Jarkko Lehmus Diary

Birthdays, Dragons & Corsets.

I was supposed to write all this shite down last night but supposedly I was too knackered. Well tonight I'm knackered and drunk so I figured it's best to get it over and done with the way things are headed.

Chapter one: Birthdays

I haven't been out for donkey years so when invitations to a leaving do of the company's beloved executive director Norman Quirk and my friend's birthday surfaced on the same night I had no option but to get suited and booted and do my worst. Plenty of free drinks and beautiful ladies later I stumbled across Saturday and another birthday party. Just to avoid hangover I stayed drunk for the best part of Sunday. After a slight distraction caused by work on Monday I headed for another birthday bash and, miraculously, here I am telling you the story. If I was a good boy I'd be asleep getting ready for the ordeal of tomorrows ballet class taken by Pat Neary. Which brings me handily to...

Chapter two: Dragons

Pat Neary is a fire breathing American dragon, or so she made everyone believe during her first week of rehearsals. She's been with us for the past couple of weeks hammering in Four Temperaments. Now she's a lady who knows exactly what she wants and won't have an inch less nor take any hostages. As said before, I'm (mis)fortune enough not to be involved in 4Ts and am reduced to watching the circus, also known as rehearsals, with a mixture of awe and fascination. She's 62, has plastic hips and wears pointe shoes. Need I say more?

Pat in action. Photo by me©

Chapter three: Corsets

Since I don't qualify for tights I just strip down to my jock strap and don a corset instead. For the joy of all and sundry pictures of the slab of meat aka me are slapped all over town in the shape of leaflets, posters and billboards. So when I go to do the kick boxing thing and try to be all 'eats nails, shits chain-dude' some smart arse comes and tells me they've seen a picture of me in a corset. Great. Makes for an interesting conversation amongst the inevitable arse kicking. Their arse that is... Don't mess with dancers, they pack a mean fouette.

Mum I'm doing ok, honest. But you're wearing a corset, son! Photo by me©

This week is the infamous production week. Ages of hanging around and technical mayhem. The show should be worth it though. Or so I keep telling all my mates who want to come and see it. Prepare to be shocked/fascinated/disgusted/embarrassed/excited. A full report will follow.

Posted by Jarkko at March 23, 2004 02:26 AM