The Not So Secret Emails Of Coco Pinchard (26 page)

CHAFING DIANA SPENDER: THE MUSICAL

Three squares down, there was a huge fake plastic balcony, covered in fake plastic grape vines. Boxes of wine and cups were stacked up to the ceiling. I walked over and saw the sign, which read;

REGINA BATTENBERG’S WINDOW BOX WINEMAKING LIVE!

Rosencrantz noticed me standing with my mouth open and came over.

“I wanted to tell you, but we thought it was best you didn’t know, whilst you were writing.”

“What?”

“We found out last week. Regina Battenberg is doing a chat show here,” he put his arm around me.

“In the same theatre?”

“Yup.”

“In our theatre?”

“She’s got the 7pm slot… Were we right not to tell you?” I suppose it made sense, but now I have a horrible, horrible feeling about being here, being compared and ridiculed. The pressure is even greater.

A girl in a hard hat came over and told us to get moving as the cars were backing up. I didn’t have time to think and we unloaded the rest of the props and costumes.

Palace Apartments were no better. Everyone was waiting on the pavement in the dark with their suitcases. Just as we got there, Mrs. Dougal the landlady arrived to let us in. She was wearing a kilt and a headscarf and showed us where we have to feed in fifty pence’s for the electricity meter.

Quite why the actors applauded this I don’t know. They seem to applaud most banalities told by anyone with a little authority. When Mrs. Dougal had gone, we chose our rooms. I am sharing with Chris, and Rosencrantz is with Clive. Palace Apartments was once a proud, elegant Victorian terraced house, but plasterboards appear to have been thrown up with no regard for ambience. The bay window in the front room is chopped in half by a thin wall running along the middle, and where it doesn’t quite meet the glass, bog roll has been stuffed in the gap.

However, the actors all seemed thrilled, having apparently stayed in far worse. Spiffy was telling everyone how she was concussed when the ceiling collapsed on her once during a tour of Arsenic And Old Lace with Lesley Joseph. “I still did the matinee,” she said proudly.

Byron to her credit has been amazing. I went to see her in the little office she had set up in what looks like the old scullery.

“You heard about Regina Battenberg,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. My eyes began to well up and to my surprise, Byron hugged me. The ZZ Top t-shirt was kicking out a whiff, but I was grateful and hugged her back.

“I may be a complit bitch,” she said, looking me in the eye. “But I think thus is a fantistic show and I’m only a butch because I want it to be a big hit.”

“Thanks Byron,” I said. She then showed me how she had hacked into the Wi-Fi signal in the Pawnshop next door so we can look at our online ticket sales. We have sold nineteen tickets for the whole run. It doesn’t even equate to one ticket for each show, but it is a start.

I just know Regina Battenberg is going to wipe the floor with us.

Tuesday 4th August  23:44

TO: [email protected]

We did our dress rehearsal today. Our theatre, the Carnegie Main
is one of six venues in the old Abattoir. It has three hundred seats. As we were arriving, the show on before us, One Man Titanic
was just finishing its dress rehearsal. We had to help the actor out of his costume when one of his funnels got jammed in the doorframe.

I asked Byron if he had been using a special aroma machine because it stunk of seawater, but apparently it’s from real seawater leaking in. The Leith is tidal and the Carnegie Main sits below the water table.

We used up all the time we had for our technical rehearsal so we didn’t quite get to the end of the play, which was alarming. Chris had a crisis when he saw that the stage is triangular as opposed to the square shape we have been working with, so now the positioning of the actors is wrong.

When we finished, Hugo had to be rushed to hospital. Byron had mistakenly bought air-fix model aeroplane glue, instead of latex glue for his stick on Prince Charles ears.

“Ah this is Edinburgh for you,” said Clive. “It’ll get better!” We have sold two tickets for the first show tomorrow.

Tuesday 4th August  12:00

TO: [email protected]

I have just been to the Carnegie Theatre box office and none of the journalists who received our press release are coming. We have only sold
two
tickets out of three hundred for today.

The actors have been giving out flyers on the Royal Mile since eight. I made them do it in costume, to help with publicity. I thought Rosencrantz would attract the gay audience if he wore the speedos he has in the Cannes beach sequence. It’s very cold though. He went blue at ten thirty and he’s being cared for by a couple of Polish girls in a sandwich bar. They have wrapped him in catering foil.

