Making a Scene. Why:

Today is the day I can finally reveal that I have the honour of performing Sit or Kneel at The Other Palace this Autumn.

This play slightly 'started it all off' for me 18 months ago - I am thrilled / honoured / very excited / very nervous to bring back a bolder, bigger and better version.

So, I am celebrating with a blog post - centred on the topic of 'Why?'.

Only because 'why', when ranked among the other 'question-y' words, is my personal favourite.

For example:

Why do we collect Tesco Clubcard points when we don't even know how to spend them?

Is far more thought-provoking than -

What is a Tesco Clubcard point?

Point proven.

Here begins my ramble in response to the 'WHY':

There are lots of reasons as to why I write and act, let alone why I want to do a one-woman play about a vicar.

These reasons extend beyond my natural tendency to 'cause a scene’. Thankfully, I grew out of that (sort of. I have my moments).

No one forced me to do it - quite the opposite. I declined the promise of law school and career stability to do something which some generously call 'brave', some honestly call 'stupid'.

Clearly - I'd rather take 'brave' but feels a bit too generous.

• Timing my Deliveroo order to arrive at my door at exactly the same time as my Uber at 2am - that's what I call brave.

• Leaving my dissertation to the last week - brave.

• Riding my untrained donkey around a graveyard pretending to be Jesus age 8 - brave.

Come to think of it - all the above could actually be called stupid.

Have I just unearthed "brave"'s new synonym?

Let us move on.

I could so easily start listing the reasons why I do what I do, but that would start to get a bit over-earnest and sickly.

Take what you do seriously, but don’t take yourself seriously. I live by that.

I mean, come on - I wrote a play that has a scene whereby I speak (in detail) about explicit sexual activity and performed it with my father sitting front row. Quick note - not the activity itself (obviously) - just my verbal description of said activity.

My father is still grieving for the perfect golden daughter who died a death that day.

"O, Father. Show me there's life after death."

Maybe I secretly take myself very seriously - but to anyone else, I don’t.

Dad - you are probably reading this scouting out for spelling erors. I just want to reiterate that anything mentioned in any of my work is all fictional. This could or could not be the truth. You'd never know. Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies.

I’m not going to write about why I’m doing a one-woman play.

I don’t want to start sounding like an earnest pretentious dupe of Variety’s Actors on Actors.

Or, God forbid, start referring to what I do as a “craft”.

I'm too wise for that.

I grew up with two brutal brothers who have always kept me "grounded".

After subjecting me to various character-building activities - dead rat in my bed, hand sanitiser on my toothbrush, gaslighting me into believing rabbit-droppings-were-chocolate-buttons-and-I-need-to-keep-eating-them-so-my-taste-buds-mature.

They now tend to label anything I do as “cringe”.

I know better than to waffle on and verbalise any sort of ego I may, or may not, posses.

Plus - I only tend to watch Actors on Actors when the actor speaking about their “craft” is one of my momentary crushes.

Highly doubt that I have any admirers reading this - and if I do, the fact this is just words probably won’t get them going. I'm not smart enough for anyone to fall in love with my intellect. Even my degree - Theology - doesn't exactly ooze sex appeal.

So. No 'earnest' allowed. Instead of why I'm doing a one-woman play - I will tell you why you shouldn't.

1: You have to do every idea you have yourself

There’s a scene where Margot has to eat an entire Swiss roll cake. I wrote it. Bloody funny. Nice bit of symbolism. If I say so myself, works a treat (No pun intended.).

The only problem is - one-woman play means I have to bloody eat it. Every. Single. Day. To begin with - I thought I hacked the system. Getting to eat a whole cake, guising any over-indulging greed as a 'professional necessity' - resulttt.

After three weeks of eating a cake every day, the novelty wore off. In retrospect: a really bad idea. Tesco Value Swiss roll cakes aren’t like olives. They aren’t a case of the more you eat them the more you’ll enjoy.

Quite the opposite.

But it’s now so entrenched in the play that I can’t cut it.

This time, might upgrade from Tesco’s to M&S. Maybe even a Colin the Caterpillar for the final night. TBC.

This next one really annoyed me. I had the best idea for the opening of the play. It was going to start with a video montage of the character driving in a car - very visual, very cool, very BBC 3. Wrote the script. Made the storyboard. All set to go. Then I realised - shit. One-woman play. I have to do it myself.

