We’re going to see Alex in The Last Five Years this week. If you’ve recently defriended me on Facebook, then you’ve probably already heard that.
Alex doesn’t get nervous before a show, though he will confess to butterflies. I confess to a whole swarm of caterpillars, and I sweat like they’re shedding their coats in my stomach, especially in the last five minutes before he goes on.
Afterwards, of course, I never doubted for one minute that he’d be fantastic and not forget his lines or hit a bum note or come on stage from the wrong side. He’s never done any of those things so I don’t know why I worry. I’m a mother; I just do.
It doesn’t help that my nerves are already jangled from the drive up to Sheffield: Snake Pass in the rain, snow or fog (it’s usually one of those three) is not for the fainthearted; I am the faintest of hearted but I’m a mother; it’s what I put myself through.
This is me before a show:
See you on the other side.