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Memory lane - some forgotten old words (c. 2013)

  He was late. This wasn't unusual. He’d come directly from some high-end corporate birthday party entertainment gig. “Stop in the name of humanity,” they told him. Or maybe that was another gig. Anyway, he was late. So late that I’d assumed that there was no chance of him coming, and so hadn’t prepared a brief for him. He arrived literally moments before we walked onstage, too late to fully explain what we had planned to do. He joined the rest of us onstage anyway, flashed his arse at the audience, and stole the show.   In Brisbane, he was pricked in the arse with a pin by the producer moments before the audience entered. “Do you know what people want to see? They want to see you stand on a nail. They want something new. Enough pretending. They want something real.”   One summer, we wrote the first draft of one of our big shows whilst working together on La Traviata.    In Sydney for the final gig at Cleveland St we smelt rotten eggs when we entered the building. Thinking that a s

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