Yesterday we performed our first scratch of "Exit, Pursued By A Bear" (more on that in our next post). I played a bearded lady. Specifically, a bearded bride. The day before yesterday I bought a wedding dress on Northdown Road for £15. There is something quite depressing about buying a wedding dress from a run-down charity shop in Margate. The three older ladies behind the counter, however, were very excited about the purchase. Every time one of them spoke, the other two would repeat the phrase - back and forth, back and forth - like a bouncing ping-pong ball, petering to a stop. ("Oh, isn't it lovely?" / "Isn't it? Lovely." / "It's lovely." / "Lovely!") There was then invariably an awkward silence before someone retrieved the ball and set it bouncing again.
I told them I was not getting married, that it was for a show and that I would be coupling the dress with a beard. They did not believe me. Each adjusted the angle of their head, drew a collective breath and continued clucking their prenuptial advice: "You'll have to not eat for a week! That's what brides do." / "Will you bring us a picture?".
Meanwhile a man in his late 80s looked delighted with his spoils, cutting ahead of me to pay for two copies of The Wombles on VHS.