You are GOLD!
I was the King who presented the baby Jesus with gold. I was so awesome and did such a regal bow (of which my mother still remembers with pride 25 years on) that they chose me again the next year to be the gold delivering king.

I even had my own bitches, sorry...handmaidens to carry the bottom of my cloak as I walked majestically to the nativity scene, although one year they picked the girl with the wonky eye and snot running down her face to be my bitch, sorry...handmaiden which took the edge off my regal splendour somewhat.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 9:46, Reply)

THE NAKED CIVIL SERVANT
I put my head in my hands and sobbed.

"Are you alright?" asked the man behind the desk. "I know this sort of situation can be emotional... Would you like me to get you a glass of water."

I shook my head, I felt numb and suddenly violently ill.

"You don't understand," I murmered. "You don't understand..."

But lets go back to the previous evening -

I'd arranged to meet Gina at a nice restaurant in Farringdon. A blind date arranged on an internet dating site. We'd exchanged emails and photos, she seemed nice and see seemed to like me.

I sat at a cosy table for two, candles, breadsticks, a bottle of lager. I was nervous as hell. Gina was a high-flying civil servant, she was responsible for alot of people and I have to admit I was ever-so-slightly intimidated.

After I'd started my second bottle of lager I glanced up at the big ornate clock - Gina was twenty minutes late... Shit... I've been stood up...

But then the doors swished open and in walked Gina wearing a trim pinstripe business suit. Her eyes levelled on me, she smiled and strode over.

"Sorry I'm late, Spanky. Got stuck in work," she reached up behind her gorgeous jet black hair and released the pin she had holding it in place. Great lovely curls spilled down over her shoulders and I felt my cock twitch.

"No problem," I beamed. "Please, take a seat."

We ate an amazing meal, chatted and laughed. Things were going very well. After we'd eaten Gina suggested we go to the bar next door and find a comfy sofa. Yay!

So, we move the evening next door. Gina buys all the drinks and after an hour or so we're both pretty pissed. At one point I'm considering showing Gina my pink elephant routine (that's how pissed I am by this stage), but before I can pull out my pockets and wrestle with the trunk in my pants, Gina leans forward and jams her tounge into my mouth. Its electric, her tounge probs round, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Her hand finds my knee and starts working up towards my crotch.

Suddenly, she stops.

"I just need to visit the ladies room," Gina says with a wink.

Moments later she returns, adjusts her skirt, and sits down next to me. She reaches over and takes my wrist and puts something hot and moist in my palm. I look down.

"I thought you might like these," she says.

Its her panties.

"I really don't like wearing them," she smiles wickedly. "Would you like to come back to mine?"

Oh fuck yes!!! Yes I would!!!

Then we're in a taxi heading over to Gina's posh flat in Kensington. I slip my hand up her skirt and touch her, she's wet and hot and... SHAVED!!! Wooooo!!!

Gina pays for the taxi and we step into her building. I look up at the place and realise Gina must be earning an absolute shitload. The last time I'd been in a place as posh as this was when I was up in court after that nasty incident with the Swedish tourist and the bicycle clips.

Gina takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. She stops half way up, hitches up her skirt and reveals her perfect arse.

"Eat me from behind, Spanky," she demands.

Well, being a gentleman, I oblige. Gina tastes sweet and hot and she squirms under my furtive tongue. After a few moments Gina says:
"You've teased me enough, you cunt - take me to the bedroom and fuck me!"

Oohhhh!!!

She grabs my arm firmly, digging her nails in, and leads me to her lair. She rips her cloths off and splays out on the black satin sheets, rubbing herself. "Come and fuck me, you working class piece of shit!"

Now, under other circumstances I would've been slightly pissed off by this statement. But Gina was fucking HOT! I shrugged my clothes off and dived onto the bed. "Put your hot cock inside me!" Gina demanded. "Fuck me now, you shit!"

And I did. Hard. Very hard. Even up the wrong un.

In the morning I came awake and grappled for my cloths. "Gina, I've gotta go! I've got an appointment somewhere and I really can't miss it."

Gina lit a cigarette. "Oh yeah?" She snorts. "Fine by me - I don't have any further use for you - not unless you want me to sit on your face for a while?"

I very nearly took my cloths back off, but I'd been waiting for the appointment for a couple of months already. It took all my willpower to tear myself away.

And then I went to my meeting.

