When I started out in show business, taking my first faltering steps, I dreamed of becoming a musical theatre performer.
Perhaps taking lead roles in shows like “Barnum” and “Chicago”. But I kept these wild ambitions to myself.
Well, I didn’t want to make a song and dance about it!
Before Cameron Mackintosh and Andrew Lloyd Webber created their blockbuster stage musicals, the longest-running show in the West End was “The Mousetrap” and it’s still on after 75 years.
As it’s a play with a small cast and one set, it would have made its money back many times over. *
However, lavish musicals cost millions to produce and there’s no guarantee they will ‘run and run’.
If a musical does run for decades, unexpected problems can arise, as they did when a famous West End musical was transferred to another theatre.
None of the stage crew were the originals so, consequently, they had no experience of a ‘Get Out’ (removing the scenery, lighting rig etc.) or a ‘Get In’(setting it all up in the new venue).
So a temporary crew experienced in ‘getting in and out’ had to be hired!
The phenomenal cost of producing a new musical and then paying the cast, crew, musicians and front of house staff every week, plus rent and business rates, has to be reflected in the prices charged for tickets – some of which are eye-watering!
If you’re in London, fancy a theatre show and you’re not set on any particular one, you could always try the famous Half-Price ticket booth in Leicester Square which opens around tea time and offers reduced price tickets to fill empty seats still available late in the day.
But you’ll be very lucky to be offered a good seat for a top musical.
I intended to treat some friends to tickets to “Paddington -The Musical” for their anniversary, as the show has had great reviews. Then I found out good seats for a Saturday cost £250 each. They’ll be getting a bottle of Prosecco and a marmalade sandwich instead.
*After 75 years, everyone knows who the murderer is . . . aagh!

Residents of Willow Street witnessed a dramatic last-minute dash on Mothering Sunday when nine-year-old Oliver Jenkins suddenly remembered he had, in fact, a mother.
The realisation reportedly struck at 4:57 pm, moments after Oliver finished his third biscuit and overheard his mam muttering, “Not even a card.”
Mothering Sunday, which dates back to the 16th century, originally allowed people working away from home to return to their “mother church” and spend time with family.
Historians agree this tradition did not include panic-buying petrol station flowers five minutes before tea.
Oliver’s father confirmed the emergency.
“He went pale and whispered, ‘Is today the day for mams?’ Then he legged it to the kitchen with a crayon.”
Within minutes, Oliver produced a handmade card reading: “Happy Mothring Sundy. Sory I forgot. Love Oliver.” The card also featured what experts believe is either a heart or a slightly squashed potato.
Local historian Margaret Davies praised the effort. “In the old days, children would bring simnel cake home to their mothers,” she explained. “Young Oliver has revived the tradition of hurried improvisation, which scholars believe has existed since at least 1974.”
Oliver’s mam, Sarah Jenkins, accepted the card with what witnesses described as “a long, knowing sigh.”
“I suppose it’s the thought that counts,” she said, before adding, “though ideally the thought would arrive before late afternoon.”
Oliver later confirmed plans for next year’s celebration.
“I’ve already set a reminder,” he said confidently. “For Monday.”