Hugo is making everyone depressed. He keeps repeating how his life as an actor is a joke. He had to sit in Casualty until two this morning in huge prosthetic ears. Byron is mortified.

Tuesday 4th August  17:12

TO: [email protected]

The two paying customers in the audience were a nice couple from Lowestoft. I sat a couple of rows behind them with Chris. They were very polite afterwards, and said they would ‘spread the word.’ I am tempted to follow them and cut the brakes on their car. It was a disaster. We had forgotten lines, people falling over, and Spiffy had a wardrobe malfunction with a jammed chinstrap, so Camilla Parker-Bowles was still wearing her riding hat when she was in the bath with Prince Charles.

The cast is meeting for an urgent rehearsal in the living room of Palace Appartments. There was barely room for the actors, so Clive offered to take me out for afternoon tea.

We went to The Elephant House tearoom, where JK Rowling allegedly scribbled the first Harry Potter novel on napkins, sheltering from the cruel Edinburgh wind. She must have cleaned them out. The little napkin I got with my scone could hardly fit a limerick.

During his second scone, Clive very politely brought up the subject of money. I was mortified that in all the chaos, he hadn’t been paid. As I fished in my bag for his envelope of cash, he asked me if I knew of a reasonable tailor. His ragged clothes are not much against the Scottish weather. I said he could get a lovely suit for under fifty quid from George at ASDA.

“Lets tally ho then!” he said excitedly.

ASDA is a little way outside Edinburgh and as we drove, the sky seemed to get greyer, which made me more despondent. Clive’s mood also dropped when he realised that George at ASDA was not an in-house tailor.

I heard him mutter, “stiff upper lip Richardson,” to himself as he selected a decent off the peg suit, and a lovely warm coat.

As we reached the checkout, my phone went off with a message from Byron. We have sold only one ticket for our show tomorrow. I turned to the chewing gum rack and tried not to cry.

“Come on dear girl,’’ said Clive, handing me a napkin. “Now is the time for guts and guile.”

On our way back I drove slowly past the Carnegie Theatre. Outside was a huge queue for Regina Battenberg’s show.

“I’ve never given much cop to British wine,” said Clive loyally. “Only good for sterilising wounds.”

When we returned, Chris said the rehearsal had been a success. They were all tucking in to take away and singing show tunes at the tops of their voices. I came upstairs to lie on my camp bed. I don’t know if I can take a month of this. It’s a bit like I am on a school trip… I am thinking about Adam again.

Wednesday 5th August  16:30

TO: [email protected]

No audience at all today. We did sell the
one
ticket, but the person turned up late and the theatre refuses to admit latecomers. It’s a shame because it was much better, everything worked well, and the actors were far less nervous.

Hugo and Beryl were very unhappy in the bar afterwards. They told Byron, who told Chris, who told me that we should have observed the theatre tradition that if the actors outnumber the audience then they don’t ‘go on.’ I am worried there will be cast a revolt. Right now getting seven people to buy tickets seems like a tall order.

After a stiff drink, I went to the box office and spoke to a camp young chap in huge Jarvis Cocker-style glasses.

“Why didn’t you paper the house darling?” he drawled. I looked at him, confused.

“Paper the house,” he said. He saw my confusion.

“Darling. Paper means free tickets, House means theatre. The Carnegie gives you a hundred tickets per show per first three previews, helps with the word of mouth.” I asked if everyone was papering.

“Oh yes, everyone’s houses are thoroughly papered.”

“What about the Regina Battenberg chat show?”

“
Heavily
papered,” he said knowingly. Byron offered to resign when I told her. She started beating her breasts and saying she had, ‘lost face’ and ‘brought shame on her profession.’

I poured her a drink and said she wasn’t going anywhere. Without her this will all fall apart, she’s the only one who can get the actors up to give out leaflets in the morning.

Friday 7th August  06:00

TO: [email protected]

Regina Battenberg was on ITV’s This Morning
yesterday morning, doing promo for her chat show. What with the exposure to millions of viewers and the fact she gives her audience free booze, I can never compete.

No one is buying our tickets, and the few that have done seem only bought one to get out of the rain. Yesterday we had a smattering of old people with their wet coats slowly giving off steam.

