Tag: Showbiz Life

Little Tiggy and the Stars

Stage fright? Me?

When I was five years old I became convinced my best friend’s dad was Frank Zappa. I’m not sure how I came to that conclusion. Their surname wasn’t Zappa, there were no guitars or gold records on the walls of their modest townhouse, and Captain Beefheart never joined us for milk and cookies. But my friend’s dad had a big moustache and long hair just like Frank Zappa, so that was good enough for me.

I made another showbiz pal that summer, when my parents took me camping in Scotland. Leaving aside ethical debates about child neglect and whether Social Services should have been informed, I actually enjoyed spending a week camping in a cold, muddy field. And the reason? Billy Connolly was there!

Every evening, soggy campers would gather in the campsite’s musty clubhouse, order pints of Guinness and settle down for a night of music and comedy. And who was providing the entertainment? Why, a tall Scot in a kilt, with long wild hair and a bushy beard! It must be The Big Yin himself! This was better than playing in Frank Zappa’s back yard.

That was him! I think.One night, Billy announced he was to perform a magic trick and needed an assistant. I must have looked like a ginger midget on speed as I pushed my way to the front screaming “Me! Me! Pick me!” He didn’t really have a choice.

“Helloooo! What’s yur name, lassie?”

I was star struck.

“Erm… I… I can’t remember…”

“Hello, I Can’t Remember! That’s a lovely name!”

Billy winked at the giggling audience. My parents looked worried.

“Would ye like to help me perform a wee trick?”

“I don’t know. Is it with fire? I don’t like fire.”

“Well, yees, it does involve me burning a magic pound note… tell ye what, how’s aboot singing a funny song insteed?”

By this point, stage fright had kicked in.

“I don’t know any funny songs…”

Billy was beginning to panic. His assistant was letting him down.

“I know, I’ll sing a song and you can dance! Can ye do that for me, lassie?”

“I… want… Mummy!”

I ran off the stage in tears. I just couldn’t match Billy Connolly’s wit and charm. I’d ruined his show!

Once I stopped sobbing and calmed down, I begged my parents to take a photo of me and Billy, so I could at least brag to the kids at school. They didn’t need to know about my lackluster stage performance. This would leave little Robbie Jones’ photo of him with Cliff Richard in the dust.

My dad couldn’t understand why I was so obsessed with this campsite entertainer.

“He’s Billy Connolly, Daddy! He’s the funny man!”

My dad smiled, grabbed his camera and wisely kept his mouth shut. I’d find out one day.

Just one thought. How did I, at five years old, know so much about foul-mouthed comedian Billy Connolly? It’s a good thing Social Services never found out.

Jobbies.


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Pirats of the Caribbean

Someone's about to get jolly well rogered.

My poor friend Sparky had been dumped by his girlfriend following the “fun lol” incident. Super Dave and I decided to take Sparky to the bar to take his mind off his woes.

Unfortunately, none of us had much money. The barman was not pleased when Sparky paid for our rounds with a pile of quarters. I suspect Super Dave had been ‘fixing’ Pepsi machines with a screwdriver again. We sat at the bar in a cloud of gloom, sucking on lemon slices to extract the very last drops of rum and coke. What a crappy evening.

Suddenly, Super Dave let out a squeal like a little girl on a fairground ride. He leapt from his bar stool and rushed towards some tall, tanned dude who had just walked into the bar.

“Sparky! Sparky! Take a photo! Photo of me and Billy!” he squeaked as he magically produced a camera from nowhere and thrust it into Sparky’s hands. Sparky rolled his eyes.

“I recognize him. He’s that actor guy off the TV. Big deal.” murmured Sparky as he spat his lemon on the floor and pointed the camera at the grinning pair. “Honestly, call acting work? That idiot spends all day getting his hair done, then he rattles off a few lines and gets paid a shitload of cash…” his voice trailed away as he spotted the row of free cocktails lined up on the bar for Billy actor guy.

And then Sparky too was gone, pushing his way up to Billy, shaking his hand and giving him that “I think we could do business” look. Oh no.

Sparky spent the next hour duping Billy into thinking he and Super Dave were talented local actors looking for work. Phone numbers were exchanged and descriptions of recent performances were invented. Billy promised he’d help the boys get some work. Apparently his director friend was looking for help with a costume drama he was filming by the waterfront. Some kind of cool pirate adventure movie, a big name star – a great opportunity for talented actors looking for serious roles.

