36. ROLL UP FOR THE MYSTERY TOUR!

The tour had begun. It would take me to the other side of the world, I would walk down Broadway, see the White House, do Spanish stuff, but before all of that great shit there had to be;

VENUE 1: SWINDON!

I'd never been to Swindon before and if ye yerselves have never been, take some advice from uncle Jamie; don't go. Give it a miss I'm tellin' ya. Gray was the day and the colour of the town as I got out of the train at Swindon station. The picturesque taxi journey to the theatre put no amount of joy in me and we arrived at the theatre which on the outside looked like a red brick warehouse. Nice. On the marquee the posters boldly announced Peter Pan for Christmas with some celebrity that was B-List before colour telly and also told us that the Gruffalo was on its way. I had a feeling Shakespeare wasn't seen very often in Swindon. Time to educate them then. I got there not too late for the tech as they were running late anyway and eventually we lashed into it. This was the scary shit about to kick in. I mean I only had a week and a half to rehearse the show and now it was suddenly very real. This was actually happening and we had a paying audience in the following night. They wanted their money's worth and there was no way I was gonna have them saying 'Well that was good, pity about the Irish guy though.' Techs are always long and boring and this was no exception .... so I wont bore ye. It didn't help that I hadn't been to bed yet, so I grabbed little bits of sleep here and there. It was going well for the most part and the plan for the following day was to finish it and do a dress rehearsal before opening. After a quick pint we happy few that had the same digs headed up to check in. The landlady was grand but would not stop laughing and giggling and when we walked into the living room there was a huge white full size concert grand piano. I kid you not! We stood in amazement looking at it and the landlady asketh us;

'So do any of you play the piano?'

The boys threw a couple of looks at me to which I replied;

'No.'

I had visions of coming back after the show to find the laughing landlady waiting up ready to play piano duets. Methinks not somehow (I wouldn't have been able to anyway. I'm shite at the piano sure). Me room was nice though, a big spacious attic room so all in all not bad digs at all. Cool. The rehearsals went well too and then it was in front of me;

OPENING NIGHT! Wednesday the 7th of September 2005, one of the most harrowing nights of me stage life. Opening nights are bad enough normally; the nerves, not being sure how the audience will take it etc etc. but this was feckin loolah! I was standing side-stage waiting to go on and it hit me that I was about to go on stage with only a week and a half's rehearsals in me and I was still shaky on one of my speeches. This is not normal practice. This is the actor's nightmare, and if I was feeling like that, how the hell we're the other lads feeling, Jesus they had shitloads more lines than I had sure. This could easily be the most disastrous night of me career, where I just utterly fall flat on me face and make an utter bollox of absolutely everything. I didn't. That happened the second night.... But we'll get to that in a minute. To be utterly honest that opening night is all a bit of a blur. The adrenalin was racing and it seemed like I got through the show on pure instinct. All outside distractions disappeared and I just had to let the auld body do it, shit or bust, throw yourself into it. Come the curtain call I couldn't believe I'd gotten through it in one piece. There was even a couple of laughs for the shepherdesses scene (although that might have been more for me belly sticking out of the belly top than any kind of comic timing on my part). But god what a sense of relief! I had done it so now I knew I could do it. Only one thing for it so; Beamish get thee to a pub. Pints flew around the place straight into grateful (and deserving) gobs. And when we were turned out onto the streets of Swindon there was no way I was goin home;

'Come on lads, anyone for another couple?' drunkenly quoth I.

This was greeted with mutters of 'don't think so', 'bit tired' and 'Maybe tomorrow night', until the maestro Ed Hall turned to me and said;

'I'll go for another couple with you Jamie.'

Whereupon all the rest of the lads miraculously found their second wind and turned back down the street to join us. Funny that. More beer was beered down in the section of Swindon which has all the pubs and clubs, i.e. the rough part of town, and Swindon is rough to start with. The next day we had a matinee and there was about 60 schoolkids and that was it, it was grand but very much a school's matinee. Which is fine because there wasn't too much pressure so. I also had a small little hangover from the whiskey the night before, so a handy show was just what the day-after-doctor ordered. I was feeling pretty good though, the show wasn't perfect but it was getting better all the time, my lines seemed to be there, and me hands had stopped sweating at the piano and I was starting to get a little bit adventurous with that as well. How bad, I was now starting to enjoy this gig, even if we were in Swindon. I enjoyed it all the way up until about 7.30. That's when I was suddenly struck down with;

