Ten years ago I devised a stage musical based on the film Priscilla Queen of the Desert. We developed the script in a workshop in Melbourne where everyone was invited to suggest ideas, songs and scenes. A most relaxing kind of writing ensued where the author simply jotted down the best notions. My favourite was:
Sad Female Impersonator: “Why do we go on, enduring insults and being overlooked like this?” Flamboyant Female Impersonator: “It’s so we can be more like real women.”
I stopped commuting to Australia after the show opened and it went on to conquer the world. But that season was spent in a blur of jet lag, made worse by trips to California to negotiate and acquire rights from MGM. “Blur” is an inadequate description of hefty jet lag. The brain ceases to function properly, and gives one the symptoms of a marginal stroke victim. You reach for strategies to conceal the deficiencies, like victims of early dementia. It’s the pilots I worry about.
