I Am What I Am by John Barrowman (white hot kiss .TXT) 📕

back into position before the next victims – um, family – came bounding round the bend.

I could easily have stood next to the Dalek for another hour, but my popcorn and my partner were calling me.3 Problem was, when I turned the corner to leave the exhibit, I had to walk through the gift shop that was, naturally, strategically placed on the way out. All the children and the parents whom I’d leapt out at and terrified had stuck around and bought up all the Captain Jack-related posters and action figures. Before I was able to make my escape, they cornered me for my signature – served me right (I loved it really).

When I’m performing panto, watching the enjoyment on kids’ faces out in the auditorium is the best part of the experience. The biggest challenge is keeping my energy up between the matinee and evening shows. Any audience can tell when a performer is lagging, but in panto there’s no room for even the smallest dip in enthusiasm. A crowd of younger people is very aware when you’re not giving them all you’ve got – or, worse, when you’re not taking seriously the role you’re playing and the magic your character is a part of.

I watch a lot of movies in my dressing room during panto season and I try to pick films with exuberance that pops out through the screen and keeps my energy level peaked. This last panto season one of my favourite films was Kung Fu Panda. Man, I could do all his moves.

Panto is a blast to do, but it’s also a serious business and it can have its own inherent dangers.4 During my most recent foray to Sherwood Forest as Robin Hood, we staged a diabolical move, where the Sheriff captured Robin and bound his hands and feet in cuffs, and then trapped him inside a deadly torture cage deep within his lair.

This cage was everything it appeared to be. Believe me. The cage had massive spikes, which were meant to make Robin Hood into mashed potatoes. Think that theatre sets are all created with smoke and mirrors? Think again. When the designers of the illusion constructed the cage, they knew they couldn’t use fake spikes because, from the seats in the stalls, fake spikes looked like fake spikes. The result was that during every performance, I had to be spread out under countless very sharp and dangerous knife-like spears.

Obviously, safety was everyone’s concern,5 so the drop lever for the spikes had a number of protective features built into it. Nevertheless, whenever the lever was on notch #1, the spikes had only two notches left until … splat! As a final safety measure, the ensemble actors playing the Sheriff’s evil minions were instructed to pay very careful attention to the man in the cage. If I was in trouble, they were meant to free me immediately.

One matinee performance, I was captured and bound, as usual, under the spikes. The Sheriff had not yet pulled the curtain around the table, which was the cue for me to be released and the effect to play out – as soon as I was freed, the spikes would come crashing down. As I was lying underneath those spears, I glanced up – and I noticed that the latches weren’t connected all the way to their safest range. The lever was on the first safety, which meant that there were only two more left until I’d be a walking sieve.

I was clamped down with handcuffs, so there was no easy way to get me out of my predicament without ruining the effect for the audience. While the scene was playing itself out, I started to signal to the ensemble actors, my backup, that I wanted to get out. Pretty soon, I was really getting agitated … because no one was paying any attention to the cuffed man under the deadly spikes. Only when the Sheriff finally pulled the curtain round the torture table, and I was hidden from the audience, was I released.

A bucketload of adrenalin and fear fuelled my anger. I leapt off the table so fast when the bindings were loosened that I scraped the skin off my wrists. Needless to say, everyone offstage knew at that point what had almost happened.

Clare, who was with me at the time, ran behind me as I charged to my dressing room, where I threw a chair across the room, shattering it against the door. I was so furious I could barely speak.6

Once I’d calmed down, and picked up the chair bits, the entertainer in me took over. I told Clare, ‘Don’t tell Grandma about the spikes. She’ll panic and she’ll never be able to enjoy the show.’

‘What’s John doing now?’

‘Trying not to be Swiss cheese in pantoland.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘ON THE ROAD AGAIN’

★

‘If it has tyres or testicles, it’s going to give you trouble.’

Saying on a decorative tile above my back door

My seven all-time, to-die-for, definitive dream cars

1 Mercedes Gullwing (I’m drooling just writing this).

2 A 1964 Studebaker Super Hawk (a car for Mad Men).

3 A Tucker.

4 Aston Martin DBS (stands for ‘damn brilliant sports car’).

5 AMC Pacer (a seventies icon that reminds me of my childhood).

6 Range Rover.

7 Bentley Continental.

Given my love of driving, and my passion for cars – actually, my adoration of anything with a chassis, an engine, and more than one axle – I’m often asked why I’ve never appeared on BBC’s Top Gear. The truth? I’ve never been asked. Because if I were to be asked, I’d be a guest faster than you could shift from first to third.

Top Gear is one of my favourite shows. I never miss watching the programme when I’m home and I record every episode when I’m not. I enjoy the entire team, their banter, and the show’s overall format.

A few years ago, I got in a bit of trouble because, after an interview, when I thought my comments were being made ‘off the record’, I gave an impulsive