I am legally not allowed to sit in a driver’s seat for 18 months.

Didn’t break the law or anything - don’t worry. The universe just decided 2025 would be the year of Mimi's epilepsy. So now banned from driving. I say banned - I didn’t even have my license or theory. One positive is that at least now I have an excuse that’s more valid than “I was too busy revising for A-levels at 17.”

Anyway, that idea stalled. Didn’t even pass its theory.

Asked my brother if he’d do it in a blonde wig. As predicted, he told me to stop being "cringe" and handed me a pot of chocolate drops.

I knew my tastebuds would eventually mature.

2: People think you are the character

I did a play about a female vicar. Alas, I am not a vicar.

Closing night - I have a few glasses of red. Fair enough. Feels on brand. Wine? A DIY job from Jesus after I handed him a glass of water. The takeaway pizza on the way home? Call it communion. I’m simply honouring the Last Supper.

What doesn’t work - apparently - is following that with tequila shots and prank-calling my brother’s ex from the smoking area.

People get funny about it. They start throwing around words like “unbecoming” and “you’re embarrassing yourself.” All because they presume I'm a vicar. Grossly unfair.

I am definitely not the problem. Society just has tendency to not look below the cassock.

Next time I should write a character that is smart, successful, sexy. (Not how the sexy came last in the order. That was an edit. I have to be honest. Reading back felt like a rubbish feminist that I would ever prioritise being sexy over smart.).

I'd happily osmosis into her.

Naturally, everything I'd do would be on brand.

3: People think you’re a narcissist

“So… in your final year of uni you decided to lock yourself away for days to write a one-woman play… because you thought you could?”

Well, yes. But when you put it like that...

Honestly, if anyone actually knew me, they’d say I’m definitely not a narcissist.

I even did the WikiHow “Are You A Narcissist or Empath?” test - yep, you guessed it. I'm a 'Total Empath'!!! REJOICE!

[Quiz link at bottom of this piece - to make you read the whole thing. If you skip down just to take the quiz - mega narcissist energy]

I’m now hating myself, because I feel like the more I insist I’m not one, the more I sound like I am. You're reading this on a website called “Mimi Nation-Dixon”, so maybe I lost that argument.

But I’ve got to learn to live with it. Phoebe Waller-Bridge did just fine.

4: You get all the lines

Slightly included this one to disprove the narcissist accusations. "I just hate having all those lines. It feels really unjust that my voice is clogging up the space. Little. Old. Me. I. Don't. Deserve. It."

Obviously I don’t really mind having all the lines - I’d rather that than mime.

Always been a bit of a 'chatter'.

When I was six, I got cast as the narrator in the school Nativity and was furious. I genuinely believed I was the most talented actor in Year 2, and yet I only had the second most lines. Miss Hobbs doesn't know talent when she sees it - regret will be turning her in her grave I'm sure.

You miss 100% of the shots you don't take. And boy oh boy, Rosalind Hobbs did you miss.

Her gross misjudgment didn't really change much though.

Did what any other gifted child would do - made up my own lines and ad-libbed at various points in the play.

Oh look - is that pregnant Mary riding a donkey I spy? "FEE FI FO FUM MARY RIDES A DONKEY WITH HER BIG FAT TUM".

With a story as multi-faceted as the Nativity, you can never have too much narration.

Trust me - I got a First in Theology. I’d know.

5: I really tried to think of a fifth one. But I couldn’t. Sorry.

Truth is, as silly as it sounds - I do rather like (well, love) what I do.

Effectively after living half my life being told off for making a scene - I am now actively encouraged and incentivised to do that every day. System hacked.

So basically, only three reasons. Cake, character assumptions, and narcissism.

Who knows - by 20th October, when I’m lucky enough to be bringing Sit or Kneel to London's stage - I might have more.

Will keep you updated, avid readers.

Might start “blogging” more. Means when I write my autobiography (or the more humbly titled “memoir”) I’ll just have to copy and paste.

Adios.

Or shall I say; Amen

Fancy coming along to watch? Ticket links here: https://theotherpalace.co.uk/sit-or-kneel/

Link to narcissist test: https://www.wikihow.com/Relationships/Am-I-a-Narcissist-or-an-Empath-Quiz