SECOND NIGHT BLUES. Thursday the 7th of September 2005, one of the most embarrassing nights of me stage life. Second night blues is a common occurrence in the theatre and shamefully I have to admit a common occurrence with me. What it means is that seeing as the cast of a show has spent all their energy and concentration on getting the first night right, they have feck all left for the following night and so the show is under par. Or another way of saying it is they all got shitfaced at the first night party and are having trouble due to the abundance of hangovers and because of that the show is a bit crap. One of my worst second nights was in Calico in the West End where I was doing a scene with Imelda Staunton (or Academy Award® Nominee Imelda Staunton as she is now known) and I wasn't feeling the best at all at all. I suddenly felt me legs giving out and I sneakily made my way towards the table that was onstage and used it to prop myself up for the rest of the scene. Classy stuff. I should call this diary: 'DIARY OF A DÉISE MAN WITH A HANGOVER IN THE LONDON TRYIN TO DO THE DRAMA.' But I digress. This night in Swindon I had the most vicious case of second night blues ever and the mad thing was it wasn't because I was in bits hungover or anything even like that, I simply forgot absolutely everything. It began with me thundering over other people's lines, then making a haimes of one of the dances (the audience wouldn't have noticed me bollox. Turning to the left when all around you are turning to the right looks feckin stupid, let no one say any different.), my fingers refused to work while playing the guitar, they still refused to work when playing the piano later on (bloody fingers! I'll break ye if ye don't start doin what ye're told..... no wait that wouldn't work!) and as for me lines? Well let's just say that Shakespeare must have been doing quadruple pirouettes wherever his grave is. Not much of the text remained as I blasted through it and it all came to a head with my final line of the night. Shakespeare wrote;

'Every wink of an eye some new grace will be born.'

Beamish said;

'Every grace of an eye some new wink will be born.'

Taxi for Beamish.

Aw no though, it was absolutely horrendous, I thought I was alright and then all of this happened, bit of a knock to the confidence but a lesson in how fear and adrenaline can really make you do anything. So what did I do? Slope off home to instantly devour the script? Not a sign! It was straight down to the urban wasteland of the late night bars of Swindon. Meself and a few of the boys hit a bar and drank vodka shots and marveled at the wildlife of Swindon (but not too much because if you were caught looking it was more than likely you'd get a slap. Actually it was fairly possible you might get a slap even if you weren't looking) but the craic was good and the cast was bonding. Well in fairness I had a good excuse as the clock edged its way to midnight cos the next day was;

ME BIRTHDAY! Friday the 9th of September 2005, I'm 29 and still goin strong (if feeling a bit rough). The first morning of the last year of me twenties was a pleasant one and I just went for a leisurely shop around the Swindon and got a few phonecalls from the usual suspects. I knew it wasn't going to be anything mad cos I had already organised a bit of a get together in the London on the Sunday night and that was going to be the proper bash. We had notes that day with Ed (thankfully he hadn't seen me fiasco the night before) we did a bit of work and just before the show, during the warm up, they gave me a cake and a card and I got all teary and I suddenly felt that I belonged to this special group of people ........ actually that's a load of horseshit but I was pleased with the cake, twas chocolate sure (had to share it though, feck sake!). The show that night went well and once more a few of us (those that weren't commuting to London) headed into town and then swiftly proceeded to head right back out of town. It was carnage in Swindon town centre we went into one pub and you could see the sweat on the walls and the dirty looks looking straight at us. Even the 6ft+ Vinnie (King of Sicilia) Leigh was feeling uneasy. This was not the place for poncey actors methinks, and then one of the stage management ladies came up with the perfect place for poncey actors: A gay club. I'm sorry could you run that past me again? Where was it she was suggesting? Twas a gay club. Nah, still can't hear you. Crank up the volume there Ultan. Alright for feck sake she suggested we went to a GAY club instead! Happy! Feckin mad thing was we went. Now to be honest I have no hassle at all goin to a gay club, I'm well comfortable with me sexuality, and we'd certainly be able to have a few beers there without getting any hassle. The mad thing was the situation, I mean I never in a million birthday's thought I'd spend me 29th a) in Swindon and b) in a gay club. That's showbiz! Twas a good auld night though, we got well lashed and I didn't catch the gay. They really need to get a lock on the toilet door though.

