Day 335: Shyster

 Down into the depth of witchy Sussex to help a friend out on a job.  It's dinner theatre for a hen night - a blast from the past.  As is my preparatory foray into the costume boxes in the loft.  Unearth my moustache (that's an odd combination of words) - still stiff with spirit gum from the last time I used it, which must be a good seven years ago. 

Very odd to return to something you no longer do - half remembered, familiar but hazy.  I'd forgotten the awkwardness of the drinks reception bit, where many of the guests are crippled with self-consciousness and will do anything to get you out of character, and onto safe ground.  The tedium of the inevitable 'So, how often do you do this?' question.  My friend Peter used to circumnavigate this by playing a range of eccentrics who would start conversations with inanimate objects (pot plants, statues etc).

Halfway through the starter, the vast majority of people are into the swing of things, several going above and beyond the call of duty.  The spirit gum holds up, and my moustache stays on firmly - even through soup.  Other (less professional) moustaches droop or smear off, but their presence still allows for the sort of overt sexism that is only allowable from women pretending to be men ('Bless 'em - just don't let them drive!').  Much ogling and chat about 'bird watching'.  Cigars being dropped deliberately in front of any of the female characters - 'Could you pick that up, my dear?  I have a very stiff knee' (cue more ogling). 

There is one person who stands on the side-lines.  She's not wearing a costume, and she doesn't make any effort to talk to anyone else.  She asserts in a lacklustre, unsmiling (not particularly shy) way that she's 'shy'.

We manage to wrap up and ship out just before things get out of hand.  There's a fine line between drunk enough to let go of inhibitions, and drunk enough to be unmanageable.  Still - I find drunk far preferable to 'shy'.