All of fiction's best tragic heroines seemed to fall victim to some form of lung disease.
The consumptive cough, the fevered brow, the vigil of the loved ones at the bedside. That could have been me today - except for the loved ones bit. The dogs hung around but the humans - rather tired of the death rattle - preferred to keep their distance. To tell you the truth I would have run a mile too, but I didn't have the breath to do so. Okay, I am exaggerating
a bit quite a lot but the hacking cough is really starting to give me the sh*ts (and those around me too). I know I'm a bit of a drama queen, but frankly being able to breathe is, I believe, a basic human need. Anyway while I might have an award winning cough I prefer to leave the real performance arts to the professionals and tonight I managed to enjoy most of Fame Theatre Company's annual drama recital. Theatre etiquette meant I missed bits because the person with the phone they refuse to turn off is about the only thing that gets up my nose more than the audience member with the annoying cough who stays to put off everyone. But I got to see my baby perform from the Ugly One, about a man who is unspeakably ugly. I may be his mum but clearly this was not type cast. But if they are looking for someone to play Fontine I can do a very credible performance of death by TB. Speak to my people.
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