Cressida (NHB Modern Plays)

I still get letters every day. Not just from men. Everyone thinks I’m just a boyish bugger. That’s not true. I see women as well. They’re even stranger than the men are. They ask me to supper and want me to bring my gown and make-up.

I don’t know. We just do. It’s like a baby falling down a well. You’ve got its foot in your hand and you don’t let go. So you’re not one thing exactly. You’re half man, half boy. That’s when you find you can really do it. And it’s amazing. It’s better than beer or wine. It’s better than smoking. It’s like flying. It’s like finding that wings have suddenly sprouted from your shoulders. You come on stage and everything happens the way it’s meant to. And nobody in the audience looks at anyone else. Because you live in a sort of stolen time that they can’t get to. Except through you. And it could disappear at any moment. You’re like a soldier on the eve of battle. Every night could be your last. And everyone wants to be that special person on that special night. That’s my theory. That’s why they grab old Jhon, J, H, O, N, and give him notes for us. It’s why they hang about at the Actors’ Door.

When you get older. When other boys get tall and clumsy. And their voices drop two million pegs. We don’t do that. We hang on.