The question is… TO WHAT?
So… HOLY FUCK. Last month I won ‘Best Host’ at the London Cabaret Awards!
(Don’t be confused that they’ve removed the ‘Or Compère’ bit from previous years, they’re not suggesting that I’m HOST to something ill-omened or parasitically evil… no inhabiting spirit… as far as I can tell…)
Anyhoo… not entirely sure what I said at the time by way of an acceptance speech, as gin had somewhat taken control of the whole moving/talking thing, but I thought I’d try to flesh out any of that night’s ramblings (apparently I kept saying “shit” -I’m so articulate)
Have to say, I still feel like I’ve only been doing this for five minutes, so to win, particularly up against the truly mighty Dusty Limits and Johnny Woo, seems all the more surprising and IMMENSELY flattering.
In an interview the week before, someone asked me how I got into cabaret and rather than the whole “the wife did burlesque then we did The Double R Club the rest is history” bit, I went with the other (no less true) version, that me being in cabaret exists as a cautionary tale for any other actors who are too lazy to chase work, or indeed too self involved to chase the chance to speak the (often poorly chosen or presented) words of others. Maybe that’s bollocks, but cabaret has given me a degree of autonomy and self-expression that is almost unthinkable as a jobbing funny-looking-bugger of an actor.
A H U G E thank you to all who have helped me make a ‘career’ out of what amounts to make-up, hyperbole and filthy animal-based jokes, not least of course Rose Thorne (the organ grinder to my monkey) as well as everyone who’s ever booked me to front their nights.
Seriously, who saw this coming?
I say again, HOLY FUCK.
I better get on, these overblown words aren’t gonna write / shout themselves y’know…
(pics by Sin Bozkurt)