Scared? Oh yes I was!

I’m scared.

Heart-racin’, hand tremblin’, knees-knockin’ shirt-soaked-in sweat feart. Why? In five minutes time I’m about to walk onto the theatre stage for the very first time – as a panto star.

I’m standing in the wings of the Pavilion Theatre in Glasgow, which is staging the New Magical Adventures of Pinocchio, one of the thousand-odd seasonal shows being staged by professional and amateur theatres across the country.

By way of discovering the essence of panto, I’ve agreed to take part in an actual show, appearing alongside panto veterans such as Dean Park, Joyce Falconer – Roisin from River City – and Derek Lord, best known as High Road bad guy Davy Sneddon.

What better way to get a grasp of what it’s all about than to appear in a panto?

“We’ve got your part sorted,” said Pavilion manager Iain Gordon, last week. “You’re to play Buttons.” Which is why I’m standing here in a suit that’s more blue than Andy Cameron’s season ticket.

At first I liked this idea of playing the wrong character in the wrong panto. It’s a neat juxtaposition I could work with. Then he told me the main reason for this choice; the Buttons suit is the only one that would fit. I’m terrified. It’s a matinee show, and the 1600-seat auditorium will be packed with the most savage and demanding – children.

Secondly, I’ve never performed in public. Actors, as we know, have skins like of a rhinos. Mine is made up of decomposing 53-year-old gossamer.

“You’ll be fine,” says Park. “Just go with the flow.”

Four minutes to go. My heart is beating out of my chest. I realise I can’t even remember the lines.

Ten minutes ago however, down in the bowels of the theatre where the dressing rooms are located, I thought I had it ‘nailed’, as Cheryl Cole would say. My stage partners Falconer (Kitty Kat) and Dougie Sannachan, (Honest John) put me through my paces. The words all came out my mouth, albeit in the wrong order. They showed me where to stand, how to walk, how to smile.

“Look out at the audience,” says Falconer. “Not at us. Panto is the only theatre form where you have to break the fourth wall.”

Three more goes and I had the fourth wall, whatever that is, hurdled. Then I look at myself in the mirror. First time in make-up (I swear). I look like a transgender ventriloquist’s dummy.

Three minutes to go. All around, everyone is rushing. Comedian Des McLean is wearing lime green tights, Purdon has a false nose on. I think Park is wearing a beige body suit. Cat Harvey is wearing water wings and roller skates. Suddenly, Dr Panic is banging on my door again.

And just as sure as the Good Fairy always enters from stage right and the Evil Villain enters from stage left, I know I will make a giant backside of this.

Like a drowning man my life is flashing before me. I think of the irony. I’ve written about actors in panto many times before. Sometimes I’ve criticised them. Now, I know that the words of every crit I’ve ever doled out will be resurrected and thrown back in my face like a bucket of panto sludge. Actors will call this karma. I call it cold revenge.

Two minutes to go. Think positive. I remind myself I love panto. It’s a magical place that’s more camp than Baden Powell’s back garden, populated by a mix of acting veterans and wannabes, television stars, beauty queens and dear old queens. Panto is, of course, most children’s first experience of theatre. But now I’m wondering how far a ten year-old boy can throw a rock hard lollipop?

Already, I feel a sense of disaster coming down on me like a broken beanstalk.

Thirty seconds to go. My legs are now moving in the direction of the stage, doing a funny wee Buttons walk.

I’m ON! Look out to the audience. Aargh! A dozen spotlights are hitting me full in the face.

Speak. Produce words. Come on, you’re Buttons. It works. The first line emerges. Falconer is great, kittying all over me. I play up to her. Look ahead, I remember. But I can see a woman in the third row and she looks like I’ve just nicked her purse. Never mind. Keep going. Stanley Baxter would demand it of me.

The jokes. Oh, yes, the two gags. I’m stumbling. The kids aren’t laughing. Or are they? All I can hear is my own heartbeat. Gosh. Don’t swear, Buttons. The mothers will kill you. Nearly there. Just a bit of business with Falconer. Almost over. Now she’s throwing me off stage just as I’m launching into White Christmas. Why? Don’t ask, it’s panto.

Suddenly, that’s it. I’m off. Back in the wings. And a huge whoosh of air bursts from my lungs and I realise I’ve been holding my breath – yet still speaking for the past three minutes. The longest, and strangely, the shortest, three minutes of my life.

“It was a long three minutes for us,” jokes McLean. And I’m laughing. And I’m still smiling when the dancers come over to say well done and then the rest of the cast, in stages, as they filter on and off the stage.

I’m now a luvvy, enjoying hugs and kisses like the best of them.

“Would you do it again?” asks Sannachan, later. I think about how I’ve climbed a personal mountain, conquered a fear and hung out with some gorgeous dancers.

“Honestly? Never. Never, ever, ever.”

“Never?”

“Well, maybe...”