The past few weeks have been spent in the enclosed rehearsal spaces of the Ambassadors Theatre in London’s West End, preparing and finally opening in Private Lives. Shut off from the world as I am, we could have become a colony of North Korea for all I know. And yet some things do penetrate – who could fail to be horrified and appalled by the twin disasters in North Africa recently? These two devastating events have resulted in the deaths of an ever-rising number of tens of thousands of people. And yet they already seem to have dropped off our news coverage. Has the enormity of the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami made the western world immune to such disasters? How can the latest news from the Strictly studio occupy more space in news outlets than Morocco or Libya? Madness.
It is so good to finally perform in front of live audiences. No two audiences are ever the same; reactions can vary wildly and that is part of the thrill of performance and what keeps us on our mettle. You can always feel early on whether the audience is with you, or whether you have to work that little bit harder. You really have to earn the applause at the end. Noël Coward did this play when he was 30 and complained endlessly about feeling exhausted. I’m 71!
In his Diary a few weeks ago, Richard Madeley wrote that he is often mistaken for me. Yet not once have I been mistaken for him – what’s that about?
During my stint in the West End, I often walk to the theatre from my home in west London. The reverse not so much, as walking through theatreland in the dark doesn’t feel that safe.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in