When I was younger, I was absolutely convinced I was destined for stardom. Not just any stardom—huge stardom. Think Judy Garland, Barbra Streisand, Elaine Paige belting out Memory with the weight of the world in her voice. Musical theatre was my calling. The West End, Broadway, a glittering career of standing ovations and emotionally charged key changes. That was the dream.
In reality, the closest I got was playing Sandy in my high school’s 1990 production of Grease. And I genuinely thought—deep down in my naïve little soul—that this would be my launchpad to fame. Never mind that I had no agent, no connections, and no actual plan. I just assumed I’d be discovered. Someone, somewhere, would stumble across my raw talent and say, “Yes! Her! The future of musical theatre has arrived!” This was, of course, ridiculous for many reasons, not least because I spent my teenage years working on a bacon sandwich van. Not exactly the Les Misérables trajectory, is it? Imagine Cameron Mackintosh pulling up for a bacon bap and thinking, ’You know what this greasy-fingered girl needs? A West End debut!’ Alas, he never did.
So, instead of jazz hands and dramatic spotlights, I became a teacher. Sixteen years of inspiring (or at least attempting to) the next generation. Then, as if out of nowhere, I veered off into comedy, and for some reason, that stuck. I love it, I do, but I can’t help feeling a pang of envy when I see people making a living from singing and acting. That’s the dream I never quite managed to let go of.
I did try musical comedy, but barre chords are so unnecessarily difficult. Like, if the Gallagher brothers can do it, how hard can it be? (Spoiler: very.) I bought a keyboard, thinking maybe I could just bash out a few chords and sing my way through stand–up sets, but dragging that around quickly lost its appeal. The comedy scene is rough enough without lugging around an entire portable piano.
That said, I have managed to sneak a bit of music into my stand–up. I do a bit about country singers and how they own their hometowns—singing about them in their broadest accents, making them sound like the most romantic places on earth. Megan Moroney sings Georgia Girl in this beautiful Southern drawl, and when I sing a bit of it in my set, it always gets applause. So then I do a UK equivalent… except I’m from Birmingham. I take the same tune, swap the lyrics, and sing it in my thickest Brummie accent. Somehow, that gets applause too, probably out of sheer admiration that I can make Birmingham sound remotely sentimental.
It’s self–indulgent, I know. I don’t do it at every gig—it’s a “read the room” bit—but I love doing it. It’s as close as I get to my musical theatre dream. For a brief, shining moment, under the stage lights, I am a star. Not quite Judy Garland, but then again, Judy never had to compete with a bloke doing ten minutes on Greggs….
Still, though. Those barre chords. So annoying.
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