Christmas mk1

Well, Christmas has been and gone, and yet another pantomime season is over. I am never exactly sure what is the purpose of pantomime. Women dressed as men, men dressed as women and a couple of bears. That’s about it, as far as I can see.

This year saw a pitched battle in Saundersfoot between my own production, Aladdin, and the splinter group which was formed by former members of my production, also called Aladdin. I will leave it to the audiences to definitively decide whose was best, but I think it’s safe to say no one in the mutinous bunch of two faced lard arses will be walking tall away from Saundersfoot, oh no. Even the ones who weren’t arrested in the original fracas.

The problem is one of personalities. A lot of people are very protective of their names, careers and prospects, and rightly so. So when one suggests a slight change to their performance in whatever role, one does not expect to be chased down the high street – in full dame costume mind you – by an angry horde of pirates, a fairy and some bears. I say bears, it was actually Jedward but such was the public appetite for bears we were left with little option but to dress them to appease the great unwashed.

After hiding out in an Arts and Crafts shop for an hour or so (during which I was propositioned by the manager) I ventured out onto the street. Sure enough, my troop of thespians had vacated the area, and I was able to return to my hotel. After a brief exchange of views on the subject of ‘suitable attire’, I changed hotels and managed to find a bed and breakfast. It was just as well as feelings were still running high and the next poor occupant of the room was stripped, shaved, tarred, feathered and finally dropped off the end of what can only be described as a pier. Which reminds me I should write to Lesley Joseph.

Anyway, a meeting – of which I was not informed, invited to – took place and the gist of it was that I was to return my costume (for my own safety in the dead of night) to the theatre and say no more about it. This I did, although carrying a pantomime dame costume through the main thoroughfare of Saundersfoot illicited so many propositions that, had I been in the sex industry and not an actor, I should surely be able to rest comfortably on my laurels.

I have been referred to as many things in my time as an actor. As I dropped the clothes into the specially opened window, I recall a new phrase being added to my canon of nom de plumes, vis “Get him!”

Only those who suffered the natural disasters of a Tsunami can imagine the feeling as the blows reined down upon me. Fists, open slaps, boots and in some cases theatrical props including James Bowlams’ old ‘When The Boat Comes In’ cardigan were all utilised in what can only be described as a frenzy. After twenty minutes or so they began to tire and went off to the local Chinese restaurant.

When I reported their actions to Equity, I was stunned that this was a tradition called ‘The McPhereson Thrashing’. Apparently, it is seen as good luck to remove anyone with the surname McPhereson from a production and administer to them a sound and enthusiastic kicking. I then informed the representative that my name was McPhereson and this was news to me. He then – for some reason - covered the mouthpiece of the phone and when he returned he was interested in where exactly I was. Apparently Christopher Biggins is having terrible problems in the West End pulling off a Magistrate and knocking several bells out of yours truly may just provide the impetus he needs to finish the job.

Once again, I do need to write to Lesley Joseph.