They are calling us up one by one by one to go out onto the stage and do our act. It is very nerve-wracking. My nerves have never been as wracked at this, which is quite hair-raising. In fact, I don't think my hair has ever been raised as high as this before, which just wracks my nerves even more.
I'm babbling. Sorry, but I'm nervous. The act on before me is called Count Alexei Drastic and he is a professional sausage tamer. He really is very good. With the crack of his whip, he has those sausages rolling over and playing dead, sitting up and begging or jumping through flaming hoops and into a frying pan. Some people think that it's cruel, but what they don't realise is that he only uses vegetarian sausages that are grown on sausage bushes.
Anyway, he gets a standing ovation and his bus fare home, and then it's my turn. Now, I've been quite clever. Oh yes, I have, really. You see, I'm one of the last ones to perform and I've seen most of what everybody has done, and I know that I need to do something radically different if I want to make an impression. I had planned to do a high-stepping showbiz-type torch song whilst balancing on a tightrope, but at least half a dozen people have already done this act, and it didn't go down well. So, what to do? It's too late to get hold of a chicken at this late stage, and my plunger is broken anyway, so that idea is right out. Hang on, I've got the very thing!
They're calling me. It's my turn. Gulp, here goes.