Sometimes, you need to make a quick exit

In my time at Bath’s world conquering Natural Theatre I was involved in some pretty weird gigs. The company specialises in unannounced street theatre performances that appear out of nowhere, invariably cause chaos and then enigmatically disappear.

The more going on, the more we can add.

At Melbourne Comedy Festival we were sponsored by the public transport corporation. Thus, we invaded a board meeting in our naked suits and were obliged to perform in and around Flinders Station with its famous row of clocks where our trademark Pink Suitcases scenario fitted perfectly. Our catchphrase ‘I’ll meet you under the clock’ came into its own: there were nine clocks to choose from!

We also had a free hand to board any train. Reactions varied. Sometimes the whole carriage joined in, but should one be coldly ignored, one could simply alight at the next stop and board a jollier train going in the opposite direction.

Then the management decided that certain suburban stations, hardly bustling hubs, needed livening up. Imagine Oldfield Park station on a wet Wednesday afternoon. Even we couldn’t liven that up. We were obliged to do the full forty minutes as per the contract, but as we milled around with our painted suitcases or toddled about in our Conehead masks with just the organiser and a couple of cleaning staff as audience, we prayed for a train to pull in so we could make our escape.

At one station there weren’t even any cleaners to witness our efforts. Our chosen scenario involved a bevy of highly voluptuous ladies of the night, known fondly as the Leopard Skin Tarts. These we paired with a group of bowler hatted city gents. Each gentleman had a tiny yapping toy dog in tow (high status undermined by low status in Arts Council-speak) creating a ludicrous cacophony, while the ladies draped themselves provocatively on any street furniture that came to hand. Highly meaningful and at the same time hilarious especially when the city gents eye up members of the public while totally ignoring the salacious temptations offered by the tarts.

But there being nobody, and I mean nobody, to witness our actions, we hid behind a hoarding. Then a car drew up and out jumped a quartet of Mormon elders. At first, we thought we’d been double booked with another street theatre group, what with the immaculate haircuts and the regulation black suits and ties. But no, they were the genuine article and had organised a little outing to see our ‘show’. The scenario we had chosen hardly seemed appropriate for the ardently religious, but though they barely cracked a smile, they took endless photos. However, there’s only so much humour to be squeezed from eyeing up four Mormon lads, so noting the imminent arrival of a train we took our onetrick pony and crossed to the other platform.

An efficient and timely exit? Well, not really. My little toy dog got caught in the rails and I had to abandon it. Consequently, it was totally crushed by the incoming train.