Hmmm. Steward’s enquiry methinks.
That was quite exciting though was it not.
Glock looked like he threw the race though.
So, I got called back for a second audition at FCT today. “Read nothing into it” they said.
I wasn’t really sure what the experience was going to entail so turned up relatively carefree, and a bit late as it turned out, which was a pity because the assembled kids had been taken through two songs, Fagens’s “You gotta pick a pocket or two” and a negro spiritual.
I missed the practice totally.
Half an hour later I was called with four other guys, all of whom could have taken lead roles at the Royal Opera House, to make a complete and utter tit of myself.
In turn, we had to sing two verses from each song for which I was more or less completely unprepared and talent-free.
It was probably the most terrifying ten minutes of my life (although it felt like several hours).
As Pavarotti, Domingo and Careras strutted their stuff I evacuated my bowels. And then I had to sing this spiritual number that would have challenged a Castrato; the objective being to check out our range, (Well, I’ll tell you now I ain’t no Tenor, I’m a baritone!)
The only thing that shook more than the paper in my hands containing the words was my voice. Which trembled like the World Trade Centres on 9/11.
I tell you, I was completely and utterly petrified. My stools were fluid. My life unliveable. My shame unparalleled.
I was not good.
In fact I was not even bad.
My dancing experience, yesterday, suddenly seemed bearable.
I think I might be psychologically scarred for the rest of my life.