Mortified Live; London Saturday, 22nd July 2017 Leicester Square Theatre
https://getmortified.com/live/
Like most of us, my teenage years can be reddening to recount.
I started watching Sex and the City at age 13 and wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw so much that I spent most of my remaining teens casually slipping her pearls of wisdom into conversation, thinking it made me sound smart and worldly to tell my fellow classmates that "men are like cabs" or that "sometimes a woman really does need to be rescued"
And like many others, I kept diaries. Hilarious, pathetic, Carrie Bradshaw inspired capsules of my most cringe-worthy thoughts and feelings, chronicling the trauma of M.I.A classmates; "Josh hasn't been in school for three days...I hope he's not dead!", or the eternal support I had for my friends; "omg Lily dumped Matt and he's just wandering around crying... But luckily me and Abi are SO strong."
Luckily, I am yet to share those with an audience on a Saturday night in Leicester Square (watch this space) however props to the six hilarious women we witnessed do so as part of Mortified.
I'm not going to attempt to review this brilliant piece of theatre because it's just too funny to try to sell. Watch the documentary on Netflix (Mortified Nation) then imagine crying with laughter seeing it live on stage with a beer in hand; you'll get the jist.
At the interval, we were told the London "chapter" of Mortified were running a competition. Tell them your most embarrassing teenage anecdote and you can win tickets to their next show. And so I shared...
For once this isn't a lamentation on my "colourful" school days. This is, in lieu of standing on a stage, my catharsis. You know... behind a keyboard... the cowardly way.
Year 10 Sports day at Tunbridge Wells Grammar School for Boys.
Dreaded, dreaded sports day.
As it was the last mandatory year to take part, we all ended up getting assigned competitions. Never one for sports, or girls, or anything else that would equal conformity in an all-boys school, the whole day filled me with fear.
My assigned competition: the 400m. Just once around the track. Unfortunately I was stationed on the inside lane - thus at the back of the race - and though I knew the lanes were all the same length, I automatically felt paranoid that I would finish last! Worst.Outcome.Ever.
So off I sprinted, not caring where I ended up just determined not to be at the end so that I can avoid further torment! A little while into running as fast as I possibly could, I took the opportunity to make the fatal mistake of having a little glance around me...to see the rest of the race at least 150m behind! Spurred on by the crowds, that one blue Powerade I had for breakfast and my own tragic desperation for this to be the thing that finally made me cool, I upped the ante and full on legged it towards the finish line.
100m from the end, that beautiful white line in sight, teachers shouting "he's breaking the school record!" over the tannoy, that one friend I had feeling proud by association for once, thoughts of proudly going home to tell my family of my success... Then my vision started going a little funny. And by funny I mean black.
75m away and my legs started to turn nice and jellified. My eyes started prickling.
50m from the finish line I started to stumble. And then, like a tragic, desperate Bambi, my legs completely gave way and just short of the finish line, in front the entire boys school, I passed clean out.
Cue: being carried off the field by a teacher, hysterical laughter from the audience and another year of humiliation; including one charming teenager turning the lockers into a pop-up photo gallery that boasted only repetitions of the various stages of me on my way down to the ground as I fainted on the sports field.
Ah, to be young again.
My assigned competition: the 400m. Just once around the track. Unfortunately I was stationed on the inside lane - thus at the back of the race - and though I knew the lanes were all the same length, I automatically felt paranoid that I would finish last! Worst.Outcome.Ever.
So off I sprinted, not caring where I ended up just determined not to be at the end so that I can avoid further torment! A little while into running as fast as I possibly could, I took the opportunity to make the fatal mistake of having a little glance around me...to see the rest of the race at least 150m behind! Spurred on by the crowds, that one blue Powerade I had for breakfast and my own tragic desperation for this to be the thing that finally made me cool, I upped the ante and full on legged it towards the finish line.
100m from the end, that beautiful white line in sight, teachers shouting "he's breaking the school record!" over the tannoy, that one friend I had feeling proud by association for once, thoughts of proudly going home to tell my family of my success... Then my vision started going a little funny. And by funny I mean black.
75m away and my legs started to turn nice and jellified. My eyes started prickling.
50m from the finish line I started to stumble. And then, like a tragic, desperate Bambi, my legs completely gave way and just short of the finish line, in front the entire boys school, I passed clean out.
Cue: being carried off the field by a teacher, hysterical laughter from the audience and another year of humiliation; including one charming teenager turning the lockers into a pop-up photo gallery that boasted only repetitions of the various stages of me on my way down to the ground as I fainted on the sports field.
Ah, to be young again.
