Frustratingly, I appear to be losing my voice.
This is down to a rapidly
advancing cold, which can’t be helped, but the timing isn’t good. I was
supposed to be going to a family member’s hospital appointment tomorrow, but
have cancelled this, as I didn’t want to give anyone my lurgy, plus we’re meant to
be recording the next episode of In Your Inner Ear in the evening. I then have
gigs on Thursday and Friday for which being able to speak would be a bonus, as
I’m not a physical comedian. Commedia dell'arte was never my forte.
(Historical
theatre reference.)
This afternoon
and evening I met with two friends, both of whom I was concerned I might pass on my disease to. Hopefully, I managed to keep sufficiently clear to avoid
contamination. I met the second of the two at a pub that was noisy enough to
bang the final nail into the coffin of my voice-box – and while I didn’t drink
(save a medicinal glass of mulled wine), the environment still did sufficient
damage. I came home feeling like I’d been gargling razorblades (you know that
gargling razorblade feeling?), but a couple of honey-laced redbush teas seem to
have done a little repair work.
It may sound
precious to be so protective of your voice, but in my job it’s essential to
have as much command of it as possible. I’ve only near-to-completely lost it on
two occasions: once, when on tour with the Buddy show, and once when up at the
Edinburgh Fringe. Both were a nightmare, as I couldn’t do anything
properly. I still have memories of the performance of Buddy, in Stirling, when
the state of my voice became evident. I didn’t have an understudy, so had to
soldier through the show, sounding more like a latter-day Bob Dylan by the
minute. It was awful; so much so, that I saw people walking out, and heard talk
afterwards (which was ironic) of refunds. It wasn’t good for the ego. By the
time I had a note from a doctor saying it was just a throat infection, it was
too late. I think I'll invest in a Stephen Hawking-style voice synthesiser in
case of similar future situations.