Street of dreams

After another serpent like message from Boy regarding the production of before the bubble burst, the musical that is about my life and times, I hastily left my sick bed to sneak down to the community hall and cast an eye on the production’s progress.

Lord love Hetty and Brian because I certainly never will after witnessing this travesty.

They’ve cast this woman, Sybilla, not Eve as Boy so mistakenly advised, to play me. Boy, if you’re gonna spy try to get the facts right. Sybilla has succeeded in portraying the Mistress as a cross between Blanche du Bois and Di “Bubbles” Fisher with a dash of Frankie Howerd come Panto Dame/Mother Riley!! Between you and me, non sequitur risers, Pee Wee Costello’s latest lamentable attempt at a leadership challenge has hardly left me inspired to topple Sybilla . Like Pee Wee, too inept to carry it out is the Mistress’s rule of thumb for this production.

Still it is rather nice of Brian and Hetty to be so enthusiastic about getting this musical up and running. I should not be so critical of Brian and Hetty, according to Boy, Brian reads my blog.

Brian has done a pretty good job with the score and choreography, and Hefty’s, bloody spell check, I mean Hetty’s , direction is generally on the money but really does she have to counter every criticism by citing her marks for drama in Year 11. All I can say is that Hetty must have flunked out big time in Year 12 as we never hear about those marks and I guess I should stop saying so for Sybilla’s portrayal of me seems to increasingly resemble some mad camp Panto dame. Still which is worse to be a woman and portrayed as a Frankie Howerd inspired Panto dame or middle aged and still harping on about one’s one academic success in secondary school. You do the math…I doubt Hetty could, it’s not called mental arithmetic for nothing. I know , i know, these jokes are even older than my tongue but humour the Mistress while her dreams are being dashed.

After much coughing and interjecting I was banished from the hall by Brian who got Sascha, one of the dancing bubbles in the chorus, to wheel me to a café and keep me away for a good hour or so.

While at the café Sascha, who is currently in Year 9 at a performing arts high school, Brian said it was a very groovy institution but i question its grooviness when it is so keen to be associated with this musical, talked at me and texted friends, slurped the froth from her skinny cap and my full cream one, and picked the choc chips from my biscuit, occasionally smoothing out the blanket over my knees and posing questions such as “are we feeling comfortable?”, “are we liking our biscuit?" " let me help with those chocky bits, we don’t want to choke”, curious for a gel of 14, i know, her grandmother runs a dodgy private nursing home on the North Shore, effectively making me feel as though it was time to start rinsing my hair with magic silver white, or perhaps Grecian 2000 would be more appropriate now that I’m being portrayed as some camp dead man.

Eventually I’d had enough of being treated like Mistress Ga Ga and snatched Sascha’s bubblegum pink flip top Motorola clam shell mobile whizbangery and texted Brian pleading with him to be allowed back and promising not to cause trouble.

UGTBK was Brian’s reply. He’s been spending too much time with that chorus of high school students. Sascha, rolling her eyes, explained that it means you’ve got to be kidding.

She then called a taxi which deposited me at my flat. HHIS and LOL not. It was a rotten day and as god is my witness, I swear I'll never set foot, or wheel, in that community hall again.