At Home looking through a script
I hear an authoritative voice and this time it’s not mine. It’s my turn/treat to read the children’s bedtime stories.
The splashes from the bathroom have ceased, perhaps it’s safe to go upstairs. Quietly gathering together my British resolve, I peer into the empty bathroom. It’s like a lake in there with bath towels abandoned on the floor like little islands. Quickly shutting the door on the chaos, I summon up my approachable voice.
“Who’s ready for a story?”. “Me” “Me” little voices excitedly call. Oh the various uses of a voice talent. Picking up the proffered book, I begin (for the 20th time) the narration of The Black Pearl.
The tension is mounting when Sid the Squid tries to sabotage the mermaid’s quest to win the Black Pearl and I glance up. Now my audience has increased to include a furry one. Cleo, the tabby cat, is sitting bolt upright next to Rosie and both are listening enthralled. Thank heavens Sid the Squid (who definitely needs a male voiceover) is thwarted otherwise I’d have to cope with tears from both child and cat.
My excuse for escaping the rescue of the bathroom is fast fading as the children fall asleep but Cleo listens on. All is not yet lost. Swiftly swopping the book for my latest script, I read on. But will Cleo give me away by loudly demanding extra dreemies to munch during the performance? I cross my fingers and hope.