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Like "Dorothy's Travels", "Wednesday Matinee" was a musical that was re-written rather than written. Not only rewritten but recomposed too, since two composers have had hands in it.

From 1975 to 1978 I ran a truly wonderful little community Pub Theatre Company in Birmingham. It wasn't a gay company, but it had passion and commitment and an awful lot of talent. And we wanted to celebrate our third anniversary, so I got the idea of writing a kind of portrait gallery of character songs, tailored to each member of the company, bound together by a chorus at the beginning and the end, and the whole thing making a cabaret evening.

When I was at school I used to bunk off games regularly on Wednesday afternoons from 1964 to 1968, so I thought of the kind of comic saddos who used to go to those wet afternoon matinees. (The cinema could have been one of several: The Rex, East Finchley, now the Phoenix and a stalwart of the Independents; or the Astoria, Finsbury Park, or the Ionic, Golders Green. The names say it all really.)

The venue was that lively performance pub, "The Fighting Cocks" in Moseley. The composer was Chris Kaday, an advertising executive who was playing on the Birmingham folk circuit, with a gift for catchy tunes. We wrote two other shows together (See Pub Theatre Company section of the website when it comes online.)

The birthday was a great success, but it never went any further at the time. Then when Homo Promos came into being I thought of this old show as a perfect vehicle for the kind of benefit nights we were committed to doing for OutRage, Terrence Higgins Trust or Switchboard. It had 10 self-contained parts which soloists – independent cabaret performers - could learn off their own bat, and just three numbers they needed to rehearse together. The whole thing could be put together in a day, and for a first half the cabaret turns could do their cabaret turns.

However, it seriously needed rewriting, since one of the original cast had insisted on writing his own song, and the song I had written for myself was a glib comedy Dirty Old Man song which in the more sensitive 90s was uncomfortably close to playing games with paedophilia. And it needed a bigger finale. I turned back to my old University chum David Harrod, and it was the first product of our renewed friendship.

So here it is. We are in 1963; we may never have had it so good, but it's pissing down outside, and here our little gaggle get out of the rain and into escapism. 2 OAPs, a truant schoolboy (self-portrait), a housewife with a romantic fixation, a retired teacher who doubles as the film critic of the local rag, an out-of-work Rocker, an old lady nursing bad news, and a – well, originally a Dirty Old Man and subsequently an Outcast. Plus of course the usherette and the Manager who doubles as the Projectionist.

The show did two benefit performances with the cream of late 80s gay cabaret (there is a very fuzzy and faint recording of Paul O'Grady/Lily Savage appearing as the Usherette). Chris Eymard, who went on to the Channel 4 Sitcom The Corner House with Robert Llewellyn, appeared, so did members of Bloolips and the lovely Katrina Buchanan and Ian of "Katrina and the Boy". When it came to make a demo recording, Tom Robinson lent his studio, and his considerable vocal presence to the character of the Outcast. Despite going the rounds, I could never interest anyone in a one-act musical, despite the promise of writing the other half (set backstage during the making of "Singing in the Rain", if you're interested).

Finally, in 1994, we had the biggest financial commitment the company had ever taken on with hiring the Shaw Theatre for three weeks for "Street Theatre", to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. I had to tap everyone I knew for money, including my poor family and the great journalist Duncan Campbell then of the New Statesman. None of them saw any of it back, and I always knew that despite the optimistic prospectus there wasn't much chance of a return. But I decided to do the best to maximise income by putting on a late-nighter as well, which was "Wednesday Matinee".

The Shaw Theatre was closing down, with a sad musty air and carpets already pulled up. Rehearsals alternated with "Street Theatre", rechristened by the director "The Night We Buried Judy Garland". We had a hard job holding our own against the enormous cast of 28 Young Turks Phil Wilmott assembled, but we quietly put together a gentle, eccentric divertissement, strictly in Black & White, with the aid of some very talented and committed actors.

The set design was by cartoonist David Shenton, whose style is instantly recognisable, and the make-up and costumes were by Keith Bursnall, who had left the company by this time, but came back to make this stylish contribution.

I must also single out June Mitchell, a lecturer at Rose Bruford who also performed. She helped me so much with my own performance, and in return I left her very much to her own devices with hers. Her character is the deepest, darkest in the musical, with a number in which she reveals she has just been to the doctor before coming to the cinema, and she has had very bad news about her condition. I watched the video of the show recently – her performance is devastating.

"Wednesday Matinee" is still waiting for the commercial production this little gem deserves. It's a show of modest aims, but achieves those aims triumphantly.