The following day I'm in smithereens and so to cure me hangover I hop on a train to spend the day in Oxford and visit the top actor Richard Stacey and family. Nice day and a much needed rest led to a decent enough last show that night. One of the boys from Pirates (now there's a blast from the past) was unexpectedly in the audience and he didn't say I was too crap so that was cool. I hopped on the late train to London and said goodbye to Swindon, thank Jesus. Its not a great place to do Shakespeare to be honest, the feckin Gruffalo had more people at it than we did. Instantly putting it all behind me the following night I had me birthday drinks in the London, and oh Jesus what a messy messy night. Fuck I'm even embarrassed thinking about it! It consisted of me getting off of my face really quickly on whiskey. Trying to play pool drunk in Honest Dave's ('Happy birthday master. You're a bit drunk.') passing out in said pub. Waking up and then proceeding to get a taxi to all night club 'The End'. At about 3am realising that there was no sign of me girlfriend Karen, I left the club to ring her only to find that she had gone back to her flat hours ago (Worst. Boyfriend. Ever.), then when I tried to get back in, the bouncers wouldn't let me as I was too drunk. I then spent the next hour trying to get back in cause me coat and bag were in the cloakroom, the bouncers refused point blank and there was no way I was coming back the next day to find that my iPod was gone so I did the single most thick thing I could do and called the cops. Fuck sake Jamie!! I was not in my right mind and they basically laughed at me anyway. In the end the bouncer went and got me flatmate Gary and he dragged me home. The following morning I had died and gone to hell I was in such pain, but I rang 'The End' to sort out getting my bag and coat back.

'Are you the guy that called the cops?'

Shite! I gave a sheepish excuse about there being valuable property in the bag and I was worried about it. They said there was no sign of it but they would keep looking and call me back. I was starting to get worried now. Just for pig iron I gave Honest Dave's a ring.

Me bag and coat were there all along.

Fuck! I rang 'The End' and told them that it was alright one of my friends had picked up the bag for me and hung up before they could give out. Haven't been back there in a while! Jesus though what a crazy week. The next week would be crazy as well but in a different way as we took the high road to;

VENUE 2: GLASGOW!

The day after the end of world hangover I found meself in the early hours sitting on a train for the best part of 6 hours. Needless to say there was a lot of sleeping. I arrived in Glasgow Central to be greeted by Roy Collins' cousin Jeannette who I was staying with. I was worried I wouldn't recognise her as the last time I had seen her I was seven sheets to the wind at a party in Roy's house. I needn't have worried, she had some Collins' head on her. She and her daughter, Elaine, were well sound (although I was having a bit of trouble understanding Elaine's unreal Glasgow accent. I needed subtitles). They gave me a lift up to the theatre and said they'd come and collect me after the show. The Theatre Royal in Glasgow is a stunning theatre, no red brick barn this, and the booking was decent for the week, which was a huge help. The first night in Glasgow was the first time I started to realise how good the show was and could be. The audience loved it, the reaction was so much better than the previous week and because of that we all raised our game, well I remembered me lines at least! After the show the girls were waiting at stage door to take me back. OK no drink for me, that's grand though I needed a break. And then we went on this trip. Roy had said to me that she lives 'Really Close', now I assumed he meant really close to the city centre, not really close to the outskirts of town. Once we hit the motorway I knew I was in trouble and started to ask about ways of getting back at night. The last train was at 11.15. Shite. The last direct bus to the town they lived in was at about 10.15. Double shite. This was not good as it severely hampered hanging around for sauce after the show. What was I gonna do? They informed me that there was a later bus but that it didn't bring me all the way but I could get off at a certain point and they would drive down and pick me up. Now I couldn't be asking them to do that at two or three in the morning could I? No. And I couldn't very well look for other digs as they had been so nice to leave me stay in the first place. I resigned myself to a very unexpectedly sober week in Glasgow.

How wrong can you be?

Nearly the minute we got back to the house Jeannette had a bottle of Bacardi out and I got to bed in the merry old land of rum at about 2am. Whoa, here we go! And so it continued.

