Just my pot luck

AFTER months spent practising assorted balancing acts and circus stunts, York Light Opera Society has suffered its first casualty while preparing for the musical Barnum.

The cause, ironically, was nothing more dangerous than a simple dance routine, suffered, what's more, by a principal performer whose role does not call for circus skills!

Ann McCreadie, one of the society's leading players, was rehearsing a lively dance sequence at producer Bev Jones's first rehearsal when she slipped and fell on her wrist.

Although she continued with the rehearsal, she later went to hospital where it was found she had fractured her wrist, which will be in plaster for six weeks.

Being the true trouper she is, Ann turned up the next night for rehearsal as usual.

Now, she has been told she can go on with the show and be fighting fit by the time Barnum runs at the Theatre Royal in February.

Nevertheless, as her two roles in the musical require her to perform major song-and-dance solos, she will be watching her step in rehearsal to avoid further mishaps.

Society chairman Geoffrey Turner says: "It is ironical that Ann should be hurt in such a simple accident, when we have taken great care to provide proper supervision while other members have been practising their stilt-walking, uni-cycling and other balancing acts."

Well, they do say you have to suffer for your art.

IMAGINE the poetic language when a bemused colleague was recently robbed of much-needed beauty sleep by an over-zealous postman.

The somnolent sub-editor was dragged from 'pillow to post' at 7.45am by a hammering on the front door, his Saturday morning lie-in shattered.

The bleary-eyed journalist rushed down the stairs in his best Y-fronts and opened the front door to the postie proffering a parcel...an early Christmas present perhaps?

Alas, no. It turned out that the Royal male could not wake the folks next door and asked our weary colleague if he could pass the parcel for him when his sleepy neighbours surfaced!

Postman Prat, Postman Prat, Postman Prat with his rat-a-tat-tat...

IT IS always dangerous for a man of words to complain about spelling errors.

But having seen a fine example in a certain pine furniture shop just down the road from the Evening Press, we could not let it pass.

In the window were some of those line drawings of Winnie the Pooh, accompanied by a sign advertising the price of single and double "Poo Prints"!

That's one way to put your foot in it.

LAST week we demonstrated how an answer phone message can reveal much about one's personality. If this is the case then a certain kick-boxing student in York is lacking one - a personality, that is.

If you were to ring him, you would be greeted by the following mischievous message, "Hi this is Ian ... sorry can you speak up ... I didn't get that ... speak up .. sorry you're not making sense ... hello ... who's speaking please ... only joking, please leave a message."

After the beep, all he ever gets is angry people spouting expletives.

Messages can also reveal stupidity.

When contacting a friend in Canada (no cultural stereotyping intended), Turpin heard the following message, "Hi, this is Dave Mueller at 91 Stilecroft Drive. I am not here at the moment, leave a message."

Burglars take heed.

Hacks who are cutting a dash to see Sharon

STYLE police at the Evening Press's Walmgate bunker have noticed a distinct smartening up among male members of the editorial staff.

Sub editors and photographers, in particular, have also been furtively disappearing from the office at odd hours, and returning immaculately coiffed.

It took Turpin to sleuth out their secret - a dark and sultry beauty who lures them across the road for surreptitious cut-and-comb sessions.

Normally-sensible employees are said to be besotted by the raven-haired stylist at the Cutting Station for Men salon which is within easy peeping distance from the office windows.

Turps broke the news of her fan club to Sharon Leaf, right, who had the good grace to blush and turn all bashful. "I had noticed that lots of men come in from the Evening Press, some of them quite regularly," she confessed.

Alas, boys, there's no chance. Sharon has a boyfriend.

One unmarried journalist who admitted to having two haircuts in one week said: "Sharon's gorgeous. The women can have their 11 o'clock Diet Coke break, why can't we enjoy a good blow dry?"

5/12/98

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.