It’s when you get inside the theatre
And you can smell the hazer
And see the depth of the stage
That you remember what all these hours have been for
 
You walk through the wings
And stand under the glow of the lights
And feel a sense of relief
Feel like you’re home
 
The delicious adrenalin sheer hard gut busting work of it 
Because sometimes you do wonder why you’re here
Standing in line with hundreds of others
Belting as high as they can
Articulating gesticulating and explicating
 
But it’s the relief of being there
On the stage
Working with the director and the lighting designer and the costume designer and the stage manager and the musical director and the musicians and the ensemble and 
All the myriads of people who work unseen to make the magic happen
  
Not really magic
Just sheer hard work and determination
Hour upon hour of rehearsal
Sometimes you wonder where a whole afternoon went
Because when you look at the script, you’ve only covered a page!
But the continual repetition and drilling and finding meaning in the text
Is where you find the magic 
 
Meters of fabric
A team of dedicated souls 
And a room
Become transformed into countless other worlds
Where people sing and dance and act
Often at the same time! 
And it makes you so happy
Makes your blood pulse through your very being 
And reminds you why it is you chose to be here
 
The end. 

Despite my pasaporte de España
I’m not fluent in the language
An 8-week course and a little time in Spain 
Do not a fluent Spanish speaker make
But I can follow a conversation
Catch words I recognize
Get the gist
Churros con chocolate for breakfast
Now there’s a language I understand! 
 
The energy of the island
The blanco of the houses
My titos, relatives who lift my heart and soul and make me laugh
Spoil me rotten
Feed me up with tortilla y papas arugadas con mojo
The onions and garlic and olive oil
National signifiers of Spanishness
The essential ingredients to any good meal
(Remember standing in the markets in Islington
And the three musicians
Who played flamenco music
Were set up next to the olive oil stand
And you thought that was very appropriate
The glorious delicious cliche of it)
 
And from the tiny aeropuerto
You can fly to Nuremburg or Madrid or Varsovia or Gran Canaria or Gatwick or Amsterdam
And you think no matter how long you’ve been away from
Your island home
Far away in another hemisphere
The novelty of being able to travel to such destinations for a weekend
Will never quite wear off
And you’re entirely grateful
That so much of the world is your oyster
And you can understand enough to say
Gracias. 
 
The end.