The following night I stayed for a couple of beers with the boys after the show and got the later bus back, i.e. the one that only goes three quarters of the way there. I was shitting meself that I'd get off at the wrong spot cause the driver hadn't a notion, but a sound gentleman told me where to jump out and I found myself on a country road in Themiddleofnowhere, Glasgow and Elaine (who had told me to let her know when I got off the bus and she'd drive and collect me) had her phone off. Right so, time for some orienteering skills, actually no, time for some geek skills. I walked down to the next road that had a name and used my mobile to go on t'internet and get me directions. It only feckin worked! And although it was a bit of a walk down an unlit country road I got there in the end. Well pleased with me ingenuity I walked into the house to find that Elaine had taken off in the car to look for me. Shite, I must have missed her. Not to worry though as the bottle of Bacardi was out again. Well we had to prepare ourselves as the next night we all went clubbing, and I do mean all. A cast of 12 men and Elaine and Jeanette! They had gone to see the show that night and were looking at me a bit funny. It may have had something to do with the belly top, dress and simulated blowjob. Possible. But then they didn't go to the theatre very often. We all went to this mad place called Frankenstein's and in fairness the two girls were the hit of the night, all the lads got a great buzz off them (especially Elaine and the fact that she had her name tattooed veeery low down her back. I'll stop right there officer). Twas also the first time we'd all been out as a group and I could see then and there that this was gonna be a messy tour. Bring it on boy! The night ended with Vinnie on his knees at the window of the car begging to be brought back to the house where there was more booze only for elaine to take off at speed, and Al 'Go Cleomenes' Craig jumping on the bonnet of the car at the traffic lights only to be shunted off onto the ground with skillful drunk-dodging driving. We got back to the house and the bottle of Bacardi seemed to walk into the room of its own accord. The next day Vinnie had a gash on his left temple which he didn't remember getting and Al's knee was in bits. You should never take on Glasgow girls!

Now it wasn't just constant boozing in Glasgow. When on tour its always nice to check out the culture that's on offer where you are and in fairness I did a bit. I love the architecture in Glasgow and always make a point of heading over to the Rennie Mackintosh museum in The Lighthouse. Right enough of that boring shite, more beer anyone? Well actually the end of the week in Glasgow wasn't as mad at all. I was getting good at sorting out the bus journeys home and being picked up at the right spot. Although on the Saturday night the bus was packed out and there was a load of fellas sitting down the back singing IRA songs. I just shut me mouth and kept an eye out for me escape route. Bacardi certainly became me friend that week and best of all the show went really well. The reaction was excellent and the houses were pretty good for such a big theatre and there was no big mad stories of cock ups Beamish style that week. I was starting to settle into it bit by bit by bit and starting to enjoy it more and more. The end of the week came and I bought the girls some chocolates and a bottle of Bacardi for leaving me stay. It was the least I could do sure, we'd gotten through about three as it was. I got me final lift off Elaine to the airport and we winged our way back to London. I was going to miss Glasgow a bit to be honest as the show had gone so well and the craic was good. That wasn't going to be the case in;

VENUE 3: PORTSMOUTH!

I had spent me day off packing. Not just to go to Portsmouth but to leave the flat in Kilburn. When I was offered the tour I tried to find someone to sublet my room but that turned out to be near impossible and so I said to Gary that I was going to move out altogether, he was cool with that and as luck would have it a friend of his from Dublin took the room straight away. Grand. It meant that I wouldn't have to be paying rent while I was jumping around the world and on me day off if I was in London I could stay with Karen or one of the lads. It would be huge help. So it was me last week of living there and of course I wasn't even gonna be there. I was in the lovely seaside town of Portsmouth. Seaside? Yes. Lovely? Nah! We couldn't believe our eyes when we got to the theatre. A few years previous the whole back of the theatre had burned down. they had saved the auditorium but everything from the prosc. arch back was gone. So some fella came in built a new back wall across the prosc, erected a tiny stage in the stalls and put 2 portacabins out the back for dressing rooms. Mad. So there was seriously no room backstage as there was no backstage full stop! Me digs were alright though. Twas your typical seaside B&B but she gave me a double room instead of the single I had booked and for the same money, so that was cool. Although breakfast was only served until 8.30 so that was well shite.

The first night went great. Loads in and there was a real buzz in the crowd. It may have been a small space but its intimacy kind of helped the show. We ended up in some club called Bliss, where there was a pole but it wasn't a pole dancing club so any random lack (or fella) could get up and give it a turn. The talent on the pole varied wildly but the first night there was one girl who looked like she was a professional on it. It was well dodgy but we went back every night. Apart from that it was a pretty quiet week drink wise. There's feck all to do in Portsmouth so I used my days to sort out my tax receipts early (GOOD call) and unfortunately the first night buzz was an absolute fluke as we averaged about 60 people in the audience a night (in which there was, one night, a rather large lady with a beard!). Although it was quiet enough drink wise, there were still occurrences of an interesting nature. Second night in I came out of the theatre and was approached by a girl who congratulated me on the show. It turned out she worked front of house but had just finished drama school in the London and was asking me all sorts of questions about the business i.e. where did I train, do I have an agent, does Ed Hall only do all male productions, do I find it difficult to get work? Now I have no bother being asked such things and I was that curious meself when I came out of drama school but she kept me talking for ages and I was hangin for a pint. So after a bit I said me goodbyes and wished her the best of luck, and she reached into her bag and said;

'Actually before you go I just wonder if you wouldn't mind passing this on to Ed Hall the next time you see him.'

