The slow, tedious process of all the technical components coming together begins. As I watch the film footage, listen to the music, see the lights I begin to feel dizzy and have to pack up and go home. Even though I’ve made a rapid recovery from the shingles, I now discover that I’ve got a 24hour virus!Something is telling me to stay away – so I do so until the opening night.
My family and I have a Fred-inspired hotpot and spotted dick in the Octagon restaurant prior to the show. I need a couple of glasses of wine to see me into the auditorium. I tell my kids it feels like the day I got married. A sense of disbelief that this day, so long anticipated, has finally arrived. On the way to our seats, I bump into David Thacker who tells me he’s changed a some things over the last few days. Should he tell me what? No!
And suddenly, after over two years since the conception and a whole year since the original workshop, it’s all happening - the show is up and running in front of a packed auditorium. People are laughing and there’s a sense of inevitability as the performance moves along at a rapid pace. By the time the interval arrives I am ready for another glass of wine. In the second half I managed to stop myself from shouting out when a couple of lines are missed. Before I know it people around me are crying and the show ends with the audience applauding enthusiastically. Some are on their feet and whistling.
I text David when I get home that night to say that I believe it all now!
He replies saying how much he’s enjoyed the journey. So have I - but I don’t want it to end!
