Sunday, February 22, 2009


Tonight, the actors and creators of moving pictures celebrate themselves in an orgy of schmooze and plunging necklines. Thespians. Balderdash.

When I was working upon the boards, awards were unheard of. Indeed, the journeymen players were lucky to have even a smallish carp tossed their way. Needless to say, when such occasions arose, 'twas usually in the midst of a rather longish soliloquy.

I remember just such a night. At the Palace it was. And I, as Hamlet, was struck full in the face by a not quite moribund eel. The men of the Company got a good chuckle out of that. (Still, the writhing serpent made a decent supper for myself and the rather delicate bloke who played Ophelia. Lovely, fair-haired lad. A sweet face he had and the most... Hold! Enough!)

Ah, memories.

1 comment:

The (late) Sigmund Freud said...

Sometimes an eel is just a cigar.