She handed me a copy of her CV.

'I'm sorry I wouldn't be prepared to do that.' I told her through a dropped jaw.

This is so not the done thing. I'm not sure what she was thinking, but to imagine that a complete stranger would be willing to pass on her CV to their director she was obviously fuckin high. Or desperate. Her face fell when I said no, I tried to be nice and suggested that the best way to get the CV to Ed was by sending him a letter care of the Watermill Theatre. I felt sorry for her, this business can make you do mad things out of desperation. Best of luck to her sure, its never feckin easy, I just hope she's stopped trying to give her CV to strange men. The following morning after another night of watching crap amateur pole dancing I was bleary eyed at breakfast (I'd paid for it so I was going to have it!) and I was looking at the family photos that are a prerequisite for every B&B dining room and lo and behold who do I see in one of them only the only decent pole dancer in Portsmouth. The chick from the club on the first night must've been me landlady's granddaughter. Ha ha. Jesus I doubt she knows what her little angel is getting up to!!

The phone went twice that week and both times it was the dear agent. Hurrah! Or not. First call;

'You're not going to get a recall for Avenue Q.'

Shite! Damn my all night sessions! Damn them to hell.

'They said there's nothing in it for you,'

Oh I must disagree.

'But they are putting you on file for Les Mis and will see you when they're recasting.'

Ha haaaa! What a crock of shit! When I first came out of drama school I was praying for a Les Mis audition and now when I want another show they fob me off with it. Jesus. The second call was better.

'You have an audition for Assassins in Sheffield.'

Holy shit one of me favourite shows ever! Result! Hold on though, when is it?

'Its on next Thursday in the Old Vic.'

Ah yes that'll be the Old Vic in LONDON which was just perfect because I was going to be in IRELAND! We were opening in Dublin the following Friday and all the company were flying over on Thursday but I was heading back early for a few days in the Déise on the Sunday so this was a real pain in the hole. Waitaminute though..... I was booked on a flight with the rest of the company from London on the Thursday afternoon so If I got an early flight to london that morning I could head over, do the audition and head back with everyone else. Its mad Jim, but it might just work! So I booked an 8.30am flight from Cork. Now all I needed was a lift to Cork. Assassins though. Janey I'd love a bit of Sondheim for the new year! Sure we'll see.

So the Irish leg of the tour was looming and in preparation for that I decided to make a little change in me performance. Mopsa the slutty shepherdess was now no longer going to be from the west country of blighty but from the wesht of Ireland. Basically I said fuck it, it wasn't half as funny as it should be and that had a lot to do with me being a bit shite at the accent. Normally I'm pretty good at them but I think with the rush to get the show on I learned it wrong. Plan B so. Paddy time! The gas thing was, the day I decided to first give it a go (on the friday school's matinee. Audience: 40) Simon, who was playing the other shepherdess, decided he'd try an Irish accent too. Now however bad my west country accent was it couldn't compare with his Irish. Lets just say it corpsed the Young Shepherd in the middle of the scene and didn't make it to the next show much less Dublin. Irish Mopsa, however, was here to stay. It worked a treat. So our time in Portsmouth ended with a whimper, the last night audience was about 74, wow, and I got a lift back to the London that night to do me last bit of packing and say goodbye to Co. Kilburn. It was a bit sad to be honest, I had probably lived there longer than any other place in London and I liked it a lot, but 550 sterling a month when I'm not even there smothers any sentimentality. The next morning I was on an Aer Arann special direct to me viking home. I was excited and nervous all at the same time. This was going to be my first time on stage professionally in Ireland, and not only that but in me national theatre as well. Feck. And would the Dublin Festival be as mad as the Waterford Festival? As luck would have it I was going to get the chance to compare and contrast.

They were both on at the same time.

Two festivals?

I may not come out of this alive!

35. HIT THE ROAD JACK

I hate touring.

No, I love touring.

Both statements are true. And never more so than on this gig.

