AlBarclay

My laptop had to be sent off for a repair. It was still under warranty so all good. Still, it’s an expensive piece of kit so I was worried to do it. First I phoned the vendor, then ended up in a one on one discussion with some guy in Swindon. He arranged for DPD to pick it up, and they did so and packaged it carefully in front of me and cable tied it all and made it look shipshape. I still felt a bit odd sending it off that way. Then it sat for weeks with them. Apparently they needed a part.

I was waiting in all day for it to be delivered, and went out for a moment to go to the shop leaving Brian and Maddy in the flat just in case. And it was on the fucking doorstep. I rang the bell in case it was broken, and it was answered. I get that DPD are on a tight turnaround. But they were one button away from not leaving a very expensive piece of kit outside near a main road. Chelsea is pretty safe, there’s not much footfall where I am. But there’s plenty of traffic. It would have been a lucky opportunist, but it might have gone. “Just tell them it was nicked,” I’m told. “You’re not gonna bring down DPD for the cost of a laptop.” I was tempted. But I suspect for something of that value CCTV might get checked etc. On principle I think it would be a good fucking lesson to DPD and a shot in the arm for me financially at a time it is needed. But it’s too trackable, and I don’t really fancy being caught in a lie like that.

Laptop is back and working anyway. Just in time for workshop season, which is bloody marvellous. I need to make some money as you know. These ones for Grain LNG are great – much much better than that one I had to run for years with the terrible video about all the posh kids stuck in a forest.

I spent part of the evening opening the contents of a Magic the Gathering : Final Fantasy Booster Box that I bought in less lean times with the intention of selling the contents. I have a good history with selling individual magic cards online, and really it is a form of gambling. There are some extremely rare cards that can command prices in the thousands. I was hoping to open one. Some numbered golden chocobo go for 70k or more. Christ, The unique One Ring sold for 2 million bucks to Post Malone. I wasn’t so lucky. But with a bit of eBay time it’ll be money I didn’t spend on fun, coming back in a fallow time. And right at the end of the opening spree, when I really thought I’d lost money, Cloud showed up – a playable commander “mythic” card in a rare borderless version. Not a big one, but an easy £25, maybe more.

This geek is going for a bath. Right now I even smell like people who know a lot about trading card games.

There we are, you see? A man can go to Walthamstow of a Saturday and not end up having to pay loads of money to traffic enforcement. All he needs to do is book it in advance.

The early internet, made famous by Lastminute.com, realised that things were cheaper if they weren’t sold just before they took place. It was a couple of years for the market to respond but there was a period where people would deliberately not book until just before they travelled, because it would be cheaper. Then the airlines and trains etc caught on. The model only works when information is not easily shared. Now and for a long time it has got more and more expensive the closer you are to travelling. Booking my little parking spot last night worked out much better than showing up on market day and trying to get a pay and display.

Lots of lovely actors came into a room and worked with cue scripts. It’s fascinating and revealing work. I can see why Callum and Emma run these workshops and I’m happy to know about them. It gave a focus to the day. This weekend is mercifully peaceful. Lots of workshops next week so I need the chance to retract, although driving is getting more and more expensive by the day as people panic buy at petrol pumps and, inevitably, the likes of Shell profiteer from the mood of uncertainty brought about by that fucking idiot and his latest vicious international Epstein smokescreen.

My electricity tariff comes off fixed next week and I bet they gouge me for every penny they can. Not a good time for all this, but I guess it never is.

So I’m gonna just enjoy my weekend. I might buy some turnips tomorrow morning on Animal Crossing, maybe this evening I’ll boot up the Steam Deck and zone out. Brian and Maddy are gaming in the living room so it feels right to join them tonight.

I stopped at the cheap Korean butcher in Golders Green to get myself some cheap meat while I was passing. Brokeish or not I’m still gonna try and have nice things until I actually run out.