At a quarter to midnight last Tuesday, I was still wide awake.
Just as well really, because I was driving back home with a takeaway.
That, friends, was an example of how a joke, like a magician’s trick, can deceive. You assumed I was wide awake, sat up in bed, then, “Hey Presto!” I pulled the rug from under you by revealing I was in my car.
Although, as it was a joke I made up, I wasn’t really.
Confused? I’ll be asking questions later.
Regular readers will recall I explained how I thought jokes are similar to magic tricks a couple of years ago.
This idea popped back into my head recently when I was watching magician supremo Paul Daniels on a repeat of the 1970s TV show “The Wheeltappers And Shunters Social Club” on Talking Pictures TV.
As an aside, the fact that, with so many ‘glossy, exciting, amazing’ (according to the publicity bods) new TV series arriving on terrestrial, digital and streaming week in and week out, I chose to watch a 50-year-old TV show, says a lot . . . about me, mainly!
I believe it was Paul’s first appearance on national TV and was first broadcast in a primetime Saturday night slot.
Taking that into account, what I found even more astonishing than the obvious wig which he wisely ditched when he became a star, was the phenomenal confidence he exuded for an unknown performer making his TV debut.
Magic tricks and props can often go wrong, especially when a magician interacts with audience members, but Paul not only appeared to be completely at ease with the crowd, he had the audacity to keep up a constant flow of gags, quips and mock insults.
This   comedy ‘patter’ diverts attention from the magician’s sleight of hand and Paul demonstrated how skilled he was at both.
I’ve no idea what prompted me to talk about Paul this particular week, but when I checked to see when he left us, I discovered it’ll be 10 years ago next week. March17th!
I’d try convincing you this was a coincidence . . . if I believed in coincidences.

In a world where we can order socks, sushi and a shed with the tap of a screen, it turns out the real superhero move isn’t faster Wi-Fi, it’s shopping local.
Yes, really. No cape required (although no-one’s stopping you).
Supporting local businesses might not feel as dramatic as saving the galaxy, but it quietly saves something just as important, our community.
For starters, it’s a win for the environment.
Buying from the bakery down the road means your loaf hasn’t clocked up more air miles than your last holiday.
Fewer delivery vans, less packaging, lower carbon emissions, it’s basically giving Mother Nature a well deserved high-five.
Then there’s the economy . . .
When you spend locally, your money sticks around.
It helps create jobs, supports families and keeps the high street alive.
Think of it as a financial boomerang, what you spend has a habit of circling back to benefit your neighbours.
And let’s be honest, we’d all rather see our favourite coffee shop thriving than another mysterious “coming soon” sign in the window.
There’s a health bonus, too.
Local shops often stock fresh, locally sourced food, the kind that hasn’t been on a cross-continental adventure.
Good for your body, good for the planet. A proper feel-good Cwtsh from the inside.
Most importantly, shopping local builds connections. A quick chat over the counter can turn a routine errand into a moment of community.
So, next time you need bread, gifts or that artisanal cheese you absolutely don’t need, go local. Superhero status awaits.

Copying a familiar tabloid headline, I’m about to ‘Break my silence’.
Even though I haven’t been particularly silent lately.
But first, a word of advice . . .
If you intend watching any of Disney’s “Winnie The Pooh” cartoons, do be aware one ‘Bouncy, flouncy ounce, pouncey’ character (whose top is made out of rubber and bottom out of string) constantly behaves in a manic, over-enthusiastic manner.
That was a Tigger Warning.
I was so annoyed by a recent TV news broadcast, I switched off and went into the kitchen to do the washing-up.
I’d have liked to have done it in the living room, but its distance from the hot tap made it impractical.
As I stood at the sink ruminating, (still legal in most of Wales) , the song “If I Ruled The World” came on the radio and I started thinking that, if I ruled the world, I know what I’d do to improve TV news broadcasts.
Not the actual news – nobody can alter events that happen at home and abroad.
No, I’d make changes to the presentation and some of the over-used phrases.
Take ‘Psycho Drama’. That sprung from nowhere and now it’s all over the news. I used to think a Psycho Drama was one of those not-very-thrilling thrillers Channel 5 churn out.
It might cause some readers to remember Anthony Perkins being revealed as the murderer, wearing his mother’s dress and a Hylda Baker wig at the end of Hitchcock’s classic.
That’s hardly a spoiler. ‘Psycho’ is 66 years old.
Psycho Dramas are what news reporters and pundits call political party’s internal squabbles, a perfectly adequate term that, if I ruled the world, I’d insist they reverted to.
I’d also stop the practice of meteorologists giving names to every potentially destructive storm heading our way. It’s ludicrous and pointless. Also, have you noticed we’ve been getting a lot more of them since they’ve been given names?
I complained about this a year ago, but they’re still doing it. They’ll take notice when I rule the world . . . mark my words.
Then you’ll see the headline…
PHIL EVANS BREAKS SILENCE OVER STORM-NAMING PSYCHO DRAMA!

