At thirty something with two children, it has been a not insignificant amount of time since I have been associated with that word. However, it is true to say that until November 3^rd. 2001, I was indeed a virgin to the infamous Showcase Weekend Away. My days as a SWAV (Showcase Weekend Away Virgin) however were clearly numbered since, some 36 hours after arrival as a SWAV, I found myself lodged between Andy McGarry’s legs with a balloon on my head (at east I think that’s what it was).’Twas a very steep learning curve indeed, but more of that later….

The weekend started out as it clearly intended to continue by meeting Joan at Waverley station for coffee. "Coffee?" I hear you ask. Well, actually, we did go to Millies for two large paper cartons of…….er.…nothing. Joan, cheeky mare that she is, asked (very nicely) for two empty coffee cartons. Well after all, we had no reticules for enjoying our bottle or 3 of bubbly on the long train journey to sunny Berwick (45 minutes at 2.00pm in the afternoon is a long journey to think wistfully about a drunken weekend ahead without actually practising for it. Rehearsal is very important don’t you know!)

On arrival at Berwick, amidst sighs of relief from fellow passengers who did on a few occasions mutter regret at not having booked a seat in the "quiet carriage", we trundled off to Fawlty Towers. Actually it was supposedly called the Castle Hotel, but within minutes of meeting the manager/owner, it became clear that Castle was really an anagram of Fawlty (without the "e", "s" and "c"….– and I’ll have no smart ass remarks from Diane Countdown-Champ- Dootsie; it’s close enough for me ok?). Charming man that he was made us read the rules (a fairly wordy sheet of A4 paper) before we were allowed to do anything or go anywhere. Rule number one was to give your name to the reception…no, I’m not joking, it really did say that. And rules became quite a feature of our stay, as he did - on at least two occasions when Joan and I were looking for help - ask us if we’d read the instructions on the door, or read the rules. I was tempted to point out that I was dyslexic and did he have an audio version, but, well, I was supposed to be chilling out on a relaxing weekend, so I saved my Personnel/Equal Opportunities hat for coming back to work on Monday..

Without further ado, we settled into our room (small but cosy) and had a general muck about with costumes for the fancy dress the following evening. Fed up with mucking about and sobering up, we retreated to public lounge and had a nice meal with some more wine. Gradually, familiar Showcase (cast and crew) faces merged into (or is it "with"?) the bar and so the night began. Enter Dootsie and Co. with a "time for pub crawl" announcement, and off we went (well half of us did – the other half sat glued to seats in hotel bar). I suppose it was rather comfy in hotel, but, well we had a mission – to sample the delights of the Berwick nightlife.

And what a sample that was. A real precedent was set; a moment of history worth recording; a pinch on the arm to check it was really happening - Dootsie walked through the main door of a pub and walked out again because it was too dodgy. And we all followed. Our leader was afraid, so we could not dare enter or at least we would do so at our own risk. In all probability we were just not drunk or incoherent enough because Group two of the pub crawl (who we’d left behind playing pool in the last pub) managed to have a drink in said establishment without so much as a blink of the eye or a visible movement of the Adam’s apple.

Joan, of course, made her mark in the next pub by complaining (as she wiped sawdust from her feet and spit from her hair), that they didn’t do Chardonnay, or any type of wine for that matter. And why were the glasses all pint size or straight shaped….?. We nearly made it out of aforementioned pub without further incident until a nice gentleman approached me and asked if I wanted to buy any crabs? Well, I’ve never had crabs before and I certainly didn’t ever envisage that I would have to purchase them (well, doesn’t one somehow acquire these things if one is unfortunate enough?) so I told him so – politely, of course. He went off muttering something about pate and pickles and why didn’t he just sell plastic red roses like the punters in Edinburgh pubs did.

Found a pub, after sampling a few in between, for which both groups settled. It looked different in daylight next day (when Dootsie took us back to visit it at 11.00 am sharp for a pint or three of cider), but then again so did Berwick. Lots of lovely shops – especially the one that had a pair of BIG pants in the window the night before which had mysteriously become an embroidered tablecloth draped in a folded kind of way over a chair by the time daylight arrived. It sort of reminded me of the Mr Ben adventures in a magical shop…..

Singalongs were in full swing when we returned to hotel. Don’t recall much other than needing, and by this time, wanting, to go to bed. Joan and I departed to cries of "lightweights" (at which point I thought I might hang around a bit longer, ‘cos that title felt quite good. Well, with my stature, last time I was called that was at primary school and even then it was relative to the teacher). Anyway, all I can say to those who cried lightweights is – where were you at breakfast at 8.00 am the following morning whilst we tucked into a full English eh? Eh??

Saturday passed in a shopping, walking, eating lunch and spending-money-generally kind of a way. Beautiful day and lovely scenery, until I got back to hotel and met a rather grey looking Lesley on the stairs. I don’t know if she was coming up or down and I don’t think she did either. Then the memories of chants of "lightweight" came back to me and I remembered one of the guilty parties. I had to stop myself from saying to her "bet you’re eating your words now" ‘cos I suspect they’d have come right back up again like the rest of her eaten stuff presumably did.

Fancy dress time arrived on Saturday night – and what a parade of costumes. We had the cast of Wizard of Oz with a rather handsome scarecrow and a dodgy looking tin man (although Lesley had transformed from the earlier grey colour to a warm brown – at least for a while - as the lion). Joining them was part of the cast of Grease with the "before" and "after" Sandy and Danny (although by the end of the night they all looked like the "after" version). Dootsie was even more terrifying than usual as Darth Maul and Kate’s tits exploded with strategically placed balloons as Lara Croft. Harry Potter was great (although we could have done with some of Tricia’s magic later in the night when our team was disastrously trying to pass balloons between necks and just about every other body part). Some people just came as themselves really, including Malcy aka Rab C Nesbit and Joan & moi aka Ab. Fab’s Patsy and Eddie. Johnny was fabby as a St Trinian’s schoolgirl, and Alistair – um, we think he was Captain Kirk but, well, we didn’t really get a chance to speak to him as he lay comatose on a table in the corner all night. Suffice to say, he was certainly from another planet.

Lara (Bitch) Croft (Bitch) won the fancy dress as the best dressed and Andy McGarry won as the worst dressed. Given that he came as the invisible man, I think that he should have won the biggest-stretch-of-the-imagination category. McGarry, invisible? Yeah, right!!

Karaoke followed in hot pursuit and there were some memorable moments (if I could remember) but I think the prize would have to go to Johnny and Susan’s version of Meatloaf’s "Paradise by the Dashboard Light". What a brave and soulful attempt Johnny, but you were in good company as theatre people, well, we have good imaginations and are able to see through characterisations with a little creativity and artistic license. Methinks it was Meatloaf after having been to 10,000 sessions of Rosemary Conley followed by the "I feel strongly that I am a reincarnation of a little girl" phase of Meatloaf’s life.

Where would we be without the obligatory party games, and what a host Malcy turned out to be. Karaoke operator extraordinaire and gamesmaster-magnifique, organised the lot. I was so delighted when he awarded me (for our team) an extra 10 points for "bearing yer breests", but equally deflated (not literally) when, at the end of the night, our team were falling behind in the points stakes, he offered to double the points if I’d put them away…!