I met with the nice man, he went through a few preliminaries and handed me over the folder. I opened it and skimmed through. I was excited as fuck. And then I stopped dead and my heart went to my mouth when I found the photograph.

"This is her?" I asked, feeling a strange kind of antifreeze feeling flood my veins.

The man nods absently. "Yep - that's her. We can arrange a meeting if you like? I've got her details on file."

I shake my head and tears well in my eyes. "No, I know where she lives. I know her..."

"Oh? What a coincidence!" the man suddenly notices my distress and offers me a glass of water. I decline.

"You don't understand," I murmered. "You don't understand..."

I looked down at the photograph of Gina; she was a few years younger, a different hairstyle, but it was definately her.

I look up at the man, "I met her last night and we had sex."

The man looks aghast, "You had sex with your long lost sister?"

I nod, feeling sick to my stomach.

I get up to leave, the man seems dumbstruck. He says: "My son's doing his nativity play tonight," and he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

But I wasn't very interested in some fucking nativity play. So I left without a word.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 9:27, 16 replies)

A fucking cloud.
The only one of these I can recall and I think it mentally tainted me against any such future appearance on stage was in infant school aged about 5 or 6.

I was a cloud. In fact I think I was more like cloud number 4 or something.

We had to wear white tights (not a good look for a boy) and a sandwich board type thing cut in a typical cloud shape with cotton wool glued to it.

It seems our only part was for the small group of clouds to dance around in a circle on command. For reasons unknown I decided it was a bit like "ring of roses" so did the all fall down bit and due to the friction generated by early 80's nylon school cordoroy carpet got a graze on my knee. From that day on I hated stage appearances. I mean all that prep and fuss and waiting for 30 seconds of spinning in a circle and getting hurt.

A cloud for fucks sake!
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 9:25, Reply)

You should never drink around amateur dramatics people
generally there is loads of women, but about 2 men at any read through and whilst a few libations to the wind, i agreed to assist if they had anything really small that required no skill.

I woke up to find i had been cast as a camp german guard (think springtime for hitler) in a version of Sounds of Music which is 20 minutes long

4 months later, unable to keep off the sauce at key moments in my life (and thursdays) i was volunteered to be a panto Dame in "Dame academy" (think Fame academy but the Dames had talent).

Its only because i am bloody helpful when drunk that this happens. My parents must be so proud.
( bazza van der trance , ooh baby baby, baby baby. Get up on this., Fri 27 Mar 2009, 9:24, Reply)

PRINCE CHARMING. IN RED WOOLEN TIGHTS.
Which proceeded to fall down to audience laughter. At 7 years old.
I have never recovered from this humiliation. No wonder I'm a pervert and an arrogant bully.
(beaverwastemanagement a real company. I want to work for them!, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 9:23, 2 replies)

The Christmas Presents
Can't remember the plot exactly, but I was a "Christmas present" in a story about presents that moved, I think. Had to wear a box wrapped in Christmas papaer...

Was in the choir in the 1st year of Junior School, played something in The Wizard of OZ in teh 2nd year, had a dance routin to Hall of the Mountain King but can't remember what.

Third year we did Joseph and Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat - I played a "prison wall" - dressed in a blue leotard with w red v-neck stripe - we had a dance routine to indicate the walls closing in.


Final year, we did Bugsy Malone and I was a dancer at Fat Sam's in a mauve dress and 20's style headband.
(ricky_darkholer is blonde on the inside, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 9:05, Reply)

Nativity Plays? Nah.....
I went to a traditional primary\infant school and regularly attended Sunday School. As such Nativity plays were the norm. However I have no memory of either seeing or being in any Nativity play. They must be some fucking awesomely horrendous memories I'm suppressing.
No therapy for me thank you.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Fri 27 Mar 2009, 8:58, Reply)

Nativity Plays - Choir Boy
Oh I hated school plays. I think we only ever did them in Junior school though. My only memory of them is the fact that I was always bunged in the choir because I was too shite to act on stage. I didnt do singing either, and mimed the whole time. (As I still do if im ever dragged to a church for weddings etc)

Anyway, I cant remember what the play was, but one of the characters was a crippled boy. So the kid with a broken arm got the honour of playing The Crippled one. I remember, the actors had been doing loads of extra practice after school, and we went in for the dress rehersal. And wow, they had put loads of extra bits and pieces into the play and it was going great. Then the cripple came onto stage and fell over! Oh how we all laughed! Then everyone ran over to him to help him up and I was thinking "Wow this is great acting! No wonder I didnt get the part!" Then it became apparant that it wasnt intentional. The lad re-broke his arm and had to spend another 2 months in plaster.

