Back on stage, Johnny Depp and Peter Chunt

Back on stage in a few days where by a miracle that could have only come from St. Cope himself something is going on here in Tolly Maw (or indeed the rest of the world) and at the very same time Q is not working. Half the week (and always Saturday) she’s out being bored silly as the Slayer. All well and good when you’re a teenager in your twenties, less so ten odd years later. It’s not like she should have to go out in slightly stacky heels kicking vampires in the face (she retired yonks ago) but the girl that took over found out she was a ‘Doll’ in a ‘Dollhouse’ and frankly never lived down the audible sigh of disappointment that reached as far as Mars two episodes in. It’s not that it’s a hard job slaying – round here all the vampires are real vampires and have back problems, comfortable cardigans and a dislike of the French dating back to the Peninsular War, in which they fought.

I digress just a little.

So, to perform! On stage, for lo it is lucky I had to dig out my big shirt for this is Wordsworth country and it seems I am to be again, a poet. I’m not very good at it because I don’t mope, but I love it. The others there will go on and in a voice of soft wonder introduce each piece. I will bound on as previously with such lines as ‘Yes I know what you’re thinking, Johnny Depp’s really let himself go’ before launching into a piece about poets, called Cheer Up. Either that or something I’ve been rubbing at for a while called Peter Chunt, which will disappoint because of all the rhyming.

But it will be wonderful, I will laugh and they will be too scared not to applaud. Why I could not say, last time I performed so there was a worrying man talking for ten minutes about how 'all cats are sluts, they always leave him, but inside they’re all the same colour'. That last by the way is true. As in truly true. I could scarcely walk from laughing so much. Also I’ll get to perform my winning piece from last year’s Campaign For Real Fear, which I’m sure could only go down better if I spent instead ten minutes demonstrating primal scream therapy live and uncut.

My light shines on, my light shines on, my light shines on.

I shall report. Oh my.