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i've finally decided on my two monologues for the Grin and Tonic audition.
Lady Bracknell Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr.Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. Thisshilly-shallying with the question is absurd. Nor do I in any wayapprove of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid.Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others.Health is the primary duty of life. I am always telling that to yourpoor uncle, but he never seems to take much notice... as far as anyimprovement in his ailment goes. I should be much obliged if you wouldask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be kind enough not to have a relapse onSaturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for me. It is my lastreception, and one wants something that will encourage conversation,particularly at the end of the season when every one has practicallysaid whatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was probably notmuch.
and
Tamora Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? These two have 'ticed me hither to this place: A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death: And then they call'd me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect: And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed. Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.
all i have to do now is organise my time into learning them, while i work night shift next week. oh the gasm! AND then i have to decide which song i'm going to sing for them. and since i'm allowed to bring my guitar (they like their actors to show off their versatility), i'm thinking it should be one of my own, but i'm not sure which one... oh dear me. auditions are FAR TOO MUCH HARD WORK FOR THEIR OWN GOOD! but hell, it'd be nice to work professionally in the field that's been a hobby for so long.
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willxkemp, does Friday sound good to you? i think it's a safe bet that i'll be slightly recovered from the hells of the night shift by then, AND Pots'll be home to babysit the Sprog.I'm thinking Roma Street Parklands, or somewhere similar, followed by beer.
til next....
~Kits~ (its too early to be confused)
Lady Bracknell Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr.Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. Thisshilly-shallying with the question is absurd. Nor do I in any wayapprove of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid.Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others.Health is the primary duty of life. I am always telling that to yourpoor uncle, but he never seems to take much notice... as far as anyimprovement in his ailment goes. I should be much obliged if you wouldask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be kind enough not to have a relapse onSaturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for me. It is my lastreception, and one wants something that will encourage conversation,particularly at the end of the season when every one has practicallysaid whatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was probably notmuch.
and
Tamora Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? These two have 'ticed me hither to this place: A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death: And then they call'd me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect: And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed. Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.
all i have to do now is organise my time into learning them, while i work night shift next week. oh the gasm! AND then i have to decide which song i'm going to sing for them. and since i'm allowed to bring my guitar (they like their actors to show off their versatility), i'm thinking it should be one of my own, but i'm not sure which one... oh dear me. auditions are FAR TOO MUCH HARD WORK FOR THEIR OWN GOOD! but hell, it'd be nice to work professionally in the field that's been a hobby for so long.
willxkemp, does Friday sound good to you? i think it's a safe bet that i'll be slightly recovered from the hells of the night shift by then, AND Pots'll be home to babysit the Sprog.I'm thinking Roma Street Parklands, or somewhere similar, followed by beer.til next....
~Kits~ (its too early to be confused)
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