. Suddenly the ‘dum dum dum dum’ of ‘Food, Glorious Food!’ comes out. Stomping and singing, you’re out in the open. Then… the