Blood on the floor

The tale is best told at this hour as this is the hour of the undead (23.33 to be exact), I feel cold and as though in a morgue, yet I breathe, touch and still continue to look fabulous with a splendid false moustache (one indeed that would make any fine victorian chap pluck the pubic hair from a sailor’s whore and fashion it on his face). I have my bottle of cider now so let’s begin this tale of woe.

I awoke in a pool of drool this morning an effect I am told of sleeping so close to miss Pollock, but before cleaning the frightful mess myself and Laura telephoned the rats that write reviews, whilst Becky and Polly galavanted in Ann Summers on Princes Street, (oh I am told they were sorting out flyers and buying essentials such as bread and water - the Shady diet) good show girls! The Journos didn’t even squeak, but like the wise shreader of teenage mustant fame, they’ll wake up and smell the sewer (the edinburgh fringe) and come see us.

We boarded our chariot the number 5 bus that smelt of the plaugue and lepers and we departed with weeping sores at the venue. Looking as hot as old nelly on the stake we strided in boiler suits handing flyers on our way and giving free tickets for the show to the needy.

In the dressing room we sung shanties by the spice girls and dubious hits from 90s (“free from desire, my insence is purified” or something like that) which filled our lungs with mortar, and we were ready for the Everyman theatre in Liverpool to take us on. - I forgot to mention that the producer from the Everyman was coming to the show. Hurrah. Three cheers.

We performed really well today and our focus was great (thank you mel b, mel c, posh, geri and baby) but the audience were not so responsive - must have been the sores of our faces. I think that the Everyman would have enjoyed it sores or no sores as it’s a darn good play, and in my very humble opinion one of the best to grace the fringe.

To celebrate we exited the venue to moisten our throats and dampen our lips, cocktails it is. after a great debate (one which simon amstell - who we found in my pocket, contributed too) we decided to gorge ourselves on burgers and chips. I would just like to add that I am yet to see Clark eat anything other than yellow food.

The cocktails spoke for us and after 7 or 8 of the devilish drinks we decided what a frightfully good idea it was to go and see Famished - the hot new zombie musical being performed in the same theatre as us. - I know it’s taken a great length to get to this point - but this is really where the my tale of woe begins, please bare with me I feel this is therapy as much as it is for me as it will be for you.

Off to the theatre, a few pink gins, we applied moustaches, eyelashes and Polly well done for your big fake scar and enourmous red lips - which I can only descibe as looking like a female who has just devoured the genitals of a rabid gorrila,found in the jungle whilst on a school trip in 1843. Splendid.

hurrah the show has started bravo bravo bravo.

OH NO OH NO OH NO. STOP THIS TALE OF WOE.

So I sit at home now, assigned the task of writing the days events with an awfully glum face. Where my dear has the wonderful theatre gone? 

oh yes - we didn’t really have sores on our faces - I just lied.

Goodnight.

Marina