DID I MENTION?
So, I’m in the pub with the rugby lads,
swigging cider and still regretting that bloody Mars bar
I decided to eat for a challenge
(which didn’t go down well with the Guinness),
and our captain says,
‘I hear you do a bit of acting?’
Nice one, Jonathon, I think to myself.
Tell these brick-shouldered,
shower-sharing Spartans that I’m a thespian!
But I’ve had a drink, and the scrum-half is curious,
so I tell the boys about the plays I’ve done:
‘I once helped to build a barricade,
then fought beside my fellow revolutionaries,
our muskets poised, as bullets sang in our ears.
I’ve heard war speeches that would put our manly talks
to shame, and make our pre-match huddles
look like an Ann Summers party.
I’ve dressed a Scottish tyrant in his armour
and informed him of his wife’s death,
while he just talked about tomorrows.
At the moment, I’m playing a count…’
‘A what?’ a prop asks, trying to make a crass pun.
‘A count,’ I repeat, ‘in a comedy of manners.
There’s nothing like standing on a proscenium stage,
the lights in your eyes as the drapes are opened.
Nothing like the cold touch of a prop weapon
and the stench of the costumes you wear each night,
as sweat pours down your brow, your heart thunders,
and you deliver your lines to an expectant audience.
I’ve loved acting since I was a boy
with a tail poking out of my arse,
asking Little Red to join her grandma in bed.’
The lads just nod. Some with respect.
Others amazed that their number eight
has been prancing around on stage since childhood.
I take another swig of my pint, smile and say:
‘By the way, lads, did I mention that I like to write poetry?’
