Being married to drag, there are times when I feel the support and assistance I give is for a really worthwhile career investment for Cherry - then there are times when you feel that it leaves you very disheartened and with a very nasty taste in your mouth – what I usually refer to as, “a bit of a pooh sandwich!!”
For instance, Cherry has been recently recruited by a show bar in Cardiff, to join the throng of a group of extremely talented drag artistes that perform there.
(I would love to know what the name for a collection of Drag Queens is. A gaggle? A herd? A drama?)
I was extremely nervous for Cherry during her premiere there, but Cherry and I were welcomed very warmly by her Welsh peers and my fears were quickly allayed. It was all really nice and friendly - none of this Hollywood cliché, of a gang of semi-dressed divas, spitting venom at each other and crowding around one mirror with a mascara wand in one hand and a pair of stilettos in the other, but perhaps that’ll happen next time hopefully!! Whatever happens I am really looking forward to it and I would recommend a night out at Minsky’s in Cardiff to you all, and if you ever see me in there, mine’s a southern comfort and diet coke, thanks !
That was the up side. However, for every up there has to be a down – pooh sandwich time....
Hubby really wants to get back on to the theatre stage and went to audition for the role as the Dame in a locally run amateur panto company – he has done numerous semi-pro plays, pantos and shows in his life and thought it would be good to get back into it and contacted a local group nearby (so doing the “giving back to the community”, “working in your local area” bit –blah blah yawn blah.....)
From what I could tell the local theatre group was a bit of a clique of pompous, pretend faux luvvies, which I am not wholly fond of. We waited a while until Hubby’s number was called – he went through and for the first time during the auditions I could actually hear someone sing from the audition room – the staff in the waiting room were stood in awe, listening and were very impressed with it. I then heard the director laugh, and this was also commented on by one of the clique as being a good sign. Whilst waiting, they asked who I was and said I was his dresser, chauffeur, right hand man, left hand man and so on. They started to push me to see if I would like to become assimilated into the collective, perhaps in the costume section or as the stage prompt; scenery, lighting or props (oh my...), they went through everything. I politely declined with a fixed grin on my face and waited in anguish for Hubby to re-emerge from the audition room. Eventually he did and then we beat a hasty retreat.
Unfortunately, the phone call he got after the audition was to say no. Apparently he was too ‘pretty’ to be a Dame... which to me sounded a bit lame, (ooh that rhymed...) and a load of old bollocks to be honest. I was sad for Hubby, but honestly wasn’t surprised, as these sort of self involved little nodules of people have a blinkered outlook on what talent and experience should be – oh well, at least we have still got Cardiff and Minsky’s to look forward to.
