A year ago today I booked the flight to LA which kicked off this whole blog thing. It was a glorious, sunny but expensive way to start off the year. I had a punishing cost on accommodation and the exchange rate was not favourable. I did budget LA perforce, and wrote about it every day – as some of you know only too well. Then I came back with a suntan, a writing habit and a manager who is also a friend.
I’m considering going back. There’s a guy I know who says he has a residence in a ridiculous hotel in Beverley Hills that I can stay in. He also says he has a car I can drive but he says it’s a sports car and when I asked him the excess on the insurance he quoted a figure that blew my face off. It’s tempting – if a little overly luxurious for my tastes – but frankly I’m being pointedly skeptical. If it’s just affectionate bullshit and I book a flight and arrive in Beverley Hills with my bags to find a confused concierge, an eye watering price list, and no alternative place to sleep, then that’s me firmly rammed up shit creek, or back to the pink Airbnb in Compton. But also, sometimes these things are true, and sometimes nice things can happen. I’ll sort out life at home first though, before fucking off over the Atlantic on a shoestring and a prayer. If I can get to a place over here where I think I can take the chance and not come back broke then I’ll roll the dice again. Can’t do any harm. It’s warm over there, and things are definitely being made. And living in bullshit central directly underneath mister superfamous will mean I can probably open a few doors. But things are being made here too and I have a network of lovely genuine people who don’t give a shit where I live and what I’m driving. Maybe my money and effort needs to go towards updating my showreel and getting to know more lovely people in this country before I blow everything on a plastic month in the sun. Either way I’m very aware of it being the anniversary of booking the flight. It marked a positive change in me and my patterns.
I’ve spent the morning taking advice about money. I’ve mentioned before the irony in me playing Scrooge, who does numbers but not people. I’m habitually baffled by money. I’m trying to recalibrate and change that story so I can stop getting myself into trouble. Thankfully there are many varied kind people in my life who are giving their time to help me. Just today I was floored by the kindness of some of my friends. I sat on a bench underground in Euston Station and wept with bitter joy at how my friends have been helping me out – the unexpected acts of kindness. I couldn’t have asked for a lovelier network of people than those I have found through theatre.
I’m back home after a great show. Tom, the director, came down from Hull Truck to see it. We had a potentially tricky audience, but we knocked it out of the park. Jack and I have this down to a fine art now. In previous years I’ve been ready for the end by now. This year I’m wishing we had more shows
No pictures today. I always forget. Once again it’s Pickle, in her usual station, purring like a train as I wind towards sleep. She’s another lovely new friend.
AlBarclay 