Don't judge me.
That is an order.
You are allowed to laugh, but only slightly. You are not allowed to send me derisive emails or call me up to laugh at me down the phone or poke me with jabby sticks.
The BBC are holding open auditions. One of those 'talent search' TV shows. To find the next Maria for the West End production of The Sound Of Music.
The thing is, see, that reality TV shows make me want to eat my own head. Seriously. I hate them more than I hate Tom Cruise, and I hate Tom Cruise a lot. Yes, even despite Top Gun.
Despite this I am sending in an application form, to go to the BBC, along with seventy-billion zillion other 'young hopefuls', and warble through an off-key rendition of Eidelwiess to a panel of deadpan judges whose glazed eyes will be fixed on a spot just over my left shoulder, and who will only be momentarily be distracted by my jerky and spasmodic attempt at a dance routine.
Actually there's no dance routine bit in the first stages, but this is how I envisage it. It fills me with dread but I am going to do it anyway.
I thought to myself "I'll just keep it secret! No one will know that I am going to do this! Then if, IF I get through I will tell some people. This way I will save myself the humiliation of people knowing!"
This plan is faultless! I thought to myself gleefully, as I signed into Blogger and started writing about the whole thing on the Internet.
I have been singing that Favourite Things song for about an hour now, complete with Julie Andrews-style expressive eyebrows and excessive enunciation of consonants. "Theeeese are a fyoooou of my faaaaayvourite things..." Oh God.
I need a bit of help, though. I mean apart from obviously needing to see some sort of mental health professional to sort out my apparent need to strip myself of any shred of dignity.
On the application form there are a couple of things that I am having trouble with. Name, age, address I can cope with. There are two questions that I don't know how to answer:
- Describe yourself in ten words, and
- Why should we choose you?
Um. Alright then: I LIKE SINGING AND ACTING (...counts on fingers...) AND CLOTHES MADE FROM DRAPES.
CHOOSE ME. GO ON. GO ON GO ON GO ON.
You see? I need your help.
De-lurk and help me! You may laugh a bit first, though, if you must.