My Imaginary Walking Stick

It's a glorious sunny weekend. The hottest so far. And am I out lazing in the park learning my lines? Nope, I'm indoors in front of a mirror practising with an imaginary walking stick.

Ol' Mercy Coffin is cantankerous old evangelist bible basher and drunk. She veers between helpless little old lady and full on fire and brimstone preacher with a generous sprinkling of lunatic just to spice things up a bit.

"Yo' are a sinner of the wuss kind. Tainted with the sulphurous stench of hell! Gimme a bottle-a Jim Bean will yuh?"

Someone, Bones I think, helpfully suggested a walking stick. Now normally, I love a good character prop. Spectacles, cigarette, comedy hat = instant character. Brilliant. Not in this show. Everything's mimed. I need to learn to love the mime. Right now I don't.

Here's the thing: You know where you are with a real walking stick. It holds its shape. It is consistent. You can lean on it! If you hit people with it, they say 'Ow!'. An imaginary one is much trickier. One minute it's short, one minute it's long. If you don't concentrate on it you forget it's there and use that hand for something else. How does your hand move when you're holding it? What happens to your body? Which leg is the gammy one?

This is just the beginning. Ol' Mercy has a walking stick. Lola Pescatori (gum-chewing teen) has a car. Janet Sodding Brewster, (Hockey Mom and Supreme Chief of the Dreamville Grand Teepee of Buffalesses) has a whole fricking store! And don't even get me started on the sound effects.

It will be fine. It always is. But right now I can't help thinking that if I'd agreed to elope with the Frenchman who proposed to me when I was 16, I might have continued my education at the Sorbonne, gone on to train at Le Coq and this whole thing might have been a whole load easier.

Tant pis.

Lx