BY Georgy, my first hosting gig turned out to be a roaring success.
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Roaring thanks not only to my 1920s finger wave hairdo, but the applause from the audience during our performances.
My significantly younger, prettier and more talented co-host Britney Evans was no doubt a top choice for the role, but how the Georgy Awards Association decided to pair her with me I’m assuming was a mistake.
I mean they had musical theatre stars such as Megan Scott and our very own songbird Drew Walker performing, whose angelic voices make me sound like a drowning cat.
And Notre Dame College opening the night with a super professional rendition of Stick it to the Man from School of Rock.
On a side-note, for those who don’t know, the Georgy’s are regional Victoria’s most prestigious theatre awards.
Essentially, the local version of the Tony Awards. Except we’re all amateurs.
So when I was asked to host alongside Britney, who I’ve been lucky enough to have as a cast-mate over the years, including as my daughter Wednesday to my Morticia in The Addams Family last year, I jumped at the chance.
And I didn’t bother telling the committee they may be getting more than they bargained for by pairing two seriously competitive theatre nuts who would fight till the end for their chance in the limelight.
To ensure that didn’t happen, Britney and I made a pact that we would both get equal stage time before spending the next couple of months preparing our opening and closing numbers.
Before we knew it, the day arrived and I frantically decided I was nowhere near ready.
Possibly due to the fact I didn’t bother to look for my tap shoes until two days before the big night.
Don’t tell my children as I’m always nagging them about being disorganised.
As my luck would have it, I couldn’t find them anywhere in my house, thanks to my meticulous packing when I moved house last year.
Facebook couldn’t even help me because no-one who owned a pair of tap shoes seemed to share the same giant-sized feet as me.
Miraculously, less than 24 hours before my solo tap routine, my prayers were answered.
A theatre friend of mine had recently taken up tap dancing and bought a pair of shoes, which were just my size.
And so, with my borrowed shoes, costumes, spanks (most important item), pineapple juice (its anti-inflammatory compounds are good for the voice) and protein snacks in tow, I headed to Shepparton.
Rocking along to Bon Jovi tunes during the 45-minute drive, my vocal warm-up was complete.
By that stage, my anxiety levels had dropped and I was ready to dazzle the crowd Neil Patrick Harris style.
Yet misfortune was right behind me as I walked into the theatre and desperately went to find the toilets after drinking a litre of pineapple juice and two shots of coffee.
Following the signs to access the outside (but enclosed) public toilets, I closed the door behind me, only for it to lock.
With nowhere to go (including the toilets, as they weren’t even open), I spent the next 15 minutes banging on the thick steel door and screaming for someone to let me back in.
So despairing even the sweat that had been streaming down my body was starting to dry as I had nothing left to give; and my knuckles were red raw from knocking.
I had all but given up the ghost, thinking people for years would wonder where that other host disappeared to, when some little old lady, who looked almost as lost as me, happened to walk past.
I’m not sure if she heard my yelling for help or happened to catch my frenzied waving through the door window, but she noticed me before slowly making her way to free me from my oven-like prison.
Slightly over-dramatic upon my release (I don’t deal with heat well), I thanked her before complaining ‘why all the locks? ‘It’s like Fort Knox in here’.
Not that I figured she would know, but I needed to vent my frustrations to someone.
After composing myself yet again, I stood in the wings ready to be introduced to the Georgy Awards committee.
And yes, there my rescuer stood. Front and centre as that committee’s president.
Who, unlike the people who were almost left wondering whatever happened to the host, the expression on her face was so easy to decipher because she was also wondering (like me) why her committee had chosen moi for the job.