Tara Ward: 'My experience as an extra in Shortland Street's explosive anniversary episode'

Tara Ward and Alex Casey appear as extras on Shortland Street. Photo / Supplied

I was there, I played a role, albeit small, in the explosive Shortland Street party, writes Tara Ward.

I nearly peed my pants when the people at Shortland Street invited me to be an extra at Chris Warner's 50th birthday party. Would there be party games? Maybe Chris would play Anchor Me on his guitar? I'd do hilarious impressions of his ex-wives and he'd laugh like a drain and maybe let me run my fingers through his hair. I'd be the gift that keeps on giving.

On arrival to the South Pacific Studios, I was desperate to sniff him out. I lurched through corridors lined with photos of Shortland Street legends, bouncing off Jonny Marinovich and smashing into the Jeffrey sisters. It was a long, silent journey into the studio - through the empty hospital cafe (RIP Wendy) and past Mo's kitchen where Kate cooked Christmas lunch (RIP ham).

The pilgrims reached Mecca: the Warner mansion. Before us stood the god that is Chris Warner, his golden hair glistening like a beacon. "Mi casa, su casa," he said, extending an arm over his kingdom - the iconic "tell me that is not your penis" stained glass, the oven Rachel cleaned the night she nearly drowned. We had crossed the threshold into nirvana.

We spindly extra saplings stood amid a forest of legends - Waverley and Nick, Drew McCaskill, the three Warner babies. I remembered the episode the triplets were born, Carrie screamed so loud my dad made me turn over to Holmes. Look at us now, them joking about how "eruption" sounds like "erection" and me astride Chris Warner's sex couch.

The assistant director talked us through our first scene. I leaned against the Warner front door and waited for the magic words "crouch behind a spider fern with a stolen box of Blenheimer", but they never came. Instead, I was to saunter over to the drinks table.

Straight to the booze? I'd been method acting the crap out of this moment for years.

A hush descended on the gilded paradise of the Warner mansion and a voice from the dark shouted "action". I stumbled inside, elbowing people out of the way in my desperate thirst. Glass in hand, I gazed around with wonder as if I had just emerged from the birth canal, and threw my head back in mimed hilarity.

I was Meryl Streep, I was Marj Brasch, I was writing my Oscar speech in my head.

Who was I kidding? I was a petrified waxwork who eyeballed the camera and collided with the actors. My head nodded so enthusiastically it was like a bladder on a stick. My mouth made silent syllables in a language that didn't exist and I my hand was gnarled in a permanent claw around my glass. I kept drinking the props. I had peaked too soon.

Luckily, I wasn't the only disaster at that party. It was every ham-fisted extra for themselves when Mt Ferndale shook the ground in a fit of rage not seen since Drew stole Boyd's car park. Michael Galvin had promised us karaoke, but there was no way we'd manage Islands in the Stream while covered in hot magma. "It's just a tremor!" Boyd yelled.

Panic had set in. Nick ran up and down the stairs like a feral cat and Finn loudly shouted "IT'S AN ERUPTION!". We huddled around an imaginary television to watch the latest news on the party pooper that was Mt Ferndale. I was too short to see, so I stared at the back of Frank's head and imagined the devastation. It seemed fine to me. Hairy, but fine.

It was time for my final scene. Mt Ferndale was about to swallow us whole; in years to come they would find me entombed on the sex couch in a gritty layer of ash and pumice. Before me stood Waverley Wilson, the goddess of my teenage years, still resplendent in all her kooky magnificence. In the 90s she wanted to be Kirsty Knight, I wanted to be Kirsty Knight, we were practically the same person.

The director gave me a fake phone to make a fake emergency call, so I decided to ring my 14-year-old self and silently mouth one thing to her: "You won't believe what you'll be doing in 2017".