After the utter mess I made of the American embassy interview I had me work cut out to show the lads in Propeller that I wasn't the Irish waster that they were rapidly beginning to believe I was. Not to worry, sure I had a week before we opened in which to cop on, knuckle down and get this fucker on its feet and not screw up. And do you know what the mad thing was?

I did. Cop on that is. Well that last week of rehearsals at least.

Jesus I was on me best behaviour. In I went to rehearsals at 10 am every day, looking at the script on the train, no books for me, too much work to do baby. God, I was even looking at the script when I was walking from the tube to the rehearsal room. Big work then from start to finish at 6pm. Then it was back on the tube home for some more looking at the script action. I was well focussed, probably through fear rather than anything else because if you stopped to think about it we opened the following Thursday. OH MY GOD!!! Right so no going out. Well very little going out. Too much to do. The main man himself was in at this stage as well, the maestro Ed Hall and he was putting us through our paces. Big time. You need to know your verse with this guy. Thankfully I had just gotten lessons offa his dad so I knew me pentameter! The funny thing as well was that I had spent the first week doing the part of the 1st Lord in RP as all the rest of the lads were English and the guy I was taking over from had used an English accent. When Ed heard me he spake thus:

'Jamie, why don't you use your own accent?'

'Sorry Ed I just thought you wanted RP, sure that's what Jules used.'

'Yes but Jules is from Luxembourg, if he'd used his own accent we wouldn't have understood a word, Shakespeare sounds great in an Irish accent, there's a real music to it.'

Go on the Irish! You see? I should have stuck to my guns instead of jumping the gun. Understandable though seeing as everything was such a rush. But I was having trouble getting Willows out of me head to be honest and I was having awful trouble with the section where I played Mopsa the Shepherdess. Oh yes boy, seeing as this was an all male company I was playing a lack and one of the ugliest ones you've ever laid eyes on. I was stink!! If I sent you pictures you may get arrested. That week I had a costume fitting for my skirt, bra and belly top. No seriously. And before I got into my Sunday best the designer asked me if I'd ever played a woman on stage before.

'Why yes.' replieth I nonchalantly, 'Twice actually.'

Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about them. That said a lot of the guys in this company had played women before, but that was because they were in an all male shakespearean ensemble. I had done it in The Dream and Willows so I had no excuse only that it was in the script. Yep, that's my get out. But I don't know, you'd think after seeing how pig ugly I looked as a woman in the Dream that no director in their right mind would give me a dress to wear ever again. Hang on though I'm a red (blue) blooded man from the Déise and I'm talking about wearing dresses!?!

God what the hell am I doing with my life?!?

Its art love, get used to it. (And I shouldn't really mention about the simulated blow job I was supposed to give one of the lads in one of the songs. Its alright though he kept his pants on. More on that later.) But I digress... Like I said Willows was still in me head because I was playing Mopsa like I was still doing Toad and that was no good to no one. Also all the rest of the lads were using a west country accent in that section and it took me ages to get it anywhere near right, or at least close enough to be getting on with, which wasn't close enough for me by a big way. We'll see so, just keep working. The piano playing was going ok too, that said I was practicing it every time we had a break. At one point though I hit a brick wall with it. Not because I couldn't play it, I just didn't know why I was playing it. Me man I took over from had written and played a piece of music for the final scene and they had sent me the dots he had put down on paper. In a notes session Ed brought the subject of the piano piece up and he said it wasn't working. I told him I just couldn't get inside the composer's head. And he said:

'Well don't, change it as much as you want and make it work for Jamie Beamish.'

Ah right! Gotcha now. And at that point I felt on it. I was no longer taking over a part, I was in that room to create my version of it. Create something new, not mimic what had been done before. And then I really pulled out the finger and the work was good. The show was REALLY good and there was no way I was going to be like some third wheel. And as I was beginning to be happy with the show the phone rang. Can anyone guess who it might be?:

'They want to see you for Avenue Q but the auditions are going to be the week after next.' Quoth mine agent.

Shite. Avenue Q was a musical taking the piss out of Sesame Street (well it would with song titles like 'Everyone's a little bit racist' and 'the internet is for porn') which was transferring from Broadway to London and I really wanted to be in it. This is one funny fucker of a show. That's good, why say shite then? The week after next I was going to be in Glasgow. Ah right. Shite. Not a hope of getting back to do the audition there, just too far away. So I was pissed off with that and of course something else reared its ugly head as it was always bound to do.

Digs.

