February 1995: the only time that I played the title role in a theatrical production, but as this was a Wakefield further education evening class production improvised from a John Wain short story The Death of the Hindlegs that did mean I was playing the hind legs of a pantomime donkey.
But my niece Sarah, then aged (almost) five, spotted a shortcoming in my moving death scene: ‘Uncle Richard, I could tell that you weren’t really dead because I could see that you were still breathing.’
The action took place on stage and back stage but my elaborate set never got built. The audience had to use their imagination.
The people include my fellow thespians, my nephew James, sister Linda, mum Gladys (but preferred her second name Joan) and our goddaughter Helen with a short-eared rabbit (she still keeps rabbits!)