Sweet Dreams Are Made of This When they pin up the cast list, I’m not surprised Arlo gets Willy Wonka. The Medway Messenger had hailed his debut as Baron von Trapp, praised his chemistry with Gaynor’s Maria. I’d fancied him from the chorus, just another nun he never noticed. I get chorus again, so I tell the director I’ll give my all as an Oompa Loompa, but I played Annie when I was eight and it’s time she gave me a role I can get my teeth into. At the read-through, I bring a Belgian assortment, attempt to tempt Arlo with a handmade truffle, try not to mind when he shakes his head. Everyone knows he can pic ’n’ mix any of the girls. Half the boys too. Mum always tells me I’ll never play Juliet or Eliza Doolittle unless I’m upfront about what I want. So I ask Arlo if we can run his lines and have sex. Except his Act One’s as full of holes as a Curly Wurly, while his Act Two – the sex – starts even worse. Even after I drizzle my breasts with a zesty ganache, he’s still as soft as a marshmallow. Finally he fesses up to being chocolate allergic, so I go mouth-to-man minty and soon we’re on song. Afterwards, rehearsing again, he’s just as Wonka as Timothée Chalamet. With ten minutes to go on opening night, Arlo’s slumped in his dressing room, mumbling that he’s a Wonka fraud, his von Trapp a first-show fluke. The director is doing her nut so I tell her I’ll get him on stage, providing I can play Glinda in Wicked at Christmas. She nods, so I ask her to give us five. Then I lock the door, slip out of character, and set to work with a couple of Trebor Extra Strong.