Did I tell the story of my early days trying to make a mark in the South of France, and performing in an empty swimming pool for the great and the good of St Tropez and the Cannes Film festival? We were also accompanied by 24 rutting peacocks (and hens), sundry hungry feral cats, the biggest moths this side of a horror film, and the star of the film 'The Virgin of St Tropez'.
At the pre-show dinner I couldn't get a word out of her, or into her. Portuguese! Pity though. She was a cracker. The height of the evening (for the audience) was when the erotic gargoyle sitting at the end of the pool, gigantic phallus baying at the moon, started peeing all over me and my partner as we soldiered bravely on through the text: someone had found the tap. We finished the play, wet but paid.
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