After the Performance

What an intensely horrid experience: being boo-ed and shouted off stage, spat at, caterwauled at, jeered and molested, after giving what I considered to be my best operatic performance.  I was then threatened both verbally and physically; hit by a rotten tomato; an egg; and a tin of Chappie dog food; then boisterously harangued by Welsh-speaking lesbians; sexually deviant, pious farmers; and what felt like the entire population of West Wales, unmedicated and trying to assault me with riding crops and bibles.   

The organiser, Mr Dai Evans, a bald, seedy, 4ft" nothing man with a face like a shrivelled beetroot,  appealed to the church for calm, yet he was as much use as a chocolate tea-cup when it came to protecting me from projectiles.  It was as if a riot had broken out in the pews. 

Not knowing what I had done wrong, I fled the church by the rear entrance, amid a background of hissing, and grabbed the key to the "luxury, private accommodation" I had been promised in the invitation.  My work, controversial at best, has often driven me underground, but I had never expected such outrage as a result of a performance.  Now was the time to retreat to my suite, run a bath, have a jacuzzi, maybe order room service or have a massage, or just empty the mini-bar in its entirety and do something wildly impulsive.

I was stricken with a deathly pallor when I arrived at the "luxury accommodation", promised by the organisers:-

I cannot write the words of what occurred next, it is simply too traumatic, too intense.  It was later reported on the local TV network as a huge gas explosion, unexplained, with the authorities investigating its cause.

Given the highly abusive response to my wonderful operatic performance, and the atrocious accommodation (akin to being forced to visit a Third World Country like Belgium), I instructed Juan to chauffeur me the 4 hour journey back to Wiltshire.  I am never setting foot in the country of Wales ever again in my life, I feel like I have been raped!