And thats about as exciting as Nativity plays get! Yup, just about as exciting as this post.
(Miggyman, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 8:15, Reply)

On The "Women's Report"
It was Christmas time in Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA, in 1966. Our 5th-grade teacher, Mr. Chavez, wangled an invitation for our class to stage a Nativity Play on KOAT TV-7, during the "Women's Report", a godawful 15-minute daily segment usually filled with useless society news in an arid town that had hardly any society. The TV segment was hosted by the mother of one of the new kids in the class, a boy whose premature interest in girls had earned him nothing but scorn from the rest of us boys. The entire 3:15-3:30 p.m. slot was handed to us 10-year-old children.

It's disorienting enough to enter a TV studio for the first time, but we were flummoxed by the appearance of Uncle Roy, an obese kiddie show TV clown, who came on-the-air at 4:00 p.m. Uncle Roy already ruled our inner fantasy lives with his cartoons, jokes and zesty manic edge, but in person he seemed morose, inscrutable, and difficult-to-please. We began to panic, first at the idea that Uncle Roy was a human being with a real physical existence, and second that he was there to watch everything we did. Pleasing Uncle Roy would be like appeasing a volcano: there might have to be a sacrifice.

The Nativity Play itself was a blur of stuttering, muffled voices. My friend Byron had vowed that he would never let the camera see his face, and he kept his word. Clad as a shepherd, Byron never stood still, wandering hither and yon across the set, veering away every time the camera's red light indicated it was on. My friend David, one of the Three Kings, forgot his lines and had to be prompted by a girl shepherd wearing a fake beard.

As Narrator, I gamely struggled on, with the camera relentlessly staring me in the face and Uncle Roy visible in the distance behind the camera. Right towards the end of the play, my eyes veered away from the prepared text and I lost my place. By obsessive over-preparation I had somehow managed to memorize the text, however, and I soldiered on despite being lost.

And then it was over. The lights went dark. Uncle Roy had disappeared, his judgment unknown. Uncle Roy's studio audience of excitable kids began entering the studio for his 4:00 p.m. show, but our 15-minutes of fame had expired, and we hit the cold pavement outside just as it began snowing....
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 8:14, Reply)

Rodney
In 1978 I was a sheep in the school nativity.
Our school could be said to being ahead of its time as it gave the role of Joseph to our special needs kid Rodney, a chromasome-laden youth with glasses so thick light took hours to penetrate them, and a penchant for erratic behaviour.
There was no room at the inn, the innkeeper having just turned Joseph and his expectant wife away, Rodney, clearly irate at this refusal walked to the front of the stage, and to the assembled crowd of doting parents and teaching staff, shouted. "Fucker!"
Olivier couldn't have put it better, however a standing ovation did not ensue.
(Vic Flange, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 8:14, 2 replies)

Oliver! Oliver! Never before has a boy wanted more...penis.
At first school, the head was bored with the usual "and lo...from tha east. A stor oppeared, like" that was belted out year on year by the underclass children, so she decided that not only were we going for a change of style, but for a complete change of artistic direction and interpretation. Yes, we were going for a full musical production of Oliver! (registered TM and all rights reserved).

Now I was a budding thespian (thespian you dirty minded bastards) and I wanted to go for, if not the lead role, then at least one of the major parts (maybe Fagin, the Artful Dodger...who knows?)

Anyway, the day came when the parts were announced, and yes! I was Oliver! (TM) I scuttled off into the playground to try and catch lice and TB to add conviction to my part.

Now, a new teacher had recently started teaching at our school (bear in mind it was a small school of around 50 pupils, so she was the OTHER teacher). Now, call me a teaching traditionalist, but I am of the opinion that teachers, especially of young 5-8 year olds, should actually like children. Mrs Robertson (how anyone would marry it, let alon jump its bones was beyond me) was a miserable old fuckwitch who could have marched into Poland if she merely changed her footwear. I was lucky in that I left her class just before she joined the school, but unfortunately she also bought Katy (names not changed, as you will see later). Katy was ugly as fuck, and probably had more testosterone flowing round her body than us blokes. She definitely had an extra chromosome or two there.

Anyway, Mrs P (the headmistress, who I shan't name for she was lovely and still teaches) called me into the office.

