I have a dream. Not in the Martin Luther King, change the world sense – but in the “that will never happen, but it would be nice” kind of way.
I was reminded of it recently as I was driving the family to another day out somewhere.
We’d barely reached the end of our very short road when boredom struck. A child started to moan – the kind of moan that governments deny they use on captives to secure top secrets under torture.
The baby voice kicked in. My fingers leapt into action.
“What do you want to listen to on Spotify?”
We agreed on The Greatest Showman OST – which is the stuff dreams are made from. For my dream is to be someone, somewhere in the back of a cast or ensemble that belts out a big, lung busting number. Who sashays across the floor, in time with the person either side of them.
I love a musical, but what I really love is a number where the headline act is caught up in the cast around them. The Greatest Show could easily be Broadway Melody (“Gotta Dance”) from Singing in the Rain.
I don’t want to be the star. I don’t have the voice or the feet. But I could wield a broom, a prop or a hold the hand of someone as we walk across the screen. I could have my moment, amongst a hundred other moments as I appear, uncredited, on IMDB.
So next time you hear the opening strains of a leading actor building to a moment, where people dive into swimming pools or a set revolves around in the background, just close your eyes and imagine me standing by a bar – miming along to the song.
We all have to dream, right?