Another relatively slow day today. I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather, compounded by the fact that the temperature done dropped again. Spring and its false promises. I cooked up one of those Old El Paso Fajita kits just now. They were one of the things we used to do, Max and I, when we were kids living with mum after the divorce. We had tins of ravioli, tins of pie and packets of processed ham, cheese and a toasty machine. And eggs. I still miss the toasty machine to be honest, you can shove all sorts of things between bread and close that thing for a while, and as long as there’s cheese in there it tastes aight.

This evening, El Paso, with Brian and Maddy. Flat meal, at the table no less.

Some things keep being available in Tesco generation to generation. Those kits are one of the things. Something like seven quid now and what do you get? Some spices, some tortillas and a shonky salsa. And inspiration. They cost too much but they take the thinking out. And that’s the headspace I was in. Chopchop cookcook eateat writewrite sleepsleep.

I’m now in my room, just switched the blanket on. I’ve got a glass of ginger ale from the event the other night. I threw in the tiniest sniff of whisky. The plan is to get an early bed. Tomorrow I’m going back to Walthamstow, to support my friend and his Shakespeare workshop. This time I’ve learnt my lesson, I went on just park and booked an all day space for just over £8.00. That’ll save me on fines.

Driving in London is just so much more reasonable if you know how you’re gonna park. But our esteemed mayor looks likely to put taxes on SUVs. It’s already hard enough to move stuff around affordably in this city. If we get an SUV tax I’ll likely have to look into getting a trailer on a normal car which will be much more awkward.

That’s not for now though. For now I’m gonna get an early bed again. I’ll need to make some time tomorrow evening to do all my laundry as well, I’m backed up terribly and Lou comes back soon. I want to meet her at the airport looking chipper. She’s been on a work adventure in Mumbai. I kinda wish I had been with her when it’s cold and damp like this. But the hour changes soon, the light the light the light. It comes.

I just came within millimeters of flooding the flat below me. Put on a bath and totally forgot I had put on a bath. I’ve been opening a box of Magic the Gathering cards I bought in a wealthier time, knowing that at some point I’ll want to open it and flog the contents. It’s a gamble these days. You pay a lot for the box, you need be lucky to get the value back. But there are usually some big wins if you know what you’re looking for. I enjoy the quiet contemplative sorting aspect of it all. There’s precious little in my life where I behave like that.

I have had superb luck in the past with these cards so I’m okay when things are a bit more muted. With the ones I opened tonight I’ll have to work hard to make back what I spent but I can do it. Worth it, perhaps, to have rolled the dice. But there’s a lot of work and time on eBay between me and recouping the money. That said, I know damn well how Al with money bought those cards as a time delay present for broke-Al. It’ll take work and time for broke-Al to release the money from the cards. That’s work and time that flush-Al would never spend. But it means that flush-Al didn’t spend it all on expensive hamburgers. It’ll come back.

So I’m being harassed by Misty, relaxing at home after trying to do admin with varying degrees of success all day. As I write, Misty is attempting to burrow through my arm, all the while purring like a rocket to try and make me believe that her plan is innocent and doesn’t involve my destruction.

I’ll get to work flogging the magic cards tomorrow. Also need to find a way to do my company tax return. Apparently we need software now for such things. Everything is ranked against idiots like me who are ambitiously running companies at a loss.

Which reminds me – I badly need to get a quote in for a clearance job. I’ve been distracted recently. There are many ways out of the moneyhole. Even if my company isn’t making big profits yet, I’m paying myself and my friends properly. Maybe that’s enough.

And that’s the end of the R&D for now. Although it will continue to have a life. I’m hoping to remain attached. Creatively it is very fulfilling. I’ve loved working with good new writing forever. I’m aware that someone else was in the frame for these first few days. Have I done enough? Are they too busy or too sick? Watch this space kids…

I did a last minute replacement test reading for a film awhile ago where the me guy pulled out at short notice. He was already cast, and known to some of the actors – this was just a reading to tweak the script before filming. They’d done a short, got funding and extended it. He jumped ship quite suddenly, and a friend of a friend got muggins here in as happy temporary replacement.