"Carrot" she said, "I'm really sorry but unfortunately there's been a change of plan. We can't let you play Oliver! (TM) any more. We'd like you to play Mr Bumble."

"What?"

"I'm really sorry Carrot but someone else was promised the part first by Mrs Robertson."

"Who?"

"Katy"

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I didn't cry. I felt disconnected from reality. This was a dream. It could only be. No God could be this cruel.

Mum picked me up from school and noticed I was not my normal hyperactive overly cheery self. It was not until I got home that I broke down and told her the travesty of justice that happened.

"I tell you what" Mum said "I'll ring Mrs P and have a chat."

Well, it transpires from that phonecall that Mrs Robertson had promised her boygirl Katy the role of Oliver! (TM) prior to the parts being released without consulting Mrs P, being involved in the production or anything. When Mrs P awarded the part to me, Mrs Robertson stormed into the office and DEMANDED that Katy be given the part as (and I quote) "she's been to Stagecoach in the summer" (the children's acting thing, not the bus company) and threatening to report the school for discrimination if she didn't get in. My mum was furious, Mrs P was furious, but at least I got a relatively decent role, and (drum roll..) I got 2 musical solos! (and people were surprised when I came out...go figure.)

Anyway, the rehearsals came and Katy was, quite frankly, shocking. Not only was her acting ability outshone by Toby (the one with the embarrasing incontinence problem) as Urchin #4, but also she turned into a right Prima Donna, going into sulks if she didn't get what she wanted. By this stage, I had decided rather than get upset by it, I would up my game so I would shine even more.

Now, performance night came. One scene, very early on in the film, involved me having to raise my staff (a broom handle with gold sticky back plastic wrapped round it) in a threatening manner when Oliver! (TM) dared to ask for more.

So, the moment came:

"Please Sir, I want some more"

"More? MORE?"...*CRACK*

I (ahem) "accidentally" cracked Katy around the side of the head with my staff. It wasn't a big hit, but she fell to the ground with the grace of a tranqulized ox. I knew I had to continue. Luckily, my first solo came up: the song "Oliver, Oliver" so off we went. Katy staggered upright and ran offstage in a huff. She abjectly refused to come back out, so we had to have an unscheduled intermission.

Anyway, we went off, and I was greeted by Mrs P who said "very naughty Carrot. Don't do it again...now run along" with a huge grin on her face. Mrs Robertson could be heard shouting in the office about that "young hooligan" and how she would get the police involved etc. etc. She demanded I apologise, when Mrs P said "oh don't be so stupid - it was an accident." Yes...an..accident...

Mrs P put the fear of God into Katy. She told her that if she didn't get back on stage, then she would never appear in any other play in the school again.

Anyway, back on we went. I continued to shine (changing after Oliver! (TM) went to London to become a cheery street urchin.) and the play was a success! I was lauded as a connsumate acting professional!

I left first school at the end of that year and never saw Katy again. Until a few months ago, when I was looking at Facebook and joined a group for ex pupils of my school.

I was most confused by someone who was a year below me. I did not recognise the name, and it was only when I looked at the surname that the penny dropped.

Yep, Katy was now Keith.

Apologies for length, but when it's made out of rolled up fatty tissue from your thigh, you're lucky to have anything.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Fri 27 Mar 2009, 8:10, 1 reply)

Down trou
Then there was the time our drama class did a performance for a Shakespeare festival. We opted to do a 15-minute version of Othello (surefire crowd-pleaser) in traditional costume. I played Cassio and had to wear white stockings under one the most ridiculous Shakespearian costumes imaginable. It even came with a big red velvet hat complete with a huge pimpin' feather.

On my way offstage during the scene where Othello has an epileptic fit, my bloomers came down, resulting in my stocking-clad arse being exposed to all. Got a good laugh, but not as much as the year before, when we did Hamlet with Star Wars characters (Hamlet = Luke, Horatio = Han Solo, Polonius = Vader, you get the idea).
(ElGranto, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 7:32, Reply)

This QOTW really is shit
Once in a high school production I had to take a knee to the balls. Usually the other "actor" would make it look convincing without actually connecting.

Until our second night when I copped it right in the pills and had to hold back the urge to crumple up like a fetus until I was offstage.
(ElGranto, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 7:23, Reply)

Joseph was a crap part anyway
After being cruelly snubbed for the role of Joseph, I got to be 'Shepherd #1' instead. This, of course, meant that I had just the one line, "Let's follow that star!". This also meant that in the rehearsal time there was nothing much for the other two shepherds and myself to do other than sit at the edge of the stage making rude noises and twatting each other with the crooks.

