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

of all time is Carole’s, mainly because it came to her inadvertently through my misbehaviour. The name has stuck to her not only with me, but also with every member of the extended Barrowman and Casey clans. I suppose it’s not really a nickname since, by definition, it’s longer than her given name, but – oh, who cares, here’s the story.

The night before Carole’s wedding in the August of 1982, her soon-to-be in-laws, Bud8 and Lois Casey, held the groom’s dinner9 at Joliet Country Club, one of my infamous teenage haunts. I was a groomsman at the wedding, and I was also set to play my flute while guests were seated in the church. I had responsibilities.

Kevin, the groom, is from a large family, including two brothers (Kerry and Kelley) and three sisters (Kim, Kristi and Kolleen) and a busload, literally, of cousins, who all travelled down to the wedding from Minnesota. Many of them were invited to the groom’s dinner. Needless to say, it was a terrific party, especially because Kelley, Kevin’s youngest brother, and I turned out to be the same age – read underage back then – and the bar was an open one. Plus, I had the advantage of knowing the guys serving the drinks (from my occasional vodka-tonic charges on my dad’s country-club tab,10 when I hung out at the swimming pool on summer vacation), so the booze was flowing freely.

At some point, after dinner but before speeches started, Carole noticed that her youngest brother was nowhere in the dining room. When she found Kelley and me in the bar, let’s just say, a little lubricated, she lost it. ‘You have responsibilities,’ she hissed at me, oh so delicately.

My response – which is the one that everyone loves to remind her about – was yelled across the bar in pure brilliant Scottish, so practise rolling your ‘r’s before you say it. ‘Carole, you’re not my mother!’

My nicknames for Scott are Scottie – used mostly at home when I want him to fold the washing, empty the dishwasher or bring me some crisps – and Tottie, when I want … never mind.

The family member with whom I share the most nicknames, though, is Clare.11 She and I, in fact, have a kind of secret language with each other.12 All our nicknames have something to do with what we’re currently listening to, or are watching on television, or have seen at the theatre.

The most recent names that have lasted the longest with us are Elphaba, which we use to address each other, and which started minutes after seeing Wicked together in the West End; and, for me, Tracy Turnblad (from Hairspray, which Clare and I both love; we know the lyrics to every song).

One of the performance wishes that I granted on Tonight’s the Night belonged to a young woman – a hairdresser whose mum had died of cancer when she was quite little – who wanted to sing ‘Good Morning Baltimore’ with the cast of Hairspray. On the Sunday night when we taped the performance, it was all I could do to keep myself from jumping onstage with them.

Finally, the newest additions to my personal nickname repertoire are ‘Zaza’ and ‘Crystal’13. These relate to the persona of my latest role, Albin, and were created when I stepped into his stilettos in La Cage aux Folles in the West End in September 2009 (check out the last page of the picture section to see a photo of me in costume).

Zaza is a red-headed Ann-Margret lookalike with a set of gams that could stop traffic … and they did. When Zaza was introduced to the public at a press photo shoot at the Menier Chocolate Factory in London in July 2009, she felt restricted by the photographer’s forties-style calendar-girl poses. Zaza was not to be contained. She strutted the whole entourage outside, took her ‘bootay’ onto the streets of London, and proceeded not so much to hail a couple of cabs as seduce them to stop.

Crystal, on the other hand, resembles her Dynasty namesake with her chic blonde looks and her restrained demeanour. Crystal is poised and pretty to Zaza’s sassy and sexy: both represent two of the drag characters that make up Albin’s repertoire at the nightclub La Cage aux Folles.

I know you all would have a fabulous time with either gal. If you’re planning high tea at Harrods, Crystal will be entertaining company, but if you’re looking for a high time at The Shadow Lounge in Soho, you’ll need Zaza, dahling!

Jinny Baza, over and out.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘DESTINATION ANYWHERE’

★

‘Here’s to you … Mrs Barrowman.’

(With my apologies to Simon and Garfunkel.)

Six things I love to do on holiday

1 Not much of anything (even that’s too much).

2 Avoid sitting too close to Scott on the plane.

3 Participate in local customs (unless they involve bloodletting or sautéed crocodile).

4 Shop for souvenirs (beads a requirement; bartering optional).

5 Send cheesy postcards (with added ‘X’s to show my location).

6 Play Marco Polo (mudslides included).

I love to go on trips with Scott, but he is not my favourite person to travel with. Once I get myself situated on a plane, I like to be left alone. On international flights, I take a black Louis Vuitton carry-on bag on board with me. My LV has everything in it I may need to occupy me during the journey: my computer, a couple of movies or a TV series on DVD that I want to catch up with,1 a book,2 a change of clothes, every charger for every portable electronic device I own, contact lenses and solution, my toothbrush … and its charger, throat lozenges, Polysporin, a sleeping pill, chewable vitamin C, chewing gum, allergy nasal spray for Scott, my iPod, my BlackBerry, my Bose headphones, and my pillow.

When Scott travels, he carries a backpack. Inside, he tucks three or four clean hankies, two or three books, his iPhone, and the daily newspapers that he grabbed when we left the house, which, when we get settled,