Two of the divas took themselves off in the van yesterevening to the town of Tuam. We were looking for Canavan's pub, so with our highly tuned pub antennae quivering, we parked opposite the Cathedral, walked down to the town centre where all roads converge, followed the direction of a man's wave et voila! we had arrived.
We were in Tuam for a spot of guerilla theatre with Earwig Arts Festival. No balaclavas involved. Just waiting in a room, which must have been a sitting room in the long gone 'living over the shop' days, as the audience came up the stairs past us. Along with the high ceiling, marble fireplace and huge gilded mirror, an actor in a barrister's wig added to the impression that we were 'on the circuit' - some kind of touring show of villains and judiciary that were here to entertain the good people of Tuam.
And so we did! The warmth of audiences (dare it be said) west of the Shannon never ceases to gratify and gladden the lonely heart of the actor. Tuam, we salute you. We went out and did our bit of ten minute theatre and we won't forget the beaming faces, the genuine laughter that rippled and tickled, the attention they gave to the detail of our efforts. The cherry on top was a box of chocolates and a bottle of wine when the judges (judges? thank God we hadn't known there were judges!) came back from their deliberations.
Off we went, happy as two Larrys, and not even the treacheries of the N17 could dampen our spirits. Best production! Take that, you pothole!
* Long Live the People of Tuam!
