ONE FLU OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST Just another Corona jab.

    What’s in a name? A lot of consonants if you’re from Poland, but that’s beside the point and almost licking the neck of racism. So let’s quickly jump to paragraph the second.
    We’re in the third week of rehearsals for Mamma Mia: The International Tour and I really should know everyone’s name by now. Perhaps I do, but I’ve had another cruel and intrusive birthday since we all met, so the internal motherboard is out-of-date and still affected by birthday alcohol. And there’s thirty of us.  It’s not a proud admission, but I will remember your name if I find you attractive and would be quite happy to be stranded on an island with you. Indeed, I use the ‘Stranded Island Assessment’ when discussing certain celebrities with friends. E.g. How long would you need to be stranded on an island with Gordon Ramsey before you’d shrug and shag him? (Sometimes referred to as the ‘Shrug-and-Shag Appraisal’.) If the answer is twenty-two seconds I will remember your name on the spot. The rest of this inscrutable scientific method is, I suspect, self-explanatory and in no need of further illustration by guest psychologists who take the money and run off at the mouth on Big Bother.
    Of course, the opposite is occasionally true, in that I meet you and am so immediately caught up in the daydream of you and me on the island that your name is lost in the sounds of the zephyr through the palm trees and ripe coconuts plopping onto hot sand. So there you have it. Two options if I can’t remember your name. Both slightly worrying.
    No islands are involved if you are female. We are then relying simply on the motherboard, the proximity of my birthday celebrations, and whether you’re funny. Or not. No offence for as we know, I am a gayer.
    I’ve just quickly reassessed my own tally, and I do recall everyone’s name. Good for me. My mental Maldives are still above sea-level. Moving on…
    There are several ways to help learn the names of your new cast buddies. One of these was instigated by our director. We all stood around in a circle and threw a ball, one to the other, calling the other person’s probable name until a general familiarity seeped in. The other was instigated by tradition. We all sat around in a pub and got pissed until a general familiarity seeped in. Actually, I was rather late to this game and didn’t manage it until week two. I don’t know what caused this delay and have since checked my body for signs of late-afternoon alien abduction. I have found none. Or perhaps they resemble the signs of daily life in a big city. Clever aliens. I suspect the real reason is that I live within walking distance of the rehearsal venue and therefore have no need to delay my journey home, ostensibly to avoid rush hour on the tube. The young ones have been playing this game every day since we started.
    A suitable venue had already been adopted by the time I decided to join, and I found myself next to our delightful Musical Director who loves the word ‘c**t’. He admitted to a deep and enduring affection for old Aussie soaps. We’re talking the likes of ‘A Country Practice’ and ‘Sons and Daughters’. After two pints my brain was unearthing character names I thought I had long forgotten, which sent the MD into fits of nostalgic giggling. He couldn't stop saying 'Simon and VICKI!!!! Simon and VICKI!!!!' after my brain heaved forth the lovely Penny Cook’s character name from ACP. Recalling the real-life name ‘Brian Wenzel’ had him nearly sliding off the chair. He in turn remembered Pat the Rat’s best friend (and posh-talking socialite) ‘Charlie’ which for reasons known only to Australian soap watchers, fermented hops and the humorous side of the remembrance of things past, incited a wide-mouthed holler from yours truly. After this episode, I moved next to a drunk ensemble member and he immediately and quietly asks me the names of those I suspect are consciously involved in the poovery movement. It’s a bit schoolyard, but we have had several pints by now and we are ‘turns’. My assessment is brief, incisive, and incorporates the fact that they’ve already said as much. Mind you, a tour like this will eventually and always offer up that piece of information to which we give the name ‘I-Didn’t-See-That-Coming’.
    And because the Universe has such a wicked sense of humour, I, of course, have met someone just before leaving for a year. Someone I think I might eventually like to give the name ‘boyfriend’. For now he is new and he is a man, therefore we shall give him the name Newman. I like him. And he likes me. Dammit.
    Hasta Manana 'til we meet again...