Fuck it! Alright you know at this stage how much looking for digs wrecks me head and this was no exception. When I took this show the big draw for me of course was the International venues, America, Spain, Dublin (its mad thinking of going to Ireland as touring internationally, its just going home like.). There were however six british venues and we had to get digs for five of them. The digs list had been sitting there untouched by me for the first week and a half of rehearsals. It was taunting me with its vile contents written by vicious housewives, whose spare room is their social life. Aaaaaagh!!! Jesus! Noooooo!!! I was seriously considering wasting a loada money and just getting a hotel, but I just couldn't justify it. I had a quick look at the digs list so and nearly got sick, ah yeah its as bad as I thought!! Aw no, somebody help me through this crisis! Thank Jesus somebody did. As will always happen the conversation one day got around to 'Have you sorted any digs for Swindon yet?' and I meekly replied in the negative. Swindon, the first week of the tour was rapidly approaching and I had fuck all. Bill Buckhurst, prince of Bohemia, turned to me and said that I should ring the lady he's staying with as he thinks she has a spare room and there's three of them staying there anyway. Hmm veeery possible. Its never as bad when there's other people out of the cast staying there. I gave her the bell and although she sounded a bit mad she said she had a loft room and it was £50 for the week. Sound! I'll buy that for a dollar! Or 50 anyway. Well 50 pound that is. Feck it, whatever, I had digs thank Jesus. Now what about the venue after that? Glasgow? Glasgow is notoriously hard for getting digs. The last time I toured there a few of us had a flat in the Gorbals, which is worse than the Bronx, or Ballybeg for that matter, and one of the boys got a kick outside a chipper while I was inside waiting for me smoked sausage. Like the true friend I was I hung on till I got the sausage until we pegged it home for fear of repeat kicking. So I wasn't goin there again. So where oh where could I go? Its at times like this, when you're desperately wracking your brains, that drunken conversations, which you thought lost to the mists of time and alcohol, just pop right back into your head. I was thrown back to a certain night of large bottles in Muldoons whereupon I was introduced to a cousin of nice guy Roy Collins (this boy has a cousin for every occasion his family is so big). She told me she lived in Glasgow with her daughter and I said I'd toured to Glasgow and liked it very much and she said the next time i tour there to give her a shout and I could stay with her for nothing. Twas an offer I couldn't refuse sure. A couple of texts to Roy and a phonecall to the lady herself, Jeanine, and I was sorted. Two down, one to go this side of Dublin. Portsmouth was the last port of call before the first international venue and I decided to treat meself. I hopped on the tourism website and past all the beautiful pics of sunny Portsmouth I found meself a B&B. 25 a night, but sure I was only there for 4 nights and feck it sure tis grand to have a little luxury. Luxury? Twas only a B&B for fecksake not the Waldorf!!

With that huge weight off me mind I enjoyed the last couple of days of rehearsals. Twas all going well actually; I had digs sorted, I kind of knew me lines after a fashion, Ben Hennessy had rung me to see if I wanted to write the music for a production of Peter Pan back in the Deise for Christmas (now that could be verrry possible), and amazingly the last run through on the Friday night before we opened went really well all things considered. Ed seemed happy, and decided to drop a little bombshell:

'There's a very big possibility that this show will be going into The Arts Theatre in the West End for a Christmas season after the tour finishes.'

Ah no! Not only was I being brought to places I always wanted to see and play, this gig may actually be my return to the West End. Best. Gig. Ever. And after giving us that nugget he told us the next time he would see us would be in Swindon the following Tuesday. Whoa three days off! Well not really, the agent had gotten back to me about Avenue Q;

'They've changed the audition day, they'll see you on Tuesday morning, first thing.'

Sound.

I could do the audition in the morning and then hop on the train to Swindon straight after. That gave me three days to get my shit together and be as castable as humanly possible at the audition. I selected me two songs for them, they asked for a funny one (Poisoning Pigeons in the Park) and a ballad (She's a Woman). Bed early for me the night before the audition too. Me bollox! As fate would have it the night before the audition (and start of the Winter's Tale tech) was the Regent's Park end of season party. Oh no. This could be mayhem. But hold on though I can be a good boy. I'll only have a few beers, enjoy the craic for a few hours then say me goodbyes and head home early. Oh I went home early all right ........ as in early in the morning!!! The party was great craic as usual and the mock awards were given (I didn't get one, but our cursing badger did!) and there beer was free and flowing. Now in fairness I did have a few beers but not so many as to get blind drunk as in previous years. It was the leaving part I couldn't get me head around. Then again I never can really, I'm always worried I'll miss something. So I ended up once more on the bandstand in the Park, fairly sober now, until about 5 in the morning. Jesus you'd swear I had nothing on the next day, much less an audition and the start of a feckin tech! I sat on the bandstand with the rest of the Willows cast (we were the only ones to have any kind of staying power sure!) and at 5 bells I said to meself tis time to head home and sober up. I went to a garage and got a bite to eat and got the bus home. At this stage there seriously was no point in going asleep so I had me a shower packed my bag and watched BBC News 24 until GMTV kicked in, and then hit the tube over to the Theatre Royal Stratford East where the Audition was on. I arrived at the theatre just after 10, buzzing on the lack of sleep to be honest, only to bump into the production manager for Willows who was now doing a new job here.

