When you’re a storyteller, losing your voice is pretty serious. Luckily this week has no bookings, but next week and the week after have gigs almost every day, and having no voice (i.e. the husky squeak that I’ve got at the minute) will be disastrous.
For this reason I’m giving my voice a complete rest, which means no talking -and certainly no whispering – whatsoever.
My family, for some reason, love it. They absolutely love it. Apparently I don’t argue and I can’t be bossy. But the thing is: silence is actually easier than shouting. I don’t have to yell to get the kids off to bed; I just show them the note with “BED TiME” in neat letters and they trot upstairs.
Had my hair cut today in total silence. The normally chatty hairdresser didn’t say a word after I showed him the page on which I’d written “I’ve lost my voice”. I couldn’t even write things down for him because he didn’t have his glasses on, so reading notes was a struggle. So there was no talking from either of us. He unconsciously started using mime to show me to the chair or suggest different products. The same thing happened in Boots – and in Fox’s theatrical make-up shop. People everywhere, meeting someone who doesn’t speak, end up using gestures instead of words.
I bought a red wig for a project about Boudicca. When I put it on, I looked just like Harpo Marx. Brilliant. Long live Pantomime!