Oh yes, we had proper crooks, none of your poncey cardboard affairs. Some misguided old woman donated her dead husband's walking sticks to the school, allowing for hours of fun having epic duels with your mates.

Anyway, it came to the final performance, and we shepherds had decided that we'd had enough of being second-class parts, so we waited until the very last scene, when Mary and Joseph take a bow.

And then I am very sorry to say that I tripped Joseph up with my crook and sent him flying off the stage and facefirst into the audience, while Shepherd #2 pulled Jesus' head off and cracked it with his crook, baseball-style, into the back row.
We tried to blame it on the three Wise Men but The Innkeeper grassed us up. The wanker.

The school got rid of the walking sticks the next year, and we were demoted to livestock.
(steadfastmeat Laconic ham, perhaps?, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 7:20, Reply)

Insane...
Twas the mid 1960's and I had been off sick from school for a couple of days (probably some lame effort to get sympathy and Lucozade).
One of the kids on my street comes around to see me with a message from our teacher to tell me that the school Nativity play has been cancelled and we're now doing Aladdin instead.

But the really big news is that I'm playing Aladdin - but only if I'm well enough to come back to school that week.

My sister put together a very satiny costume for me and I decided to wear this on the schoolbus the next day, frankly looking like a very gay version of Jack Sparrow.

My teacher seemed pleased to see me back at school, but alas, there was no junior production of Aladdin - much to the great amusement of a classroom full of six year olds.

I had my first school fight that lunchtime and got into trouble for smacking the other kid with my plastic sword.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 6:44, Reply)

say what you like about what's 'appropriate'.
Best production of Lord of the Flies ever.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 5:33, 1 reply)

At my catholic primary...
we didn't just do plays about the birth of baby jebus. We also did plays about him being killed and coming back to life and I, dear reader, I was that zombie.
For some reason, the only part that sticks in my mind was the moment the rock (big cardboard box painted brown) was pushed aside and I arose with arms outstretched and a beatific look on my face while everyone else on the stage fell to their knees and worshipped me. Sweet.
And the next year I actually got a promotion and was cast as god.
Low self-esteem was never really an issue for me at primary school.
( 4Q just lurking, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 4:03, Reply)

Angel
I was a bloody angel in nursery, had to wear a dress type thing and a halo, i'm male. Thanks Robertswood.
(Hartlepool15 aka []Chips[] So you don't have to, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 3:47, 2 replies)

Back in the mists of time
When we were a lot younger, my brother was in a church nativity play - no idea why or even how, since we were never a church-going family, but I guess that's neither here nor there. One day my parents were otherwise engaged and he was too young (well, stupid) to go alone so, being a bit older and infinitely more responsible, I got the job of taking him along to rehearsals... where it turned out they were one person short and my terminal inability to say 'no' ensured that I ended up as one of the three wise men.

...that's all I've got. No dramatic or funny ending to the story. Gonna be a long week, I reckon.
( Dave McF wrote some words on, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 2:10, Reply)

David Sedaris
Check out David Sedaris and his Nativity review, this is hilarious

www.thisamericanlife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?sched=956


It's about 7 minutes in.
(MrPhoto, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 0:49, Reply)

I hated the plays
First I played a spaceman in a toy shop who had to move around (as if in space) to music from 2001: Space Odyssey. You couldn't tell it was me as I was in a space costume - Result.

Second I played the Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, again it was hard to tell who I was - Result.

Third I played a tree, not sure what in, didn't do a lot but swish around (not unlike a tree) - Result.

My big break came as the part of a Lawyer in Toad of Toad Hall. I got my lines wrong and had to be rescued by another child who came on and did my lines.

I was never in a play after that.

I was awesome as a tree though.
(Opanoid Look sweats dripping off them, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 0:12, Reply)

At primary school, we didn't do nativity plays at Christmas
Which was nice, instead we did things like Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. As something of an actor back in the day, these allowed me an outlet to escape sense of bored frustration I felt during actual lessons and the adulation of an audience (admittedly comprised largely of people's mums) went some way towards making up for being a complete outsider amongst my peer group (something I remain, for better or worse, today. Not that I don't have friends, good friends, I'm just... not quite like anyone else), although it does mean there are some highly embarrassing videos lurking about that whatever unfortunate I'll eventually marry will watch and laugh at.

