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Never Share Your Achievements....and check the provenance of free merch.


                                                                 I'm clearly about to kick off...


I once boasted to Michael Dale, the local graphic designer in Deaven Hatherley, about how much the Avery’s art gallery were sponsoring me. Avery’s were putting their logo on the posters for my post-Edinburgh tour. ‘To the value of, basically, five months’ rent!’ 

I wasn’t paying quite as little as peppercorn rent, more nutmeg husk, but still.


I had designed the poster myself; had a great image; excellent puffa quotes. I only needed Michael at Michael Dale Aids to the Visual (geddit?) to make the design into a document to send to the printers. That was all. Well, who really would ask for more input from Michael than that, knowing he had previously produced such work as the Deaven Hatherley Amateur Arts Trail brochure, complete with sixty-two misprints including ‘trail’ misspelled as ‘trial’; a pop-up book: Travels of a Former Pig Farmeress around the Isle of Wight with a Cocker Spaniel in her Basket; and a history of the Deaven yacht club which read (fully-non-grammatically) like Swallows and Amazons written by the Marquis de Sade. 

Second thought, we can’t blame Michael for that last example. 

However…

My little job took all of five minutes, and Michael charged me just shy of the whole total of my sponsorship — £1,200. (See, what did I tell you — nutmeg husk rent.)

I paid in full, thinking how expensive print costs were: and what a relief to have them covered.

And recently I was…what was I?…ah: discombobulated, when I went to a printing firm directly for an almost identical size run off of a new poster, and they charged me £242.75 plus VAT.

And gave me a free tote bag.


This gift slightly backfired on me. (Here's the bit now about checking that provenance...)


Coming offstage as Madame Galina at Café de Paris one summer evening at 8.40, I was due onstage at the Hippodrome at 8.45. Civvies in the new tote bag, I hurtled down Leicester Square in my tutu. 

Phil, head of security at the Hippodrome, was on watch for me, and in radio contact with the stage manager. ‘Okay, here we are, I have Madame in my sights.' Jonny Woo, hosting, could now start my build-up. 'I swear her blusher is as red as the stop light. Oops, she nearly took out a Danish tourist. I can tell he's Danish from the flag on his rucksack, Brita, thank you. She's passing Haagen Dazs...oh, now – who would have thought: Madame Galina’s tote bag is prison issue!'  Oh my... 'What do we think Madame G went inside for?’ 

After some thought, Brita replied, 'Tax evasion. Has to be.'

Performers being compulsively prone to that.

'Nah,' said Phil. 'I remember when she had that Casino owner onstage from Nevada and he got carried away in her kiss of life shtick. I reckon she was in for ABH.’


Which just goes to show, doesn't it? 


#humor#humour#comedy#funny#secrecy#selfworth#selfprotection#selfhelp#cheat#unfair#sneaky


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