Yesterday evening saw S and I being nominated for an award in the same category as Anthony and the Johnsons. Since the category also included June Tabor and The Levellers we figured our chances of winning were extremely slim but were glad nevertheless to go along to the do and enjoy a little reflected glory.
With free wine on offer it seemed rude not to have a few glasses and I soon found myself a little tiddly. So much so in fact that I said to one person nominated in different category: 'I haven't see your show but I really wanted you to win'. Hopefully I'll never see this person again, indeed they may be thinking the same.
Thing is, I did mean it. I really liked the look of their show and hoped they would win. Of course if theatre critics worked like this, many a really bad show would have a long run and many a good one would fail. But actually, that happens anyway so maybe it's something to consider.
This morning as I trudged to the station at 6.30 in the morning in fishnet tights that dug into my toes and agonising high heels, I really felt that the previous night's wacky glamour had dissipated and that reality was kicking in with a vengeance. There's nothing chic about blisters, that's for sure.
Having reached my destination I limped pathetically to my car, shivering in my thin top which was fine last night but was now providing little benefit but a nod to decency. Once home I put on a pair of flat shoes, warm trousers and a jumper and breathed a sigh of relief.
Yes, I am quite relieved to go back to the world of the cosy and mundane. Plans for tonight include a nice hot bath and an early night - oh bliss! I bet even Anthony has a pair of slippers and likes of mug of Horlicks now and then. If only he'd turned up I could have asked him.
With free wine on offer it seemed rude not to have a few glasses and I soon found myself a little tiddly. So much so in fact that I said to one person nominated in different category: 'I haven't see your show but I really wanted you to win'. Hopefully I'll never see this person again, indeed they may be thinking the same.
Thing is, I did mean it. I really liked the look of their show and hoped they would win. Of course if theatre critics worked like this, many a really bad show would have a long run and many a good one would fail. But actually, that happens anyway so maybe it's something to consider.
This morning as I trudged to the station at 6.30 in the morning in fishnet tights that dug into my toes and agonising high heels, I really felt that the previous night's wacky glamour had dissipated and that reality was kicking in with a vengeance. There's nothing chic about blisters, that's for sure.
Having reached my destination I limped pathetically to my car, shivering in my thin top which was fine last night but was now providing little benefit but a nod to decency. Once home I put on a pair of flat shoes, warm trousers and a jumper and breathed a sigh of relief.
Yes, I am quite relieved to go back to the world of the cosy and mundane. Plans for tonight include a nice hot bath and an early night - oh bliss! I bet even Anthony has a pair of slippers and likes of mug of Horlicks now and then. If only he'd turned up I could have asked him.
The winner was the wonderful Lady Carol of the Moon.
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