The smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd....

My little sister threatened to stage an intervention for my "internet addiction" as a result of a 6 posts in 10 days frenzy of blogging.  Shortly after which I did disappear from the blogosphere. However, this wasn't an attempt to convince my sister that I am still normal despite not having to go to an office every day (too little too late to convince her I fear, she knows me too well!).

I've been out and about dear Reader (I know I have at least one, even if it's only out of duty/pity).

I have (since I last inflicted myself on the blogosphere) performed a principal role in a Gilbert & Sullivan operetta, been to the Royal Opera House (my first time ever - and yes the earth did move for me) and at the other end of the glamor and escapism scale continued my "helping" out at the kids school (I'm only allowed to use the safety scissors though), done the "Rainbows" rota, been to an Autism support drop in session, balanced the grocery books (complexity beyond the worst set of tangled family trust fund worth millions) and done a thousand and one mundane household things, far too many involving unspeakably soiled laundry and impossibly tiny fragments of food in improbable crevices.

I am, it's fair to say, "mummy" through and through and with every fibre of my being.  I am still at the stage where my "spider senses" are honed to the degree that I have managed to arrive at sick child's bedside with appropriate waterproof vomit receptacle before the sheets are decorated without really being awake.  And yet, performance whether on the stage or watching, rapt, from (VERY HIGH) up in the balcony is a wonderful transforming escapism.

I'm still mummy and if one of the children isn't right then there will still be molecules of my brain vibrating at that "concern" frequency - but they are drowned out by the roar of the crowd, just for a time, leaving me totally refreshed for when I wipe off said greasepaint, or emerge (via many many many corridors and steps) blinking into the fresh air.

This is why, for me the arts and music are important.  (I know that Mr Life After Law would speak in similar terms of that moment at the crease as the bowler runs up and you are blinking the sweat out of your eyes ready to make your 50).  They offer us all the opportunity, not to evade or reject our responsibilities but (in my case) just to set down the burden temporarily and rest by the road. And then, get back up and get on with it. But slightly less irritably.

I recently played "Phyllis" in the Gilbert & Sullivan operetta "Iolanthe" -and each show there was a moment of balance and tranquility - the sort of "I love it when a plan comes together" moment as the scene or the duet came together under the heat of the stage lighting, when you know you and your co-stars have got it together and you have the audience with you.  And it was GREAT. Bring on the next show.  Til then, I'll be  hanging out for cheap tickets to the Royal Opera House and hanging on every note, til it's back to reality.