Bronzed, with winged tips and doused in Le Male, I clamped the baby pink GHDs to my hair until they sizzled and singed it. Emerging from a cloud of cheap hairspray, I was ready for the dancefloor. I was 18 and had grown up in Blackpool, a place synonymous with hedonism and fun. I came out in high school at the age of 14 and from 16 I studied performing arts at a local college. Underage, I was smuggled into clubs and in my spare time I watched shows in our many beautiful theatres. The bright lights of the illuminations, the showgirls, the feathers, sequins and rhinestones were intoxicating. Blackpool really was – and still is – extraordinary.

When the bar closed, a new adventure would begin. One night, as the sun was coming up (and as was I), a drag queen took me back to her place. I didn’t know the significance of what I was about to experience, but I was to receive an education no university course could ever match.

The drag queen was a Liza Minnelli tribute act. She knew every beat of every Liza film, every concert, every move of choreography. She performed as Liza in all the bars around town. Now I was ordained by being welcomed into her home.

Was I ready to be indoctrinated? Very. She led me to the living room for a VHS screening of what I was told was one of Liza’s finest performances. I was expecting Cabaret, the winner of eight Academy Awards, but not on this occasion. She sat me on the sofa and played Episode 414 of The Muppet Show from 1979, with special guest the one and only Liza Minnelli.

The premise works so beautifully for exactly the same reason that The Muppet Christmas Carol is so beloved. In that film, Michael Caine gives the performance of his life in a movie almost entirely populated by felt characters, and in her guest episode Liza matches him in commitment. Take the musical number Copacabana she performs: the curtain goes up and Liza is smoking. She is the narrator, the storyteller, in a Funny Face-esque black polo neck that gives a real sense of gravitas to those Barry Manilow lyrics. Moments later, she is Lola, dancing with human-sized muppets. Or in another scene Liza holds Kermit while they sing A Quiet Thing together. Their connection is pure and tender, a thing of simplicity and gentleness.

As I reflect on this story nearly 20 years later, I am now 10 years sober and while life might well be a cabaret, the decadence of my early youth is firmly in the past. But I think back to this moment, which could be the plot of a movie with Blackpool as a beautiful cinematic backdrop to my coming out/coming-of-age Technicolor fantasy. I didn’t know at the time, but this incident set me on the path to my current profession.

Four years later, in 2011, I started making cabaret performances in south London at the famed Royal Vauxhall Tavern at nights such as Duckie, where my turns were packed full of wigs and jockstraps, fake blood and mascot costumes. In 2015, I joined the international circuit when I became part of big touring pieces of variety and circus spectacle, showing off in the US, Australia, New Zealand and London’s glittering West End. I once performed a 107-hour durational piece in drag at Glastonbury and at the Adelaide fringe, as a teenage girl who wouldn’t leave her bedroom

Ever since that fateful night back in Blackpool in the 2000s, Liza has been a hero of mine. I saw her live in concert at the Royal Festival Hall in London in 2013. I have a Liza tattoo on my right thigh. Back in 2019, I did an eight-hour performance in an old deconsecrated church in Brighton, dressed as Liza Minnelli, performing her album Results in full, emulating through endurance art Liza’s beautiful commitment to performance. Pet Shop Boys, who produced Liza’s Results album, even heard about what I was up to and said my performance sounded great.

And if you ever see one of my shows, please understand that the technical foundation of my performances isn’t drama school training or Stanislavski; it’s Liza on The Muppets. Truth be told, I don’t know where the drag queen in the story is now. I hope she’s OK, but if I did see her I’d say: “Thank you for changing my life.”

Harry Clayton-Wright’s show Mr Blackpool is at the Grand theatre, Blackpool, 20 May.