Get ready for a musical theatre extravaganza that’s more magical than a unicorn in tap shoes!
There’s a real buzz in Cefneithin, Cross Hands, as the young stars of New Heights Performance Academy prepare for an exciting milestone that promises to be more dazzling than a disco ball at a wedding!
Each week, the academy is alive with energy, enthusiasm, and creativity as children dive headfirst into the world of musical theatre.
With two dedicated classes, New Heights ensures every child is supported at the right stage of their development.
The first class welcomes little ones from Reception to Year 5, introducing them to singing, acting, and dancing in a fun, confidence-building environment. Think of it as a delightful mix of “The Sound of Music” and a bouncy castle!
The second class, for Year 6 and above, allows older students to refine their performance skills, strengthen their stage presence, and grow into confident young performers, like caterpillars transforming into butterflies, but with jazz hands!
Now, all that hard work is building towards something spectacular. On March 14, the Cefneithin Cross Hands students will join forces with the Waunarlwydd academy for “New Heights Live, A Magical Journey Through Musical Theatre,” taking place at the Ffwrnes Theatre, Llanelli.
This vibrant showcase will whisk audiences through the golden eras of musical theatre, celebrating beloved classics from the 1940s to the present day. With uplifting music, movement, and storytelling, it’s bound to be a night to remember!
At New Heights Performance Academy, the focus is always on building confidence, nurturing talent, and creating unforgettable experiences. So, mark your calendars, on March 14, the curtain will rise on a truly magical journey!

I watched “Where Eagles Dare” again recently. If you missed it, worry not. BBC2 show it every fortnight alongside “The Heroes Of Telemark”.
In “Eagles”, the German officers speak perfect English as they did in most British and American war films.
It might lack ‘authenticity’, but cinemagoers (and later, TV viewers) could understand what was going on.
That same evening, I watched a BBC thriller series set in Colombia that featured acres of barely readable English subtitles as the local villains conversed in their own language.
It may have added to the show’s ‘gritty authenticity’, but I’m sure I wasn’t the only viewer who got irritated squinting at the tiny white subtitles and switched off what otherwise looked like an excellent series.
Makers of today’s TV thriller, espionage and police procedural series blithely assume every single viewer (and married ones) possess eyesight that’s so good it’d make an eagle, on the look-out for its prey, green with envy.
Because ever since mobiles and smart phones have been in general use, TV dramas invariably include close-ups of phone screens showing texts or ‘WhatsApps’ that major characters send each other.
Sometimes, the text is so small or on screen for such a short time, it’s possible to miss what might have been a vital clue.
I say ‘might’ have been, because even though my eyesight isn’t bad for a man of my age (although not that great for a man of 125) I often find it hard to read every word.
What is the point of hinting at ‘Who Dun It’, if we ‘Can’t Read It’?
Of course, I know modern TV has to show characters using mobile phones, but why do they have to text and WhatsApp so often?
In those glorious vintage films that the Talking Pictures TV Channel screens, which were made long before mobiles were invented, characters pick up a home or office phone, or go into a red phone box, and engage in telephone conversations.
Because we hear what they’re saying, there’s less chance viewers will lose the plot.
Oi! Who said, “Phil, you lost it years ago”?

