As a teenager I had two big dreams: learning french and moving to Paris -after reading Julio Cortázar’s ‘Hopscotch’, and working at the Royal Opera House.

The first one didn’t develop any further than ‘Nicolas Le Grand conduire sa voiture dans l’avenue des Champs-Élysées’, but the other one...well I happened to move to London and somehow, last summer, ended up applying for a Front of the House position there. After my second Usher Assessment Morning I got an email from the recruitment department saying ‘Unfortunately you were not successful this time’.

Months later, dressed up as victorian-man-in-a-crowd, freezing, in an outdoor execution scene at night, I overheard a conversation between two victorian vendors where one of them explained the advantages of being an extra in the Opera. Opera. Opera. Opera House. Royal Opera House.

Let me tell you I haven’t had a minute of rest since, but I finally found my way in. The right contact, the right email, the right timing and (((zas))) I was invited to audition today for the role of servant/nurse/dead body/ in their next production. I had number 29.
Let’s see what the recruitment department has to say this time.