One of the actresses expressed great affection and relief at the reading, performatively expressing how good I was in that part. It was clear she hoped I would be doing it henceforward. I get the sense the OG guy was tricky to work with… Too many men my age are, frankly. Even with As You Like It, it took a while before some members of the company could entirely trust that I wasn’t gonna start telling them how they are wrong about all the things. We are all very different from each other, but until we are massively known we are replaceable. Particularly when there are people like me with fast memories.

The film, they went back to OG, but I got good feedback from the casting director, which might count for something down the line. Casting directors have been my blind spot for too long. I hope the guy showed up and wasn’t a douche.

This script today and yesterday? Who knows what the life of it will be, I’m attached to it now in myself, but I’m realistic. I’ve sat in theatres with friends of mine many times before and they’ve said: “I was in the first R&D for that role,” as we’ve watched someone celebby remembering their way through it chunk by laborious chunk.

We worked through it with care and thought. Every single actor in that room was bringing something positive but different to the table. It felt a very zingy room. The writer was present and flexible throughout. The director was precise and measured and really knew his shit. I could happily spend weeks in that room safely, and the work would come out great across the board.

Still we take what we take. If this is it, this is it. If there’s more, there’s more. Good to be working. Good to be able to bring my decades of solving things to a lovely clever friendly room like that. I stopped worrying if I’m good at this shit long ago. I just do it when I can, but I know now that I need to get myself seen. If a tree falls in the forest etc. There’s not much imagination at the gates. If you’ve done it you’re allowed to do it more. Knock knock.

Even for a couple of days suddenly it is lovely to be back in what feels like a traditional rehearsal room. The writer and director present. A director! My lord the luxury of it! And we are doing table work on a new script. Examining the shape of it, digging into the purpose of the interactions, the rhythms. Haven’t had a director on the last job, and the last time I did some new writing I remember saying on day one: “I expect L will be looking at that bit before we hit performance,” to get “oh no, she’s already signed off on it now.”

I was actually a little nervous this morning. Messaged Lou going in. Just two days, but essentially a room full of strangers.

I mean … I met the director once some twenty years ago, at The Arcola. Can’t even remember why. I just remember who I was with at the time, and that it was my birthday and we got absolutely cunted and ended up underground at some kebab shop in Dalston with some geezer who was running an illicit dive bar. Obviously that’s not why I was there today.

The producer got me in at short notice on recommendation after they lost someone. They needed someone a bit like me so I can see why I passed muster. I showed up in a jacket with a Rolex and Gucci shoes just to help tease them towards the idea I’m good casting for this part. Because … this is just an R&D at this stage. A little bit of money changing hands but mostly just the opportunity to do our creative thing. But if we can make ourselves fit the part hopefully we can gain traction. Work breeds work etc… And fucking hell I’ve been doing this long enough that I really really wish it was easier to get in the room. But twas ever thus and I’m not by any means the only person wishing it.

For today and tomorrow I’m in the room. I can do the thing. And it is enervating and fun. One woman close to my age and carrying her long CV behind her, whatever that might be. I get the feeling she’s *done* things. Me. A young woman who is surely much better than I ever was at that age, and a sparky young Russian actor. It’s a four hander about many things – people and football and supermarkets and… Well, we are finding that out. It’s a lovely piece of writing. And it’s a powerful thing at this stage to examine it in the way we are. The director really knows this process. He’s so good at it, we can just lean into our craft and hit the ride.

Happy me. And tomorrow we don’t even start at 9 which was my only gripe as my first alarm went off at 5 this morning and I went to bed at ten last night. I won’t be much later to bed tonight frankly, but 6 feels much more like morning, and I can maybe even push it to half past considering I won’t need to shave again and I’m not due in Woolwich until 10. Plus there’s a car park there for a tenner the whole day, which makes it entirely commutable and infinitely preferable to fucking with the tube, Elizabeth line or no.

