It Was Sixteen Years Ago Today.


For most of the morning, I couldn’t fathom out why today's date seemed familiar. Then it came to me: I started drama school sixteen years ago to the day.

That sounds and feels like a long time ago. If my training were a child, it could get married with its parents' consent. It could also do rude stuff. If I were using the same time-frame to chart the distance between my birthdate and the events that preceded it, The Beatles would have just released ‘Help!’, and Winston Churchill, his last breath. I could have worded that better. What I’m saying is, my first day as a full-time drama student is further in the past than it should be.

I can remember walking into Hertfordshire Theatre School to meet my year for the first time clearly. As I climbed the rickety staircase from the students’ entrance to the Studio, I was fully aware that I was about to come face to face with the people I’d spend the next three years with. What I wasn’t prepared for was the fact that I’d be the only boy. If I’d known this, it would either have been more intimidated, or felt the need to drag up.

(...like an excuse was ever necessary.)

I very nearly didn’t go that day. My plan, up to a few weeks before the 4th of October 1999, was to take a year out to focus on my band. I’d been offered the position of junior manager at Argos in Letchworth, which would have tided me over financially, while destroying my soul in the process. I was in the bath when I had the epiphany. A voice came unto me and said “David, that would be horrendous”.

(My God, was he / she / it right.)

To think my first day was sixteen years ago is both surprising and unsurprising in equal measure. So much has happened to me since. I have a wife, a cat and some semblance of a career. My drama school, however, is now somebody’s house. Make of that what you will.

Popular posts from this blog

Shakerpuppetmaker.

Image
Have Parker from Thunderbirds and Noel Gallagher ever been seen in the same room? The resemblance is uncanny. So much so, I think something’s afoot. If my suspicions are correct, I've stumbled across a secret that will blow the music and puppet industry wide apart. In the mid-60s / mid-90s at least. It doesn’t take long to see the signposts. There’s the similarity between the name of Oasis’ first single, Supersonic, and Supermarianation, Gerry Anderson’s puppetry technique. The Gallagher brothers would often wear Parkas . Live Forever was clearly a reference to Captain Scarlet and Standing on the Shoulder of Giants to the size difference between Noel and his bandmates. The more you think about it, the more brazen it gets. It’s fishier than Area 51, Paul is Dead and JFK's assassination put together. The only glitch to the theory is scale . According to Wikipedia, Anderson’s marionettes were 1’10” and Gallagher is 5’8”. How does he maintain an illusion of avera
Read more

Stevenage: A (Tiny) River Runs Through it.

If ever a river was mis-sold, it’s the Roaring Meg in Stevenage. I just walked past it on my way to the retail park that has taken its name. They’re similarly uninspiring. The river is less of a roar and more of a dribble; cystitis sufferers produce greater flow. The retail park is soulless. What was once a thriving enterprise is nearly devoid of atmosphere, save an underlying essence of emptiness and despair. With a Toys R Us. When it was first built I was excited. Back then, the thought of a bowling alley, an ice rink, a Harvester and a Blockbuster Video within a small surface area was enticing. I celebrated many birthdays on site. There was an indoor cricket pitch there for a while where I once had a joint party with a friend. Why someone with an almost pathological fear of sport would agree to such a venture is beyond me, but I did it. Now, there’s very little at the Roaring Meg of note. The river would be a metaphor for the shopping ce
Read more

Hoo-ray and up She Rises.

So much has happened since my last post in March that this blog risks sounding like an itinerary. The main news is that Hitchin Mostly Comedy will return in the summer at a new venue, the Queen Mother Theatre . The road to this decision was convoluted, though enough fell into place en route to leave me optimistic about this new start. The catalyst was a survey I ran via our mailing list a few months back, in which I asked, "If the club returned in the current climate, with tickets still around £15 (and with similar line-ups), would you still attend?"; the response to which, in simple terms, was a resounding yes. Nearly 250 mailing list subscribers responded in a single week, with around a hundred also taking the option to leave some feedback. And only two people were abusive, which counts as a win when you consider they posted their comments online anonymously. Imagine how many more insults we would have received if the comedy club was a woman. Particularly if she was Diane
Read more