How many times have I seen amateur theatre directors gruesomely dispatched in that crime drama in what must be the planet’s most dangerous neighbourhood.
It is the stuff of nightmares, and this week I have started to experience a couple of my own.
Because I have just four more sleeps to endure before I make my professional debut as an amateur director.
And clearly I was asking for trouble; ignoring that most sage of advice for anyone on the stage or in film: Never works with kids or animals.
So I chose a show starring exclusively children.
Playing almost exclusively animals.
Yep, the double whammy.
The Jungle Book Jnr opens at the Paramount on Friday and I’m so nervous I can forget about chewing my nails, they went last week.
And I have just as quickly gone through the quick; I swear I am grinding teeth on bone now.
All over whether the show will it be a sensation or a flop?
It only runs for 30 minutes; that’s not very long when you consider the rest of your life. But if it does flop will I even have a life?
Or will I walk the local streets and have people stare at me; angry parents point at me, whispering loud enough to make sure I hear: “That’s the horrible woman who made such a mess of our little Cyril’s stage debut”.
I don’t want it to be a mess for anyone (especially me); I don’t want my favourite little pack of pre-pubescents scarred for life because of me.
My reputation is on the line (along with my neck).
Although you might think I am reaching just a bit about defending my reputation; my celebrity status might not stretch out the front door and around the corner, but in my own little corner of the continuum of space and time I am considered a half reasonable singer, above average tap dancer and a calm and reasoned presence in the face of adversity.
Except my own adversity.
There I turn into a screeching halfwit and my tap rhythm gets drummed straight out the door.
Thanks God this debut is a responsibility shared because in the media, from whence I came, it also means blame half shared. Managed correctly you can even shift those odds a fair bit further in your way.
But my fellow director Lesley Summers and I are both representing Echuca-Moama Theatre Company and we don't really want to go down as the doomed duo directors.
Because if you blow your first opportunity in this field you might as well have stayed on the Titanic – the death there would have been quicker than 30 minutes once you got thrown overboard.
But there is nothing for it but to gird my loins, get my lion taming whip (borrowed not owned for the more lascivious amongst you) and get cracking to make those kids focus on my future.
After all, I would actually like to be asked to direct again, one day.
As soon as my fingernails have regrown and I can stop creeping around town in gloves to hide my absolute and complete cave-in at the mere thought I might be anything other than a smash hit.