Archives 2001/2011
Situation Wanted: Middled-aged, postmenopausal widow with one teenage daughter seeks employment. Own teeth, hair, opinions home and car. Doesn’t do mornings, rarely does days. Open to any legal suggestions.
As you can imagine the above ad wouldn’t elicit too may replies. What to do? I had a big house, a big heart, time on my hands and my hands around my daughter’s throat. Knowing more than a few thesps who had stayed with me from time to time – having left it too late to get digs in this city (and having been encouraged by them) I decided to become a Theatrical Landlady.
Smart move. I put myself on the lists of our local theatres and sat and waited.
Phone rings “Hello my name is Blah and I am coming to town in Blah and I wondered if your two rooms are free?”
“Free” I thought “Definitely not” but for £50.00 a week (this was a year or five ago) I thought I would take the plunge. I was INTERVIEWED on the phone.
“Can we use the kitchen?”
“Of course you can” I said, “cooker, hob, juicer, toaster, microwave, washing machine, a shelf in the pantry, your own fridge and as much tea, coffee and paracetamol as you need”.
“Do you have central heating?” “Well, yes, doesn’t everybody?” . Apparently not.
“Can we use the telephone?” “Yes, just drop the money in the box next to phone”. I actually said that but do remember reader; this was before the mobile phone era skyrocketed. The honesty box really worked well, a quick call to a mate who would then phone back and tie my line up for hours.
“Do we have a shower/ bathroom?” “You do, you might have to fight through the makeup on the floor and wrestle my daughter for the first shower but there is another bathroom on the first floor”.
“Can we smoke?” I missed a beat while wondering about smokes of the yellow rizzla variety then replied “Nominally a no smoking house but yes, in desperation”. I now have a “smoke if you like” policy. Found too many folk hanging out of the top windows in life threatening poses desperate for a drag. I have also now become a born-again “social smoker” after many years, the result of too many late nights and empty bottles.
“Do you have any rules?” At the time I hadn’t actually thought of any but having an unnaturally abnormal fear of mice I tentatively suggested no food in the bedrooms. This went down OK so I pondered for a nanosecond before answering “Yes both rooms are available, when are you arriving?”
If asked that question today by young ensemble players I chuck in a second rule “If you are going to work your way through the whole cast, do it in their digs not mine but permanent/ steady (?) Partners welcome”.
That was in the beginning. As with all stories a beginning, middle and an end. I am still some long way along the road and no end in sight, a bit like some of the plays I have since seen.
So this was the inauspicious beginning of a small new career.
I rather anxiously awaited the arrival of my first two guests. Rooms ready, central heating on HIGH (It was January) loo paper in massive quantities, towels hanging neatly on towel rails, double beds with linen smelling sweetly of scented de-ionised water, boiled sweets and bottled water in rooms, plentiful supply of hangers in cupboards. All set.
“As You Like It” was coming to town, some weeks in rehearsal and four in production. My first two were adorable; one a real character playing three roles and the other Audrey the Goatherd who was a real doll. They were an unlikely pair, she in her twenties and he in his late seventies. He was an old salt of the first water. Should have been at home with his feet up instead of treading the boards, but hey ho, what did I know.
I was on my way.
It was a doddle.
They loved the house, enthused over the drawing room, exclaimed over the bathroom with its’ deep Victorian bath and were positively orgasmic over the supply of hot water. I was yet to learn about cold baths, damp walls, no heating, fleas and loo paper as an optional extra etc etc. I have even heard a tale of folk on tour in a remote part of Scotland having to cut sods of peat for burning on an open fire; more of that another day.
We spent several happy weeks together, shared a few glasses of Scottish wine and I was regaled with many stories. We had our dramas, a miscarriage two days before first night and no understudy. My brave goatherd said “I have to go on, I will think about it all later when I have time. No budget for understudies in this production”. Such spirit, such guts, such stupidity to anyone not remotely associated with the theatre.
First night came and went and no further dramas. We all rubbed along well together. No queue in the morning for showers or baths as only teenager was up and about and off to school. Then the thrill of seeing the first of my actors up there and playing their hearts out. My gob was smacked. My elderly Corin floated to earth as an angel in the lat scene of the play and the house erupted. My goatherd captured the audience with her wicked smile and cheeky gait. Guess who clapped and hooted the loudest at the end of the show? Drinks in the bar afterwards – that’s the place to get the low-down.
At the end of that run – my first – we took our fond farewells, they signed my guest book and since then we have kept in touch sporadically. I catch glimpses of my goatherd, saw her in Eastenders, caught her in Casualty, those training grounds for so many.
One of the hidden pleasures of being a landlady is that you get to see your extended family at unexpected times in unexpected places. I can guarantee that at least once a week I will see one of “mine”. I often get calls from some who have been become regulars and friends to tell me when they are on, whether it is for a quick flash in The Bill or a big part in a drama. All the joys of a large family without the pangs of childbirth and the expenses of their education, weddings and divorces.
If you recognize any of your fellow thesps mentioned at any time in this column, don’t tell them. If you recognize yourself, call me!!
Ciao Bella or with air kisses on each cheek, “later Dahhhling”. I may tell you of nefarious happenings and bedhoppings when a certain musical came to town. But then again….. I may not.
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