I miss seeing you, my house, and pootling around the Allotment. I need space! Sharing a box room with Chris is fine but he has been having nightmares about the show and keeps shouting out in his sleep. He woke me up at five so I came for a walk up to Calton Hill. I am sitting smoking a on a beautiful monument. It is based on the Parthenon in Athens. A row of huge pillars sits on a marble base. It has no real purpose, and it is quite extraordinary to see it shrouded in mist, on a hill in Scotland.

Below me, Edinburgh is twinkling in the dawn. Today is a big day — we have a reviewer in from Scotsgay magazine. Byron is getting everyone up at seven to be on the Royal Mile by eight. I know the actors, especially the older ones, aren’t going to like it.

“We don’t operate before ten,” they keep saying. I have now had to bribe them with proper cigarettes. They all smoke roll-ups.

Have you seen Adam at the Allotment? If so how was he looking? Did he ask about me? When are you coming to visit?

Friday 7th August  18:40

TO: [email protected]

Ten in the audience today, which halted a cast revolt. Scotsgay sent a teenage Royalist. He was horrified with just about everything in the show. He found Charles and Camilla’s singing sex scene crude, and he hated how Lady Diana Spencer is played as a rather dim Sloane Ranger. He said we were committing treason. Well, he didn’t say it to me; he spent twenty minutes talking to Rosencrantz who told me. Scotsgay goes to press tomorrow.

Regina Battenberg’s chat show sold out today. Her special guests were Keith and Orville.

Saturday 8th August  15:30

TO: [email protected]

Just an update on figures:-

Reviews: None, we are not in the new edition of Scotsgay and no one at Scotsgay is taking my calls.

Audience members: Eight

Hours it has rained today so far: Twelve.

Chris woke me up at three-thirty this morning shouting, “I’ve cursed the play!” Morale is very low. We all got soaked this morning, and the heating is off in the flat. No one has any fifty pence pieces. As of now, we haven’t sold ANY tickets for tomorrow.

The only good thing is that I have managed to avoid Regina Battenberg, which is easy; she wouldn’t be seen dead in Leith. She is staying in the penthouse at The Scotsman Hotel.

Sunday 9th August  17:00

TO: [email protected]

Today plumbed new depths for the show. When four people turned up to watch, Beryl and Hugo refused to go on stage. No amount of cigarettes could get them to change their minds. Spiffy accused Beryl and Hugo of being unprofessional, and soon a week of pent up emotions were released.

I had to go on stage and announce, over the arguing backstage, that the performance was cancelled. The audience, consisting of two elderly couples, left, but then reappeared two minutes later to demand a refund. The Carnegie told them they hadn’t authorised the cancellation, so we were liable.

I have never felt so depressed as when I was rummaging around in my handbag to give them their money back. The backstage argument then spilled out onto the stage as Queen Elizabeth slapped Camilla Parker-Bowles across the face. Prince Charles stepped in and tried to separate them. Clive who was watching in horror began to improvise some dramatic music. For a moment, one of the pensioners looked unsure about his refund, but his wife snatched the money out of my hand and pulled him away.

It was then that I walked out. I took a back road away from the hordes of tourists on the Royal Mile and made my way through the winding streets smoking furiously. Then my phone went. It was Angie saying she had just landed at Edinburgh Airport. The Carnegie Theatre management has called an emergency meeting to discuss ‘ongoing audience attendance issues.’ There was yelling and shouting in the background. I asked what was going on.

“There’s photographers all over the Airport,” said Angie. “Kate Moss is flying in.”

“Is she coming to the Festival?”

“Look” said Angie pausing. “You’ll probably hear anyway, she’s here to do Regina Battenberg’s chat show. It’s attracted huge media attention. Kate Moss rarely speaks, let alone does interviews.”

We are just waiting to go into the Carnegie Theatre Manager’s office. Angie is muttering to herself and Chris is in tears saying that everything he touches is doomed to fail.

Sunday 9th August  18:04

TO: [email protected]

The Carnegie Theatre Managers are Inga and Orla Shaw, identical twin sisters in their early twenties, and they hate us. They had wanted Anne Frank: Reloaded and through Angie’s underhand dealings, we foisted Chasing Diana Spencer: The Musical onto them. Now it was payback. They were dressed very Hoxton cool in matching blue Victorian lace dresses with a high frill collar, and space age reading glasses. I could see they were trying to be cool, but they looked a bit like the twins from The Shining off to see something at the IMAX.