(Verona, Cheltenham)
Our finely tuned actor’s intuition (which informs us, amongst other laudable feats, just before ‘last orders’ is called at the bar) was right. The apocalyptic weather does away with our first night’s performance at
Sudeley
Castle — the grounds are waterlogged and the camper van that is our centrepiece/green room/tardis is still full of rainwater.
Which means that we troubled troupers receive that little-known, guiltily-hoped for joy — The Unexpected Day Off.
Obviously, we spend this in as constructive a way as possible.
In this case, watching
Indiana Jones, eating mounds of extremity-blistering curry and playing LazerQuest against a gaggle of small children confused at why a bunch of loud-mouths would be ruining their half-term.
Cheltenham is effortlessly wealthy, Parisian in appeal, and, for reasons probably clear to everyone but me, home to a statue of a minotaur cuddling a giant hare. The people don’t spit in the street and the boy racers don’t begin their grand prix until midnight (boy racers, by the way, appear to be our only cultural link from city to city so far). We arrive at the venue in our cast vehicle, which I have controversially christened the Drag Queen Mab. It is an ugly beast, but it knows its master. And its master is me.
Sudeley Castle is incredible, and I have unreasonable delusions walking through its ruined towers that I’m a triumphantly returning medieval knight, ready to ravish a damsel and spit a boar or whatever it was they spent their feudal time doing. Our stage is set up alongside a mirror lake, and the secret garden behind the ruins of the castle contains several saucy cherubs doing such as saucy cherubs are wont.
Now, I like it when the audiences like my characters. I know they like Tybalt here because when I pull out my flick-knife the children in the audience go ‘oooh’ and one kid says ‘coool’. The pleasant ego-buff that this provides is quickly overridden by the more serious concerns of why children would ever think that a knife-fight in the rain would be cool.
The peacocks and pheasants are willing enough to join the circus, and riot offstage at each onstage alarum. As I wait to carry on Juliet’s body for the tomb scene, I notice a little family of Canadian geese — mother and five goslings, pecking away by the lake, father keeping an eye out. Ah, the circle of life. Ah, I’ve missed my cue.
It’s a bit like being locked inside a Pandora’s Box and kicked around, touring with a group of actors. We’re still getting to know each other, figuring out if we like each other etc (though any one of them might sum me up vaguely as ‘dies twice, spends too much time on laptop, funny moustache’). But we’re in the battle together.
So please go visit
Sudeley
Castle. And whilst you’re there, spit a boar and/or ravish a damsel for me for me.
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