Ah, Mother Nature, you cheeky rascal!
In Wales, she’s like that friend who shows up to a picnic with a raincloud instead of a potato salad.
As the rain pours down like it’s auditioning for a role in a dramatic film, we find ourselves feeling a bit soggy.
But fear not, my fellow Welsh warriors. There’s always a silver lining lurking behind those rainclouds, probably giggling at our umbrella struggles.
Yes, we reach for our umbrellas more often than toddlers reach for sweets, but let’s take a moment to appreciate the lush green landscapes that make Wales look like a postcard. That rain? It’s the secret sauce that keeps our hills and valleys vibrant, splashing colors everywhere, like a toddler with finger paints.
Now, how do we keep our spirits high in all this wetness?
Rainy days are the perfect excuse to indulge in cozy indoor activities.
Picture this: curling up with a good book, binge-watching our favorite shows, or sipping tea while pretending we’re not in a monsoon outside. The rain practically invites us to embrace the comforts of home like a warm Cwtsh!
And let’s not forget the camaraderie.
Who hasn’t shared a laugh huddled under a bus shelter or sprinting through the streets, united in our quest to stay dry?
So, my lovely people, let’s embrace the wet Welsh weather with open arms and big smiles. When life hands you rain, grab your wellies and dance in the puddles!  After all, who knew a little rain could bring so much joy?

There are small signs that Spring is near. Daffs grow in the park and many people are worked up into a state of complete indifference towards The Oscars.
But the winter gloom remains, like an uninvited house guest that arrived in November, kicked off its shoes, settled on the sofa and refused to ‘sling its hook’.
So, here’s a couple of showbiz anecdotes I hope will amuse you.
From the 1940s to the early 60s, the hilarious, unpredictable comedians “The Crazy Gang” played long seasons at the Victoria Palace Theatre, London and were firm favourites of the residents of another Palace just up the road.
The gang was made up of Bud Flanagan, Naughton & Gold, Nervo & Knox and (perhaps the craziest of the bunch) ‘Monsewer’ Eddie Gray.
Chesney Allen, who’d recorded the iconic “Underneath The Arches” with Bud Flanagan, left the Gang in 1945, but made occasional appearances with them on Royal Variety Shows.
For reasons unknown, a red pillar box sited near the Victoria Palace faced the wrong way, with the rectangular gap for posting letters facing the road, rather than the pavement.
Eddie Gray was a terrible practical joker and one of his favourite pranks was to look into the pillar box and ask, in all seriousness, “But how did you get in there in the first place?” and pretend to engage the ‘unfortunate person’ inside in a conversation.
This would invariably attract a crowd and, when it was big enough, Eddie would say, “Keep him talking while I fetch a policeman” whereupon he’d run into the Victoria Palace’s stage door and observe the ludicrous scene from his dressing room window!
Wonderful!
In the 1950s the annual pantomime at a North Country theatre traditionally featured a troupe of little girl dancers, who were given fairytale stage names like ‘Twinkle Toes’.
At the disastrous dress rehearsal, curtains didn’t open, actors forgot lines and scenery collapsed. When the exasperated director cued the dancers, one was missing!
He barked, “Where is Petal Pink Prettykins?” and from the wings, the choreographer nervously replied . . .
“Prettykins appears to have poo’d herself!”
See you in the stalls!

Remember when a trip meant soaking in stunning landscapes and discovering charming coffee shops?
Now, it feels like I’m navigating a trash-themed obstacle course, dodging empty water bottles and crumpled fast food bags like a contestant on a reality show gone wrong.
What happened? When did tossing your chocolate wrapper out the car window become the latest trend? Did I miss the memo that littering is now chic?
Let’s talk about the litter strategists, the ones who leave a trail of snack wrappers like they’re marking their territory.
It’s like Hansel and Gretel, but instead of breadcrumbs, we’ve got Doritos. They seem to think the world is their personal trash can. “Oh, I’ll just toss this McDonald’s cup here; someone else will deal with it, right?”
Sure, it’s tempting to ditch that empty crisp bag on a hike when you can’t find a bin. But here’s the magic: putting your trash in a bin is like being a superhero for the planet, no cape required, just basic manners.
So, treat the environment like your grandmother’s living room: keep it tidy.
Next time you’re out, think twice before tossing that water bottle into the bushes. Because, believe it or not, someone has to clean it up, and it’s definitely not your grandmother. Rant over.