Love Me Slender

Love Me Slender is the best name ever for a slimming club based comic play. Sadly, the title of Love Me Slender is probably the play's finest attribute. As we were walking out of the theatre auditorium I overheard someone say ‘well, it was certainly different’. Different?! Different to what?! It didn't seem very different to numerous sketches that have cropped up over the years based on slimming clubs. Having said that, it may have actually been written before the other low-cal comedies, like Fat Club, Little Britain, etc. Even so, original or not, it was pretty poor. The main character’s lines were all really clipped as if she didn’t want to use excessive words. I don’t know if that was supposed to be analogous with her attitude towards biscuit consumption, but it was quite nauseating long before the curtain fell for the interval.

Anyway, the play was, er, not the thing, because we were actually going to see if we might like to join the theatre group that put it on. All my prerequisites for amateur theatre were there – a musty smelling bar with wildly inconsistent drinks prices, an eccentric audience (on this particular night comprising entirely of over-sixties, largely owing to it being over-sixties night), and a lot of red velvet. There was one further bonus: one actress so poor as to make us sure we might get a part at some point. I know somebody somewhere once said that acting is all about what your face does when it's not your turn to speak, but this woman took that comment very seriously and spent most of the play contorting her face into Frankie Howerd-esque gargoyles, stroking her chin and scratching her head in response to the most innocuous sausage-roll based banter coming from her fellow players.

During the interval a slightly odd man from the row in front turned to us and asked us if we were enjoying the play. Naturally, since I’m so honest I nodded enthusiastically. ‘Do you girls do any acting?’ Before we had a chance to answer he put on a slightly more sinister tone and added ‘maybe not on the stage, eh?’ How very odd. I’ve no idea what he was suggesting but I felt like I’d been accused of being a hustler or a prostitute and all I did was smile sheepishly and do the ‘hhhm’ noise that I do when I haven’t heard someone properly. Then he stood up, fell over and said ‘excuse me, my hearing aid’s not working’ and walked off.