On- no surprises-
Our hero, young and fresh, well fresher-
Trying to take the pressure,
Of being away from home-
It’s Freshers’ week and, when in Rome,
You do as the Romans drink
He’s not a particularly boozy skink
His liver’s still relatively pink
But he has no friends, he needs to make a link
And maybe find a bit of kink
You know, should things happen to slot together, chink in
chink
He finds a bar, takes a seat and little does he think
That this moment, this choice-
Asking in a squeaky voice,
‘Can I sit here?’
Will define his university career
Will shape the coming year-
And the following three
Spoiler alert, our hero is me
Shock, I know
But that’s how these things go,
That moment lead to this-
To me staring into the abyss
That is your faces, no offense,
It’s just I’m feeling kind of tense,
This narrative is far too dense,
I need to start making sense-
Where were we? Ah yes, the bar whence
Our hero-I- whoever- has just taken a seat
Next to a guy, kind of effete,
But his manner’s rather sweet,
And his hair is pretty neat,
And our hero wants to meet
Someone- anyone- screw
tact!
Time to make social impact:
The theatre is mentioned- “Oh, you know I used to act?
Well, I used to shout”
This joke doesn’t hold the clout
That I had thought-
“You know you ought
To come to the theatre,”
Says our hero’s drinking greeter
Neither of us realise just what a lotus-eater
It will be
But I agree
And so my friendship search
Leads me to a church,
And to sign up for a part,
In a show which, hand to heart,
Is the least auspicious start
You could hope for in this art
I played Pocahontas,
And the thing I really want is
To stress my astonishment,
After this non-accomplishment,
That I got into another show-
And not just, any, no-
Amadeus- which would go
To the National Student Drama Fest,
Where it would win Best
Show of the week-
Although people would critique
My particular lack of talent
But my effort was…gallant
I gave it all my lungs-
They say I shook the rungs
On the rig
My voice was that big
And besides this, I made friends and I got to wear a wig
I also wrote a fresher’s slot
Whose general script and plot
Were so woefully misguided
It was universally derided
And so it was decided
I would no longer direct-
Actions were put into effect
And I failed production merit. Twice.
This put my writing dreams on ice
I felt rather dejected-
My work had been rejected,
And now it seemed that others had been selected
To be the rising stars
While I was more like Mars
Big and red and rather dull
Still caught up in Bedlam’s pull
But with no signs of life- just void and null
Little else occurred in those days-
I picked up a catchphrase:
“Alex, you’re cured!” From Clockwork Orange
And nothing rhymes with orange,
So I’ll finish act one there-
Our hero sad and spare
But act two is just around corner, and here’s a chorus we
can share
Bedlam Bloody Bedlam
You got into my head lam-
Entably
Cos ostensibly
You are free to leave,
But like the eagles tried to warn ya
In Hotel California
You may think that you can check out
But soon you’ll stick your neck out
For Bedlam Bloody Bedlam
Act Two
I did a show in Freshers’ week,
Of which we shall not speak-
Safe to say it was a bore
Staging static, scripting poor
It was filler- nothing more
Meanwhile, I couldn’t land a part-
I acted out my little heart,
But I couldn’t chart
Above polite dismissal
Which pricked me like a thistle
Every time I got that missive
So passively aggressively dismissive
“If you want to get involved in any other manner”
I tried to get involved; you said ‘no’; shove it up your
planner
I was tired of taking hits,
I was close to calling quits,
It’s hard to keep on smiling when everybody shits
Upon your teeth
I was coming close to the belief
That I wasn’t good enough; I was somehow beneath
The standards Bedlam set for its leitmotif
I’ll try to keep this section brief-
No one likes emotion, especially not grief;
Long story short, I had a dream- a divine imperatif
It told me to do the wizard of oz- and to do it with Relief
Now this was in November,
And those who remember
Will know that TWWOO was proposed in feb-
So what about the ebb
And flow of time in betwixt?
Well, frankly, it was mixed
A freshers’ slot- Black comedy, to be exact
Gave me another chance to act,
And this time, I think I did quite well-
I was funny, I could tell-
I was feeling pretty swell
But then Panto broke that spell
Playing Santa when you’re depressed is a kind of living hell
Over Christmas, I got better-
I managed to write a letter
To a school across the sea
To ask if they’d take me
For a year away from Edinburgh, where I simply didn’t want
to be
They said yes,
And I confess,
This was a turning point
It’s much easier to not give a crap, when you know you’re
ditching the joint
In Bedfest I was busy; I did five different shows
And of only one of those
Will have you heard-
I’ll say one word;
Rhino. Enough said
Let’s not flog a horse that’s dead
My dream was still in my head-
But now I was leaving Ed,
And time was almost fled,
It seemed
That what I’d dreamed,
Would never leave the shed
I acted in some Brecht
And then was incorrect
In Vatnsdal
Nothing rhymes with ‘Vatnsdal’
So I’ll skip my way to Oz
Which was important because
It was the first play I wrote that was
Not awful- and some would call it good,
It convinced me that I could
Continue to do shows
Maybe write some prose
If I so chose
I felt an end to the lows
And so act two comes to a close
On a shot of me smiling, and fervently packing clothes
Now, I disappear
For a year
To Australia for a jog,
Not too much of a slog
I won’t describe it here- if you must know, read my blog
And now the chorus: Bedlam, Bloody Bedlam
I left you all for dead lam-
-basting you
While contrasting you
With the societies abroad; I should’ve thought, I should’ve
known
That no matter how much I think I’ve grown
I will ne’er
Escape the snare
Of Bedlam Bloody Bedlam
Act Three
I returned
And nothing had been burned
Despite the hasghtags’ augur
Nothing was much morgue-r
Most folks were still about
Though some notables bowed out,
New faces had replaced them
And more or less I have erased them
From my mind
Easy come and easy go, I find
I decided to do fewer shows- work was coming by the gallon
But I didn’t want to give it up- to drop it from my talon,
And besides I fulfilled my dream of working with Woody
Allen…
Kind of
I think it helps me take my mind off
The fact that I have no plans- no solid end game
Oh, but look I’m the dame
In the pantomime
What a gay old time
I never need concern myself
As long as I return myself
To Bedlam Bloody Bedlam- it’s not chorus time just yet
We still need to get
Through Rob and Roberta, Project X, Goblin’s story
Actually, fuck that last one- we’ll say that was a different
Rory
I restaged the Wizard for a more modern age-
Three times the budget, and about eight times the stage
I’ve done quite a few shows; if you’re being unfrifty,
And you count all the lesseners, it almost comes to fifty
Forty nine
Which is the sign
This building bares
To sell its wares
At Fringe,
And although there’s a twinge
Of remorse
That, of course,
I will eventually leave this building’s memory
I still think it’s kind of rad
That in my undergrad
I made the half-centenary
One more chorus, then I’m done
My tale is told, my web is spun
And we’re back to where we begun with
Bedlam Bloody Bedlam
I forget just what was said lam-
Bently
Almost gently
To lure me to this church
There’s been ups and downs, highs and low, you’ve left me in
the lurch
But I always came back after every retreat
I guess the mana’s too heavenly, the milk is too sweet
That’s why no one’s been able to rench me from the teat
Of Bedlam, Bloody Bedlam.
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