Fortunately not caught on film was the night I played my absolute tour-de-force of a role as Willy Wonka (with painted on goatee I now, some nine years later, sport in real life) with a pair of fetching yellow pants peeking cheerily through my carelessly unshut flies, which rather ruined any gravitas I might have had at eleven. Or the time when, aged nine, I managed to fall of the stage when I was strutting about pretending to be Mr Bumble. As I find is often the way with old memories, I don't actually remember the incident first hand, I've just constructed a mental scene from what I was told later, in the third person. As such, I like to think my fall was cushioned by the pillow that was supposed to make me look fat but actually just made me look like I had a pillow down my top.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Fri 27 Mar 2009, 0:00, Reply)

Nativity Riot
I was a shepherd, complete with wooden shepherd's crook, freshly manufactured with a broom handle and some vicious looking coat hangers wrenched into a vague question mark shape wrapped with brown paper.

And someone had stolen Flossy, the lamb I was supposed to prance about on stage with in a few minutes time. Flossy may have been cotton wool, newspaper, and a pair of my mums old tights, but she meant the world to me. And worse, there was the inevitable public humiliation of going on stage sheeplessly.

Bastards.

So I panicked, ran around, desperately seeking any sign of the soggy bag of fluff that was Flossy. In tears after the first five minutes.

And that's when I saw her. My little mate Ollie had lost his own newspaper sheep, and, in a cunning plan, had taken Flossy for himself. And he was halfway to getting on stage, resplendent in all his Flossy glory.

The red mist descended on my young mind. That was my sheep, and I was having it.

Don't know exactly how it happened, but the next thing I knew, I was on the stage, in front of an eagerly awaiting crowd of doting parents.

Fury, unlike any my tiny mind had ever known. The curved part of my shepherd's crook was around Ollie's neck, slamming him to the floor. Much to my delight, for all my puny pre-pubescent muscles, 3 foot of broomstick can inflict a hell of a lot of leverage on a 3-foot child. Then there was the vicious coat-hanger core of the crooked end, pretty nasty stuff under it's thin paper shell.

Next swipe, Ollie was hurled away off his balance into the aghast parental audience.

The initial euphoria of a job well done slowly turned into an 'oh shit!'moment. Eddie, Ollie's best mate, a big muscly 6 year old who should have started shaving was making his way towards me- in his hands, yet another one of those vicious crooks.

5 year old shepherd fight!

Anarchy descended. Mary brained Joseph with the baby Jesus (a doll with a fairly solid head). 3 Angels descended upon her, who were promptly pelted with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

Eddie caught me a vicious backhanded blow with the rear end of his crook, sending me sprawling. He then attacked the nearest donkey, trying to drag poor unfortunate Michael out of the torso sized papier mache head. I'm not sure why, but Eddie was weird.

Parents ran on stage to grab their beloved babies, only making the situation worse. There was no way this was stopping now, and it was only a matter of time before the first adult punch was thrown...

Later that evening, I was curled up sobbing in the bath, tending a black eye, burst lip and the emotional scars of the worst bollocking I'd ever known.

The worst part? The next day, I found a ripped and torn Flossy without her stuffing, jammed in a rubbish bin. I couldn't even rescue the marbles I'd sacrificed to simulate her eyes. This, ladies and gentlemen, is how wars start.
(Count Zapolai, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 23:48, 2 replies)

I have arthritis...

... which in childhood, is known as jeuvenile arthritis. All I can remember about my infants play was having a reasonable part; which was then reduced to having to play 'The Angel Gabriel' when my joints started seizing up. No lines. I just had to stay on a bench at the back and was to stand up for a bit 'if I could manage'. All the other angels were girls and I had to wear gold wings.

It was pretty whack, and thinking about it I must have started resenting organised religion therein.
( Turquoise Hexagon Sun has just dropped acid on, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 23:36, Reply)

the glittery nose incident
Nativity plays at my primary school were famed for being utter disasters. I think this was one of the major draws of going to see them.

Apart from the obvious set 'malfunctions', children crying, bleeding, beating all that is holy out of each other with baby jesus and forgetting lines, there is one memory that sticks out that will haunt me and my nose for the rest of time.

Our primary school was really in the middle of nowhere, as was the village we lived in. Our school nativity often had real sheep and cows and even a donkey and were held in a large barn, courtesy of one of the local farmers.

