A bloke came up to me in the street and said he was fed up with reading about my Caribbean holidays in this column. Well, all I can say is he must have been looking at back issues because I haven’t taken any vacations this year. Zilch!
No, due to impecunious circumstances, I’ve been suffering this so called British summer with the rest of you. Will it never end we ask? Roll on crisp cold autumn I say. By which time I swear I will be limping around with a nasty case of trench foot.
The last time I felt this damp was when the Natural Theatre Company was appearing in a theme park inTokyoin similar monsoon conditions. The dye from our dank dinner suits stained our bodies an attractive shade of bruise blue. No amount of showering could get rid of it, though it seemed to come off on the hotel sheets quite easily!
A major attraction at the park was a large team of Ninja warriors. These blokes were tiny but ferocious. They had the dressing room next to us and annoyingly the shared tumble dryer was always full of their miniscule sparkly briefs. Hence we could never get our stuff dried overnight and our jackets got ever tighter and ever smellier. But we weren’t going to start an argument with a troupe of guys who could do six treble somersaults while juggling with a set of butchers knives.
The third dressing room was occupied by a Beatles tribute band. Apart from being Japanese they bore an impressive likeness to the real fab four in their collarless suits. If we felt a bit exploited in our warm wet outfits, these poor chaps were forced to do the whole Sergeant Pepper album six times a day, rain or shine. They too were scared of the Ninjas, and when the sinewy little warriors stole their chairs, they did nothing about it. It was a bizarre sight to see a very damp and dejected John, Paul, George and Ringo taking a fag break crouching down in an empty room.
How the mighty have fallen I thought, as I prepared for my next shift by ineffectually applying a hair dryer to my dank shoes and socks.