39 degrees

It’s like a desert. It’s like an oven. Our changerooms have airconditioning and when you step outside the air hits you like a wall of hot water.

Luckily (or was it planning?) someone left the Umbrella air conditioning on all night. There’s something awful about all that energy pumping cold air into a tent for hours. An empty tent with no insulation and gaps all over the place. But it’s such a relief to be doing a show in a slightly cool venue – after the sweltering cycle into town at 8:30am.

Luke’s back is not 100% so Christy and I are on all the heavy lifting. Despite the heat I like it. Christy and I are good at the job. Efficient. Hoiking the bunkbeds between us round the obstacle course of cables and props and shipping containers behind the Umbrella. Taking regular water breaks. I like that Luke is resting, not muscling on. It makes me feel like we are getting better at looking after ourselves and each other.

Once we’re bumped in we all stretch slowly in the heat. Not much running or strength work for me in this heat, but lots of checking in with my body, gently pulling on my muscles.

The audience is beautiful. Small, maybe 40 people in the tent, but responsive. There are a couple of parents with massive smiles and a lot of sweet interaction. They clap and oooh and laugh in all the right places.

I decide not to try to look like I’m enjoying Terry’s dancing, but to actually enjoy it. It’s not hard and I like the feel of the real smile on my face. I enjoy my own superhero moment more too: the big stupid happiness of pulling that costume on.

A woman in the front row fans herself continuously with her hat. Luke’s brow is washing with shiny sweat beads, Christy is red under her makeup. At ¾ of the way through I feel the headache arrive. I breath through it as I fight with Terry.

As soon as we finish talking with our audience, Jeff arrives to bump in Swamp Juice and Alison tells us he needs the floor sooner than usual. Christy and I do a ninja pack down and we head out to hand out free tix to tomorrows show as the audience exits the Kids Comedy Gala. We’ve only sold 20 tickets to tomorrow.

By the time I take panadol I’m on the pounding edge of a migraine and I sit in Cibo upstairs, swallowing my nausea and rubbing my temples while Christy and Luke look cute and worried. Christy pulls out our review in Rip it Up – Adelaide street press, and I read it slowly.

Now the painkillers have worked and I’m tired and sweet. Luke and Christy have gone to set up for Porcelain Punch. It’s 5:30 on a Saturday afternoon and I’m not going in to the carnival. I’m going home to write the three grant submissions that are due in the next five days.

Because artists should get PAID!!!!