Early on Sunday evening I arrive at The Promethean Theatre. It's a small, old, beautifully renovated theatre near the centre of town, just down the road from La Boheme. It has about twice the capacity of La Boheme. This doesn't mean it's big, but it feels quite a lot bigger than what I'm used to. It seats about 120, cabaret style, including the upstairs balcony. We have to remember to sometimes look up at the people seated there.
The event is close to sold out, with family and friends coming to see what we've been cooking up all week. Also some "show business" people have been invited to come and see the local talent.
It's time for the sound check, and we will all get an opportunity to stand on stage and sing, to get the feel of our surroundings. I settle in to await my turn. Deb arrives, greets everyone, and puts her belongings down. She is about to go and get changed, and, looking about distractedly, asks "Where is my dress?" The dress cannot be found and she has to drive home to get it.
Chiewy has baked cupcakes and gives one to each of us. Lauren has brought hand-made cards to thank everyone for their companionship during the week.
When it's my turn for the sound check and I step on stage, reality hits. It feels like a very large space, and it soon it will be filled with spectators. My voice quivers; I'm breathing shallowly. It's not the best omen for my forthcoming performance.
Outfits are unveiled and we compliment each other gushily. Deb returns just in time for her sound check. She seems unfazed by the hiccup - she's probably the most experienced performer amongst us.
Soon there's a line-up outside the door; the audience is arriving. We take our places at the front near the stage. I'm on in the second half, after the interval. This is good - I need some time to settle down and watch the others. It helps to know when I'm going to be called; at Cabaret Live! you must be ready to rise from your seat at any time. Each time an act finishes my heart races and I grab a sip of water in case I'm next. But for now I can relax.
Several of my friends have come to the show. I try not to talk too much during the interval, to save my voice for the performance. I hope they don't think I'm being a diva.
Matthew announces me and my segment "Confessions of a Wannabe Bond Girl". I step up onto the stage in my long sparkly dress. I sing, unaccompanied:
"When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother: what will I be? Will I be pretty, will I be rich? And here's what she said to me..."
Cue piano - loud, pounding James Bond theme music, as I wield my invisible pistol to imitate the opening credits of a Bond film. I spy Frank Ford in the front row.
I'm going well. I sprawl over the grand piano as I've been taught to do. The audience is laughing in the right places. I get to the point where I knock myself out in the swimming pool, and I'm into "Windmills of Your Mind". The windmills create a minor disturbance and I need Matthew to prompt me at one point. I roll my eyes and act a bit dizzy - it's a concussion scene, after all. I get through it (and a couple of months later I sing the song again at Cabaret Live, all three verses, without a hitch).
We're nearly done. I conclude: "I can be a Bond girl if I want to be. After all, you only live... twice." And I'm into the final song, "You Only Live Twice". Some of the higher notes are not what I would like them to be, but now it's over, and I'm soaking up the applause.
I'm made the transition from a single song to a miniature cabaret set and feel irrevocably altered by the whole experience. What a week it's been.
On stage at The Promethean
With accompanist Matthew Carey
Afterwards with husband Bill (and a relaxing glass of wine)
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