I worked in a shop and dreamt of becoming an actor. Or, more honestly, dreamt of escaping tedium and embracing something far more glamorous. In truth, I was desperate to become famous, and willing to undergo almost any humiliation in order to make that happen. Grim, mirthless and shame-inducing auditions followed at LAMDA, at RADA and at the Guildford School of Acting and Dance; unsurprisingly my career as a performer stalled before it had even started.It would be more than thirty years before I walked onto a stage again and I do so now in order to share in-person my one man show, Seventy-Eight Thank Yous.
It is a touching piece—humorous yet deep—and tells the story of the ordinary life and extraordinary death of my mother, Val Pretlove, who died by suicide in September 2018. In it, I share some of the series of thank yous I wrote to her—one for every year of her life—demonstrating how important gratitude has been in my healing process, and questioning many of our culture’s attitudes towards those who choose the when, where and how of their own death.
