True story: I was master of ceremonies for my primary school's nativity, playing everyone's favourite Christmas character, Pablo The Mexican Reindeer.
https://twitter.com/qikipedia/status/1322055633798090760
Each class did a little five minute show, and I - a ten year old, sombrero-wearing, reindeer child - came out in between each act, to sing and crack jokes in a Mexican accent that should have landed me in the Hague.
No pictures or videos survive from the performance, which is *extremely unlucky* since my dad was a camcorder fanatic, and had in fact been recording the official record of my school's plays and concerts for years. I've found the tape a few times but it doesn't play.
My big number was the opening song, introducing the parents of Nazareth House PS, Derry to the racially insensitive ungulate who'd be leading proceedings. Buried within my origin story was the claim that Santa can't speak Spanish - but presumably can speak every other language?? 
I came out - playing maracas - while everyone sang the song. Greeted like a returning emperor, my gaze pitiless as the Mazatlán sun, I shook those shakers as I hopped about the stage, occasionally improvising with a "who, me?" when the feeling took me.
Don't remember much, just that my pronunciation of "meh-hee-co" garnered raves from all assembled. I also remember BBC's @keirontourish might have interviewed me as part of some story relating to nativities so I was on the local news. The jump from stage to screen? Effortless.
I also remember rehearsing pretty hard for it the week leading up, and getting to step out of regular classes for the duration. I ate my lunch with all my friends, dressed as a giant racist reindeer while they sat in their regular uniforms, jealous as all hell.
It would have been very easy for me to take off the outfit for the half hour my lunch lasted, but I was in the zone. I'd smelled the grease paint, beloved. I'd heard the roar of the crowd.
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