Iestyn Edwards Wonders...is it Lumpy or Runny?

  An oh so proud, pre-plague moment.  Hosting the Dance for Victory Ball at the Blackpool Tower Ballroom.   'After sound check, you have a query out front,' said stage management, pointing.  'Her over there. She's been too difficult even for the circus archivists.' Her over there was a woman with a waved combover, in a sequined puffa jacket, nylon culottes and pink trainers. Wafting Lily of the Valley and carbolic.  'You may have seen my quick step earlier to the Wurlitzer.'  She was giving me an undecided look, her tone no-crap librarian.  'Every Wednesday I've danced here since before even my mother passed on. To the Wurlitzer only when practicable.'   Spiralling her right wrist at me, she said, 'Now, I've got these three expected carrier bags.  In this first one: Happy Shopper vodka. Not paying your bar prices. In two - shrimp that were Morecambe-bought, home-self-potted. In three - glad rags. So, I'll thank you to tell me your ba

                         Filming for C4. "Madame Galina's Whirlwind Guide to Ballet". 'Spectacular and eccentric...More! More!!' Daily Mail .  'Lovingly tart!' The Rough Guide to Choreograph y.  'Essential viewing.' Evening Standard . And, during filming, from the general series producer: 'Iestyn, we are very sorry you got a poorly foot today, but please don't send the director off the set again for - as you view her - being a complete cretin, misfilming your pirouette sequence six "shi*ting" times. We could perhaps discuss your stance that it's "completely mental to employ her to make a humorous piece about ballet, when she's humour less and knows f-ck all about dance". We can't comment on her having a supercilious spoon-face.' You win some...

I would visualise and visualise Madame Galina on tour to London's West End and to Blackpool: wearing a fur, dragging a trunk, staying in old-school theatrical digs, being partnered by either Michael Nunn or William Trevitt: both Royal Ballet Principal Dancers... About to move to London from Aldeburgh, I was walking past the Sue Ryder shop when volunteer Janet banged on the window.  Can you imagine Bette Midler, but mouselike?  That was Janet. She dragged a blue trunk out of the stockroom.  'Don't open it till you get home.  Inside's for you to wear as Madame Galina.  Brilliant you've got yourself that London residency.'  At Murray's Cabaret Club. 'My aunt forbade us girls ever to go on to Murray's in the sixties, you know. "Filth goes in there!  The Krays, that Keeler monstrosity. Filth!".' Oh. At home I opened the trunk.  Inside was a rabbit skin fur.  For cheapness' sake on tour, I would book myself into the class of B and B that

  Xiuying, Chinese herbalist, said she must send for Mr Yong and get a second opinion on my worrying tongue. ‘What is it your job, please?’ she had asked, once I was lying still and not rustling the paper sheet on the cot. ‘And give me your wrist fully.’ I told her, ‘I’m a character actor with ballet skills.’ ‘And what are you performing just now? A sad, distressed character?’ ‘Yes, in my comedy show  Ballet Star Galactica , I play Giselle. A peasant girl, who is jilted, goes insane and kills herself.’ Xiuying clicked her own tongue a number of times — worrying — then asked, ‘Do you like having a kidney function, even a kidney function that’s not very good? Then you must stop performing this thing.’ ‘I can’t cancel tomorrow’s gig. I’m in Leigh-on-Sea.  Back by Popular Demand .’ That was spin — actually, I’d just hired the Methodist Hall again. ‘Can’t I just have herbs?’ I’d had them before. They tasted like melon, Christmas pudding and fox shit. ‘Everyone can have herbs,’ Xiuying said,

I've been offered one of these.  A jardinière.  For my fire escape.   The last time I heard the word 'jardinière' was on video messenger during lockdown.  I was chatting to my mate Finch Loudet, porn actor turned director.   He said that only cohabiting porn couples were able to work under the lockdown rules. On OnlyFans. Often asking subs to send in sex-suggestions. Four days into lockdown, apparently, the subscribers were past requesting pegging, turd play and zombie necrophilia, and instead were commenting, ‘Bit of Vanish Oxy when you next wash the sheets’; ‘Your bedside rug has been turned up in that one corner since Monday’, ‘Forget golden showers between yourselves, you need to water that jardiniere.’ #jardiniere #gardening #pornography #goldenshowers #necrophilia #zombies #lockdown 

  An excerpt from my forthcoming book of interviews: Where Babies Come From. I asked people, ‘How were you told the facts of life?’ And, ‘What information were you given?’ Here is Belinda, who used to be an escort. She is now in her eighties. My sister read about Dutch caps. We looked at Old Masters paintings and wondered how having those funny big white hats on their heads would stop women getting pregnant. In British Guiana, we had native servants who would do the deed al fresco au natural.  From the age of five, I was playing sex with my dolls.  They’d have their dolls’ tea party, a recitation lesson, then I’d have them mount each other. When we came back to England, I had a nanny.   Katrin was fresh from the convent. She was all mummy could get for me.  I expect it was a time of general strikes.  Mummy would send Katrin for breaks back to the convent meanwhile sending me for remedial elocution.  This would happen when I’d said one too many ‘tinks’, ‘fecks’ and ‘gobshites’.  Katrin