Sunday, 15 November 2009

Cold Feet

My cold feet were back last night. I woke up with frost bitten toes and then couldn't warm them up how ever many layers of quilt I trapped them in. Foreigner (Cold as Ice) got stuck in my head and sleep slipped away til dawn was up. We were down to one offspring thanks to a sleep over party of yesterdays "best friend", tomorrows "I hate her" and next weeks "bestest ever friend", so me and the youngest, just the two of us (without Bill Withers) had a quality breakfast together. By the time I had the papers in front of my eyes my toes had melted and all aches had decamped to my arms. It's probably a sign of stress.

Tuesday is our big fund raising gala at the Royal Albert Hall. The last time I played at the Albert Hall I was a sprightly 20 something playing with a succesful, all be it aged pop band. I've always suffered nerves before performances. People say that it's good to get nervous - it channels the adrenaline. Rubbish. I've never understood how to channel anything. It just makes me feel sick. And if there's nothing quite like a super-sized venue to bring out the cold sweat of fear then there's nothing like the stress of fear to bring out the numbness and tingling of MS. Or maybe I've just got cold feet.

1 comment:

  1. One of the best theatrical directors I ever worked with liked to say, "You're not nervous. You're excited."

    Well, you said it best: Rubbish.

    I'm generally OK unless I'm the one who STARTS the show. I absolutely HATE being the one who pushes the "launch" button.

    But best of luck! You'll do just fine!