“What would you like to be?” said the careers officer, his eyes twinkling with the forlorn dreams of what will never be. “I want to act, Sir” I replied “I want to present to the world the dilemma and dichotomy that is the human condition. I want to explore issues and emotions and expose the essence of what it is to be human. I want, through my work, to help people exist with each other, to foster tolerance and understanding. In short, Sir, I want to be at it”. “There’s no chance you could do all that in Bernards’ shoes on the high street? They’re looking for someone”
Such is the attitude of those outside the profession. Those who have not and never will act we call ‘nactors’ within the profession. That or Matthew Waterhouses. Acting is simply the hardest job in the world. It is parachuting into enemy territory in a luminous jump suit at night with a faulty parachute and realising you forgot your packed lunch. It is fighting pirhana while being covered in slices of ham. It is sitting next to Brian Blessed during an otherwise quiet bit at Wimbledon.
It is a struggle; like climbing Everest in a ballgown or taking on the entire US Military with a Cornish pasty. I knew then I would settle for nothing less than the challenge of a script.
My third month in Bernards’ Shoe Emporium heralded a light in the darkness, illuminating not only the shop itself but also casting it’s rays on a glimmer of hope. Mr Bernard had decided on an amateur dramatics performance. But not any – oh no – this was to be a staging of a Mid Summer Nights’ Dream. We had three staff I remonstrated with him, we can’t do it. And Mrs Caruthers has a bladder condition. If we put her in a false forrest, who knows what will happen. She was bad enough left alone with the Hush Puppies. Then the mind of my employer was displayed in all it’s finery “We shall do the whole play, but the actors…” he drew breath. I waited, poised to pounce. “The actors shall be the shoes themselves” he finally added after a long lunch.
This shoeman, this purveyor of footwear was – unbeknownst to himself - a genius of theatre. The play was cast, with spats, lace ups, Doc Martins, Wellington Boots, Sneakers, galoshes, brogues, pumps, stiletto heels, espadrilles and a startling performance by a winklepicker. It was an overwhelming success, and the four audience members watched in awe, although one of them had to leave as he was supposed to meet his Mother for a sandwich.
Our little show revealed much of human nature and a comment on the raw and savage world of consumerism, and the fact Mr Bernard had a breakdown and started stuffing clogs with offal shows the effect it had on him, the shop and the audiences.
But back to my story; a brother of an audience member had a friend who knew a man whose sister was seeing a man whose wife worked with a woman who was married to someone who was seeing the doctor of a theatrical agent. A call was placed. I was on my way.
And this was the song which heralded my new direction. A song of hope. A sweet melody which evokes the idealism of the young, the possibilities of youth and the optimism of the future. Renee and Renato.
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