Today I drove down to the Isle of Grain. There’s a huge site there, vast, and filled with gas containers. Through this site, the bulk of the natural gas that we use in this country comes. They bring it in tankers from the gulf so I imagine things are about to be disrupted, but right now it is business as usual. I sign in and show my passport and go through induction. It is a bright morning.

When they take me across to the little room, they tell me about the nature on site. There are snakes and lizards. “Do you get big mushrooms on these lawns?” “Yes, sometimes.”

Just six adults and I’ve got them for two hours. Probably a bit too much talking here. Death by PowerPoint. These adults are volunteering for Grain, and often their contribution, while welcome, is not particularly helpful when we go with these workshops into classrooms. There’s nothing like an expert to kill the energy in a room full of children. So I was running a workshop for them just to slightly upskill their public speaking, to raise their confidence a bit. It’s pleasant work. The PowerPoint was a bit wordier than I would prefer. When I was on tour I was doing this work with a line of Shakespeare. You can find out a lot about someone by chucking a ball around with them and then getting them to breathe and speak in front of you. I kinda prefer to take the PowerPoint out entirely when dealing with adults. It’s a crutch.

I’ve been learning about gas from them. We still need it as we push towards net zero. These people care about the environment as best they can doing this work. They’re engineers pushing for solutions. I wonder if we’ve globally fucked it too badly now, but… we’ve gotta believe. Haven’t we? Warmest decade on record. Polar ice is going going going. Seas are cooking. Too much co2. None of the big players are behaving like they even slightly care.

Och well. I just had a hot bath with my combi boiler which I drained after soaking so Brian could run one of his own.  We’ve all got plenty of ways we could improve. One thing at a time. For now, workshops on and around net zero. Wouldn’t it be brilliant if we could make that happen. It takes infrastructural change and deeper understanding. I can help with the latter part I guess.

I’m back at home. My bedroom is an apocalypse of clothes at the moment. When I went to America I lied to Maria. Maria used to clean for Christine next door and Christine passed her to me. Back then she named her hourly rate and I said no and named one back that was higher. She helped solve some problems and tried to instigate systems. Some of her systems were useful, others less so. But back then she worked hard and helped, and I helped her write job applications and it was pleasant and mutually beneficial.

When people started to move back in, she started to draw boundaries and gradually she did less and less. She didn’t like Frank. She couldn’t compute him. She’s a Jehovas Witness, very devout, he’s attaching sequins to his coat for a burlesque night. I’m surprised she tolerated me, to be honest, but she wanted the employment and she probably thinks I’m closer to how I present as being.

But … she knows I’m shit at doing my laundry and that was the special power I paid her for for years. With friends in my flat it became blindingly apparent through them that she has been coasting for years. “I was here the whole time she was there. She watched videos, cooked and cleaned after herself and didn’t even hoover.” “But … she needs the work,” I would justify lack of change. And back at the start she did. But now she’s found a live-in with an old lady that needs her silver polished on the daily. She would mostly use her day here to download stuff on WiFi and cook herself dinner. I was told by too many people that she was doing fuck all. “Give me what you’re giving her, I’ll do a much better job,” I also got, because she started raising her price and lowering her hours after a while. We had a blazing row one time after she randomly asked for a lot more money saying she had had a busier week than usual. I paid her, but that was when I properly internalised that I was just a means to an end for her, and she internalised that I wasn’t gonna be fucked for cash again as I gave her such a hard time over it. And frankly that’s when both of us should have moved on, but … I’m sentimental.

I can change my own sheets and wash my own clothes. Did it for decades before I brought her in. So… Yes so eventually I lied to her. I’m sure she saw right through it. But as far as my info to her went, I was basically emigrating to America. So long, farewell, paálam, goodbyie.

