I am starting to realise that it is quite an undertaking to perform an audience-based show every night, then race home to write a blog. Especially when (as I did last night) I have to host a late nite show as well.
Enough of your complaining Hills, I imagine you crying, get on with the frickin blog!
Fine then, here goes:
Brisbane Night Two was a long and involved process that started when I found a couple that couldn’t agree where they lived. He said Ipswich, she said Karana Downs. This lead to a discussion with the crowd to find the worst place in Brisbane (or surrounding areas) from which to hail.
It transpired that Gympie was worse than Logan, which was worse than Ipswich, which was a rung down the ladder from Karana Downs.
“Go You Big Red Fire Engine!” was then yelled randomly by a man on the other side of the auditorium, who happened to be sitting next to a Nana who told me she had a terrible singing voice. To be honest, I can’t remember why she told me that. In fact, she said her voice is so bad that when the grandchildren cry, their parents say “If you don’t stop crying Nan will come and sing to you”
I then dragged her on stage (Janice was her name) and decided I would teach her to sing in front of everyone. At this point a woman snuck into the third row, thinking she had avoided my gaze. Wrong!
I asked where she had come from to be so late, and she replied “Sydney”. Turns out she had been away for three days, and had come straight to the show from the airport. As she sat next to her partner they barely exchanged glances, so I decided they needed to come up on stage and have a proper reunion.
Meanwhile an extremely tall man also tried to sneak to his seat – so I dragged him on stage as well. I asked what kind of job a man of his height might have. He replied “Podiatrist”. I posited the theory that perhaps he took the job so he could actually see what feet looked like.
I asked where he was from, then got him to place the suburb on his body. If Gympie were the toes, Logan the knees, Ipswich the arse, and Karana Downs the belly button, where was he from? Stafford he replied, and indicated his nipple. I asked Janice if she’d like to tweak his nipple. She said no. The crowd said yes.
I then discovered that the Podiatrist had a wife in the crowd, so I dragged her on stage as well, then with all the previously mentioned players. Created the following scene.
The lady arriving from Sydney walks through the arrival gates at the airport, sees her partner across the room, squeals and runs to him. Podiatrist thinks the squeal is for him, then hangs his head in despair as the lady runs past him and embraces her partner. Janice consoles the Podiatrist by tweaking his nipple, at which point his wife runs on stage and yells “My God, how could you?”
Podiatrist then yells back “Honey it’s not what you think” and Janice ends the scene by singing “Sing a song of sixpence”
Everyone played their part to perfection, and I took a cast photo afterwards:
The rest of the show was lovely, but as I ended it a man ran from the back row with a folder for me. He told me he had written a short film based on my last show “inflatable” and that he’d like to give it to me. In return he was willing to do whatever embarrassing act I asked him to perform.
With the audience suggesting what to do next, we then ended the show with me singing “Working Class Anthem” while the scriptwriter arm-wrestled Maria my stalker (oh yes, she’s coming to every show) to see who was the ultimate stalker. It ended when I removed my artificial foot, and he hit her over the head with it.
You know – the usual ending.