So, Jessica Mauboy had a panic attack.
I was going to say, well, don’t judge her until you’ve walked a mile in her (Victorian Racing Club-approved) heels but who am I kidding?
No-one is judging her.
On the contrary, the internet is today full of people saying: ‘I had a panic attack!’ and ‘Oh, I get them all the time!’
Which is great, because panic attacks are super common and if you haven’t had one, well, I don’t now, maybe you’re not going outside often enough? Panic attacks are part of the wonderful experience of being both alive and human, and in that context, absolutely nobody needs to hear about mine, except that mine was brilliant.
Mine was on my wedding day. I know, right? Perfect.
To set the scene, mine was not a flash wedding. My dress cost $150 and my shoes were not new, and maybe even a bit scuffed but who even cares? We were just starting out and didn’t have a lot of money.
I didn’t have anyone come and do my make-up, but my bridesmaid and I applied some fake tan the night before, and we both ended up bright orange. This was in the old days of fake tan, when orange meant orange.
We got in the bath and tried to scrub it off with a pumice stone and ended up with the kind of graze that you get when you come off your bicycle.
So things weren’t exactly looking up when we went down for breakfast – we were staying in a little hotel, near the country church – and maybe because we were bleeding and crying, the two ladies at the next table wanted to know: what’s the matter?
I said: “I’m getting married today.”
The older of the two stabbed a fork into her runny egg and said: ‘Turn back now while you still have time.’
Now, that’s the kind of thing that normally cracks me up, but I have to tell you, my stomach was seriously cramping. I can’t even say why. Just the idea of, I don’t know, walking down the aisle with everyone looking …
Caroline Overington.
I put a napkin on my plate and said: “I’m going to be sick”. By the time we got back to the hotel room, boy oh boy, it was like that scene from The Exorcist. Two decades on, I can remember my father coming to the door to collect me:
“What’s that smell?” he said, sniffing the air.
“That’s the bride, John,” my bridesmaid said, “That is the bride.”
And yet the show must go on, right?
I made it up the aisle, but if you look closely at the photographs, I’m seriously hunched over, like Scrooge in thrifty look-a-like lace. My head – well, it was like somebody was banging saucepans inside my skull. Just as well they give you your lines. No way in the world was I going to be able to remember my lines.
So, when I woke this morning and heard that Jessica Mauboy had suffered a panic attack before she had to sing the anthem at the Cup, I thought: ‘Oh, you poor girl.’
Because imagine it: all those jittery horses and their half-crazed owners. All those nervous jockeys, and 100,000 drunk and braying punters. Ditzy people with clipboards and microphones, standing around bickering about whether she’s wearing the right shoes.
All that bright sunshine, and all the expectation… because this is the national anthem and nobody knows the words to our national anthem, except Jess has to know every single one of them, and woe betide if she gets one wrong …
Also, God help her if somebody decides that she looks fat, or that her dress looks like a licorice all-sort…
No wonder she panicked. But you know what, Jess? It’s probably a one-off. And here’s a tip for the future (see what I did there? Cup Day?):
Next time you’ve got a big event on, slip a little rock in your pocket. Press it against your thumb when you feel yourself getting nervous. You’ll find that it calms you down. I can’t even tell you how many people in the audience will be doing the same thing. Honestly, I know famous people – beautiful people! Even some entirely normal people! – who carry enough pebbles in their pockets to drown Virginia Woolf … which is so not funny, except you’ve got to laugh, right?
You’ve got to laugh, because the alternative is to be so mortified you end up drowning yourself in the lake, and it’s not worth it. You’re a diamond, Jess, and this is a blip. Pick up, dust off, carry on.
We in the cheap seats – your fans! – totally have your back.