Lucy, Jennie and I all looked the same. We were short, had long blonde curly hair, somewhat angelic little faces and did everything together. We were always picked to be angels or stars in the nativity.

We were big shiny stars in this one. We opened the nativity by coming out, singing silent night and sprinkling glitter.

The previous Joseph, was now the Innkeeper, being demoted after the infamous 'Jesus Bashing' incident, was bitter. You could see it in his eyes, the hate rising. All the teachers started to look flustered, all they wanted was for one nativity to go well...

After one rendition of silent night, and half way through the narrator's speech, he kicked a donkey. And the donkey headbutted back. Not the Innkeeper though. It butted me.

A fistful of glitter blinded the left half of the front row and I landed flat on my face with Jennie. Then we get trampled by two dozen kids and a sheep scrambling over us and screaming to get out of the barn.

I broke my nose and to add insult to injury, when I had finally scraped myself off the floor, ripped of the ridiculous amount of tinsel from my ruined star costume, cupped my hands around my, now slightly flatter and very glittery, bloody nose, I was told that "it was fine, no one else got hurt.."
(goodmorningbeautiful, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 23:34, Reply)

Where's the fire?
For some reason, and I never asked why as I was only 6 at the time, I played one of the three fireman in the school nativity.

As hard as I might try I can't even guess at where and when these characters would need to be involved. Perhaps there was a cat stuck up a palm tree or some fat kid got his head stuck in the railings...who knows.

I even had to supply my own helmet.

I'm quite sure that the main reason that these sort of obscure parts existed was to make sure all of the kids were involved and the shit parts were given to the annoying kids. It might be a coincidence but I do remember getting sent home that same year by my teacher (I was 6, what could I have done to a fully grown adult to require being sent home at that age?)

My other role was always the same. My loud voice and ability to articulate clearly always meant that I was the narrator.

This was not always a smooth ride. On being given the most words to learn I was then the laziest cast member and would always leave it to the last minute to cram. I was once locked in a classroom on my own during a dress rehearsal so I would learn them.

Other parts I have played in school plays include St Patrick and the best one was the boy who was bitten by a rabid dog at the beginning of the play, only then to spend the rest of the play lying still until Louis Pasteur cured me of Rabies.

I did not go on to become an actor or narrator or have any interest in Amateur Dramatics. I leave that to my attention seeking father who likes to dress up in women's clothing.
( bacon and egg roll is going to be big downunder, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 23:20, Reply)

Nativity Plays
I always wanted to be the Little Drummer Boy, and every year i was gently reminded (ha) by my brother that i was, in fact, a girl. it was heartbreaking, and begun my childhood career of wanting to be a boy and having my older brother ruin my dreams (see also: lost boy, Jedi Knight, however in one of the more recent films there actually were female jedis, meaning i could be one, so nyeh)

Also, since my reading skills were freakishly superior as a child, i was always, ALWAYS the narrator. I got to stand at the side in my school uniform as my friends swanned around, dressed as angels, and it scars me to this day, i knew i should have purposefully failed that reading test.
(charlottebronte stalking through the moors, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 23:10, Reply)

third shepherd
an all action part (well pointing at the ceiling) with the dramatic line

look up, look up, a star

I had a crook made of cardboard tube and brown painted papier-mache, as if someone had taken an excessively long and straight shit
(Mehitabel_Itrang, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 23:08, Reply)

Little donkey
*dong dong DONG... dong dong DONG*

That's it. That's the total sum of my nativity play contributions.
My sister got to be Mary. Big effing wow. Yeah, she got to lob Baby Jesus across the stage in a blonde tantrum.

Me? Play three bars on a xylophone, not even a real one. Just three separate little xylophone bars in time with "Beth-le-ham...Beth-le-ham".

I'm not bitter.
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 22:59, Reply)

Bee
Sadly I was never destined to play mary, ( though being allowed to be an angel was fun)so instead my finest moment was playing a Bee. A bee you ask ? I have no bloody idea but a bee I was. Which is why on that fateful day the school nativity was brought to a sharp close by a small bee taking centre stage!
Simply by her demands for her father to come to the front and take more pictures much to the amusement of the other parents(Mixed with a little bit of anger by the teacher I may add)
Well at least it gave the other parents something to smile about and sigh with relief that I wasn't their beautiful child.
So inconclusion bee children are very very bad.

I also now as a result as very camera shy.
( hedge_diver, Thu 26 Mar 2009, 22:33, Reply)