'Hi Jamie, what're you doing here?' Quoth he.

'Well Stewart boy, I'm here for me Avenue Q audition sure.' Quoth I with glassy eyes.

'No man, I just checked the list, you're on tomorrow.'

No fuckin way was I! I went straight in to see what the story was here and the girl taking names for the audition also said I was on at 10am the next day. Aw no this is some serious cock up! I explain to her that I need to do it today as I was rehearsing all day in Swindon the next day. I could see the mention of Swindon didn't impress her. Thankfully she was able to sort it out that I could be squeezed in at 11am instead. Right, OK, it'll make me late for the tech but feck it I was there I may as well do it.

(Ok time to pause the tape for a little public information announcement. Avenue Q was being co-produced by the Theatre Royal Stratford East and Cameron Mackintosh. Now the latter fella you may have heard of, he's a bit famous. I also don't have the best of track records when it comes to auditions for his shows. I made an absolute dogs dinner of a Phantom audition once and as for my My Fair Lady audition a few years ago. Well his head of casting told my agent that the reason I wasn't getting a recall was because I just wasn't very interesting and I had yet to have another audition for this man since then. It also shot my confidence to shit for a few weeks, and I really questioned whether I should bother still doing this job, up until I got another job that is. But it was alright this time though because the Theatre Royal were doing the initial casting so I was calm with the thought that he wouldn't be there. Normal service may now resume.)

I walked into the audition room only to find the head of casting for Cameron Mackintosh sitting behind the desk. Aw shit on it anyway! I was now shitting meself worse than I have in an audition in a LONG time. Suddenly everything was stacked against me:

1. I hadn't been to bed yet.
2. I'd caused hassle because according to them I turned up on the wrong day (which was a loada shit. I believe me agent on this one!).
3. I was stressed because I was going to be late for the tech.
4. I hadn't been to bed yet.
5. Sitting behind the desk was a man who really didn't rate me whatsoever.
6. I was singing the exact same song that he found not very interesting in the first place.

I walk into the room say hello to himself and the lady with him and sit down on the chair in front of the table whereupon he looks at me and goes;

'So what are you going to sing for us today?'

Jesus I'd forgotten how shite auditions for musicals were, no little bit of chat about what you've been up to, just straight in, sing the song and feck off! No point in sitting down so. I gave the music for Pigeons to the pianist, told her how I was doing it and what speed, she then proceeded to play it at half that speed. Brilliant, a bumnotes behind the piano is all I feckin needed. I stopped her and set her straight and after that it went pretty good. The pipes were in decent shape given the lack of sleep, I think me vocal chords still thought it was the day before! Anyway it went well enough for them to ask me for my second song, which is the first time the man from Del Mackintosh has ever asked for more. Nice one, the nerves were beginning to subside and I lashed into She's a Woman from Kiss of the Spiderwoman. This also goes well and the pianist doesn't fuck it up too badly either. And then when it finishes the man from Del Mackintosh he say:

'Thank you very much, that's all we need to hear today.'

Nuts.

Dreaded words if ever I heard them. The standard nice line that says fuck off with a smile. Not sure that that went that well, ah well! What's always good about doing a bad audition when you're already working is that it doesn't feel so bad, its not like you've been out of work for ages and your life depends on getting this job. Its easy to put it behind you and get back to the job in hand. Aw shit yeah the job in hand, sure I had a tech to be slightly late for! So I ran out out of the theatre, bag in hand, headed off to Paddington and boarded a train, which was funnily enough the Bath train that I knew so well, but I wasn't going there. Oh no. I was going somewhere far more dangerous. The first port of call on the Magical Mystery tour that would be the Winter's Tale:

Swindon.

Some of us have all the luck.