Sometimes, theatre causes a fevered devotion in its fans. Those who see shows over and over and discuss the nuances of each performance on theatre websites. Those who stand by stage doors in the bitter winter cold only to be denied an autograph yet come back next week to try again. Those who leap to the defence of their favourite performers with almost rabid ferocity the moment they are criticised. We all know at least one “true” devotee.

In the hours I have whiled away on theatre forums I have encountered people that until today, I considered to be the most hardcore theatre fans alive. One lady had seen Wicked over 20 times. I understand that Wicked is a loveable show, after all, what’s not to like about a green lady riding cleaning implements around the stage. I understand the appeal, that’s why just the other day I tried to persuade my sister to fling herself from a window riding a mop so I could relive ‘Defying Gravity’ but really, 20-something times?!

As flabbergasted as I was by this woman’s devotion, it pales in comparison to André Tchaikowsky’s attachment to the RSC. In October 1979 Mr Tchaikowsky wrote his will, he left his skull (yes his actual skull) to the RSC to be used in performance. Three years later he died and Terry Hands, the then artistic director of the RSC, accepted the bequest.

Over the years Mr Tchaikowsky’s noggin made it close to the stage, it was used in rehearsals, a cast was taken and used but the skull itself remained strictly behind the curtain. Apparently not many actors were comfortable using the macabre prop (funny that) and so it seemed that Tchaikowsky’s dream would never be realised, that is until 2008.

This year, the skull was used on stage in the RSC’s incredibly popular production of Hamlet starring David Tennant. Far from just a bit of scenery or passing prop, the skull played the greatest part any former head could hope for, the skull of Yorick.

Yup, you read that right. David Tennant was the first actor to use the real, actual skull that used to be someone’s head and everything in a performance of Hamlet. No doubt Mr Tchaikowsky would be dead chuffed if he were, you know, not dead.