Sparky and Super Dave were ecstatic. If Billy recommended them, the director would be sure to hire them. The boys spent the rest of the night schmoozing with Billy, racking up a huge drinks bill and leaving the bar with stars in their eyes. Don’t worry, Tiggy would pay for the drinks with her credit card. She’d figure out a way to pay it off somehow.

* * *

Depp is going to be there, right?True to his word, Billy got them the job. I couldn’t believe it. Sparky and Super Dave were going to be movie stars! This director must be desperate. Immediately I began my campaign to ensure I got access to the set. This movie sounded big. Maybe Johhny Depp was in it? He did a lot of pirate stuff. I wanted my picture with Johnny Depp. I’d paid for the drinks that night, it was the least they could do for me.

Sparky and Super Dave were more concerned about the number of ladies present on set. Dressed as swashbuckling pirates, they’d have no trouble picking up young starlets who’d pay for their drinks and do a bunch of other stuff with them too. Super Dave was even pondering getting his hair cut.

The morning of the boys’ first day of shooting, I rushed to the waterfront to wrangle my place on the set. I’d even put on some make-up, just in case Johnny was there. I had to battle my way through a large crowd of excited schoolchildren. Get out of my way you little bastards, I hissed. I’m with the cast.

The sea of bobbing brats parted before me to reveal the spectacle of a great pirate battle. Two giant fluffy rats dressed as pirates were throwing punches at the director. A large purple dinosaur dressed as a cabin boy was running around, shouting “Get these fucking idiots OFF MY FUCKING SET!” Didn’t look like much of a swashbuckling adventure to me.

A giant rat stumbled towards me.

“Tiggy! He fucked us over! Billy fucked us over! Friggin’ kiddies’ dinosaur movie!” squealed a voice from inside the costume. “Sparky’s gonna kill him! Fuck, I can’t see!” the rat squeaked as he tripped over the lighting cables and was pounced upon by two security guards.

Cover your eyes, kids. This pirate adventure was about to get bloody.


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Dirty Dancing

The Chorus line, shortly after Tiggy fell off the stage.

It was a nice afternoon so I decided to take a stroll along the harbourfront. I wandered along dreaming about puppies, unicorns and being spanked by…never mind. A crowd of tourists from the nearby cruise ship pottered around and took photographs of seagulls.

“Yoo hoo! YOO HOO!”

A high-pitched American voice squealed behind me, interrupting my spanking dream.
“Yoo hoo, girl with the red hair! Hi! We really enjoyed your show!”

I turned around to see a chubby couple waving at me and pulling out their cameras. I was confused. I wouldn’t class Tiggyblog as a show. They didn’t look like how I image my readers to be (I assume you are all rather attractive and under 70). I still had stars in my eyes after my recent movie appearance, but that was probably on the cutting room floor by now. Had I been in a show recently? I get forgetful sometimes, but nothing sprang to mind.

The lady tourist flapped her chunky arm and beckoned me towards her.
“We saw the show last night… loved it! I loved your dancing,”
Dancing? Me? This woman was obviously drunk. I mumbled something about being late for rehearsal and fled. I could still hear her shrieking “You hoo, dancer!” as I stumbled away.

I had been a dancer, once. I was four years old and landed the part of “pink rabbit” in the village variety show. I don’t recall much about the performance, although I distinctly remember a rabbit ear falling off and pissing my tutu in sheer panic. Not exactly Bolshoi Ballet material.

Modern dance - wtf?I wondered what kind of freak show I had supposedly been dancing in. I couldn’t think of any dance genre requiring a big arse and the flexibility of a tree trunk. What had this misguided couple been watching?

Maybe it was a contemporary dance show? Perhaps I was in an art-house production about 19th century lesbian vegetable pickers, depicted in a pretentious display of arm waving and scary music. I probably played a carrot or something. But my tourist fans didn’t look the type to be watching arty modern dance. Hmm.

This being Nova Scotia, maybe they had attended a traditional Highland show, where ruddy-faced girls kicked their legs like pit nags to the sound of bagpipes. Oh, the horror! I would never dance like that. My boobs are too wobbly and bagpipes make me violent.

Work it, Tiggy!Then a horrible thought crossed my mind. Maybe the couple were not what they seemed? After all, they were on vacation, full of cocktails and free to go a little wild… in true maritime fashion, maybe they had disembarked their boat and headed straight for the local strip club? Had they spent their evening watching a “show” involving pole dancing and spanking?

Maybe the club had been packed with curious cruise tourists. And they all thought I was that girl who was dirty dancing in a sparkly thong!

My reputation in this town is in tatters! What must people think? A boatload of Americans think I am nothing but a cheap, pole-dancing slut!

However, the spanking part I can live with.


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