So now I’m back from America and I’m gonna have to wash my own clothes. Fuck it. But… with cashflow as bad as it is right now, I’m okay with that work. I just don’t know if I’ve got the time as I’m gonna be needing to earn to stop myself running into a wall.

Peace and quiet by the sea. I think all the service industry servicing left me needing to recharge. This little hotel room, almost entirely dominated by a four poster bed and the trappings of faded opulence – this has been where I’ve charged myself up again like a battery. There’s a pass in Bergman so I can just leave him, and I have. I’ll go move him at 9 tomorrow and get myself back to London but for today I’ve unplugged from everything. I didn’t even check my phone until afternoon.

It transpired that Brian and Maddy had attempted to get a train to this part of the world, but Southern Rail had disgorged them in Arundel. They decided to make the best of it in Arundel, and by the time I discovered their plight I was already committed to a day of absolute idleness.

I wandered down to the bottom of the square, where The Regency served me Spaghetti Napolitana outside in the sunshine. I basked like a lizard. The air is cold but the sun is starting to feel like it’s taking this Spring business seriously. I didn’t get out of town, but found momentarily peaceful places and inhabited them. When I got flooded by too many people I just retreated to this little room.

In my early twenties I occasionally used to go to Paris for the weekend, when the Eurostar was new and you could get £25 return for under 25 year olds. I’d book into a run down hotel like this one, and get some sort of thrill out of it. My temporary home away from home, where I am only on my own schedule. There’s a kettle in here so I could have gone full Pot Noodle, but the spaghetti was only a tenner and it didn’t make the room stink.

I’ve got my Steam Deck with me – haven’t used it for months as too busy – so I enjoyed geeking out by working around how to get a native port of the original Animal Crossing game up and running in time to buy some turnips in the Sunday morning market. I did way too much turnip trading in lockdown when I got swept up in New Horizons. I’ll never have time to do that now, but I can have a bit of nostalgia gaming while I wind down, plus I somehow enjoy the process of messing around with Linux to get things like that up and running. There is a strand of me that runs very deep geek. It’s probably why I was so triggered by “Fatima’s next job could be in cyber”.

A busy and varied week again next week. This life keeps on being bright rich and strange. A day like today once every week or so makes it possible to fly forward full force the rest of the time.

I’m in a hotel room in Regency Square. It was cheap last minute on Booking.com. I’m here in Brighton to take Lou’s car in for MOT and she has a stable catsitter at home at moment. Tessy is fragile and the catsitter is important for Lou’s stability right now when many aspects of her existence are in flux. I would sooner not make any disruption to her existence. So I booked this room. I’m at the back. Were I at the front I’d be able to see this:

This is an evil glowing crow in a top hat that reminds everyone in Brighton about greed.

Right now I think they call it the i360. The bassacred nature of Londoners is partly to blame for it. They put up that stupid millennium wheel and somehow it filled a gap and we kinda loved it and kept it and now it’s the London Eye. So… Brighton council spent all the money on god’s earth (like over 30 million) for this thing to be made by the same lot. Somehow they got away with it once. But honestly, no, not twice, it was never going to work here, never. I expect it wasn’t meant to either – there are many ways of getting public money into private pockets – look at Trump. Locals call it “the cock ring”. It’s a shaft. It sits there doing the evil crow until some idiot pays and then a ring slides up and down the shaft and the people in it see a tiny bit more sea and drink a bit more champagne and congratulate each other. Quod est interius, est sicut exterius. On the inside they masturbate. On the outside they masturbate.

Leads me to wonder what has happened in this hotel room, which has a very old two poster bed. I expect there’s been plenty of all sorts here at this price. There’s not much floor outside the bed. All I need is what I have. I’m here for two nights. Very odd to be in this town without Lou, but even though it is only two hours drive, it is still two hours drive and it feels like I want to justify it rather than just serve needs. So I’m gonna hang out by the seaside.