I've now had a chance to look through the part of Bob Boles, the ranting, Bible-bashing, drunken, leering Methodist fisherman. Typecast again.
My mum thinks I ought to do it all in an Ian Paisley accent, which shows you why my mum isn't an opera director.
It's an enticing thought though. Perhaps I could bellow out "Harl it yerrsalf, Greymes!", or "This lost soul of a foshermon most be shonned bey ruspuctable soceyety!!", or - most excitingly, as Boles gets into brimstone mode while the chorus fret about the approaching storm in Act I - "Re-pant! Re-pant! Re-pant!!!!!", in the stentorian manner of Rev P shouting "Tharr shall bee noooooh sorrrrendooorrrr to the Ey Or Ay!!!!"
I suppose a Suffolk accent would be more appropriate, whatever that is. Like my Uncle Wally? No, come to think of it, he came from Norwich. He'd have been a rubbish Bob Boles anyway, about as fiery and threatening as Bernard Matthews trying to persuade Grimes to come and work in the marketing department of his turkey factory.
Second rehearsal tomorrow....