My audition is in less than a week and I still haven’t finalised my stories. In the next few days, I will post some brief anecdotes that *I* would consider safe for supper hour television, but that the fine folks who make the show would probably not appreciate. It might also provide some alarming amusing insight into my childhood and adolescence.

After I was born, mere days before the dawn of the New Hope era, my father and de facto godfather went to the hospital to visit my mother, stopping at the hospital florist to pick up, duh, some flowers. The poor dear in the shop made the mistake of asking them ‘So, which one of you is the lucky father?’

Dad and DFGF paused, looked at each other, then said in unison, ‘We’re not sure’.

Note, years later, like, waaaaay later, like, 13 years later, I realised ‘Uncle’ DFGF was gay. Even though, y’know, he lived with at least one partner for years (to whom we also referred as ‘uncle’). And I was already aware that my mother was a 60s-era faghag. Sometimes I’m not that astute.