Show must go on

On Sunday night, while I was supposed to be on-stage confronting the Ghost in the opening scene of my production of Hamlet, I was instead in hospital getting my ear stitched to my head.

Have you encountered Amanda's unfeasibly large 1970's TV? Very heavy, almost as deep as it is wide . . .

I was carrying it down the stairs. I slipped as the TV jammed against the bannister, and essentially it landed on my head, with one of its sharp edges ripping a cut where the top of my ear joins to my head.

From my landing position, half supporting the TV directly above me, I shouted with surprise, then thought about it, realised that pain genuinely was flooding into my ear, and shouted again. Amanda arrived, and took the weight of the TV, while I slithered down the stairs to examine the damage.

Confronted by all the blood, I went into shock, and also into a macho zone where I tried to work out how I was going to go directly to the play performance. After Amanda pointed out that stitches were essential, and that she would drive me to the hospital and then on to the play, I began working out how the actors would cover for my absence.

After a long wait in a traffic jam, I finally walked the last half-mile to the hospital, where I found their computer system had gone down.

I convinced them that the show must go on, and they stitched me up, bandaged my head so I looked like a divvy, and released me. (I include photos for Torbjorn's viewing pleasure).

I dropped Amanda at a tube station, then drove for an hour to my play, to find out that the announcement had only been 'our director is running late'. This made me sound like a wastrel, rather than a hospital case, and I know there were some audience members attempting to work out the Q1 Hamlettian textual justification of the bandages.

I also know for a fact that the actor playing King Claudius was walking around backstage merrily discussing Macbeth with a deliberate and flagrant disregard for theatrical tradition . . .