Of pestacles and pasketti

Since late last year, I've been taking part in a theatre group. A rather informal group, made up of a bunch of different nationalities, fabulous accents and flamboyant personalities. I was initially hesitant to do it, but I'm glad I let myself be convinced.

When I was little, my sister and I grew up listening our mum sing. In the car. In the kitchen. At musical rehearsals. She definitely passed on to me her love of music. I love me a good musical (and I always enjoyed participating in them whenever I could), but I never pursued singing in any formal capacity, and certainly never thought I could sing very well. Sure, I knew that I could vaguely carry a tune in a bucket, but I never thought I was any good.

One night at my theatre group, the director proposed that, rather than just do a bunch of improvs and exercises every week, we could do a play. A "pestacle", if you will ("pestacle" is to "spectacle" as "pasketti" is to "spaghetti"). I was all for it, until the person writing the play said, "I need a singer, does anyone sing?"

Someone who shall remain nameless (and linkless, because I'm still slightly miffed at him about the whole thing) piped up, pointing at me, "she does!". Ten faces turned towards me, all lit up with enthusiasm. My spluttering claims to the contrary went unheard, and I spent the next month battling with the butterflies in my stomach every time the subject was brought up. I didn't think I could do it, and tried to come up with every excuse not to go through with it. I was a hair's breadth away from abandoning the whole troupe altogether. Learning lines is one thing (especially in French, which is a challenge in and of itself), but singing by myself, a capella, was another.

The day came when I had to sing in front of the group. Their smiling, encouraging faces made me want to pass out. I took a deep breath. My voice shook, but I managed to sing something that wasn't completely horrible. I sat down, and fumbled with my hands. I'd done it. And I could do it again.

As the weeks went by, the butterflies slowly subsided, and something just clicked - and I eventually realised that I was starting to wish that everyone else could just get their parts over and done with so I could stand up and sing. Drama queen, much?

I went away last weekend for a theatre workshop with the troupe. I spent the weekend laughing and swanning around and singing at the top of my voice and revelling in it. I'm don't have any illusions that I'm the next Nouvelle Star, but I am surprising myself and no one is keeling over clutching their ears when I sing - I can carry a tune in a bucket and that's all that counts for me. I've found a confidence in myself that I didn't know I had, something that started with the podcast and it's now blowing me away. it's about more than just singing by myself in front of people I don't know, but about finding my feet in this world - I'm so grateful for this opportunity to discover this part of myself.

The only problem that I've got now is that I accidentally let slip to my in-laws that I was doing this little thing. "For a laugh", I explained. But then I got a phone call from them a couple of weeks ago asking whether we'd worked out a date for this "pestacle".

Now - a couple of friends watching me make a fool of myself on stage is one thing - my in-laws is a-whole-nother ball game altogether.