That felt great, having a good old moan yesterday. Meant I could see the colour of the crap inside. Like all the loogies I’ve been hacking up lately with this endless hayfever yuk, it’s better out where I can see it and make sure it’s not got blood in it.
I read an interesting treatment and work in progress today. Satire is one of my favourite forms, but it’s a form that develops and deepens with familiarity. This is a modern working of an old satirical fiction. The original has great charm but it’s a bit on the nose by modern standards and gets more and more laboured as it goes. There is much that the original book has given to our culture and language, but with any classic work remade, the question is “Why this now?” With Shakespeare it’s easy: “He just … gets us.” I get jumpy when I see a classic text remade. I worry it might just be the fan fiction of someone who loved it at school and hasn’t really progressed since then.
Reading the treatment, though, I found my imagination jumping around Brexit and patriarchy and privilege which are undeniably talking points at the moment. Enough so for me to want to find out more with this one. And lovely after yesterday’s ranty blog to be reminded that people are interested in collaborating with this irascible.old git. Moods are momentary. Tempers are temporary. Sic transit.
It’s because I’m not dayjobbing this week. Normally I’m changing my clothes on a train while mumbling to myself in verse, or I’m cramming a PowerPoint into my head on a rush hour tube with a suit on and a costume in my bag. This week I’m waking up when the cat gets bored and then skittling around my local area trying not to buy shit like clockwork mice for Pickle (awnly a pahnd). Too much time to think. By the end of this week I would like to have organised a little desk area and sat it in for long enough to flesh out a couple of chapters. It’s all going to explode again soon with dayjobbing plus a run of Macbeth so it’s a good opportunity to chill out and learn another part – maybe Malcolm. What went wrong that I wind down by learning lines? Still, Crouch End Festival fast approaching and I wanna be firing all guns for that.
I stopped by the Boy with a Dolphin statue near mine. By David Wynne. My mother used to love it. As a kid I remember seeing a pod of dolphins with her on the horizon at Cable Beach. I remember it because she was suddenly a kid with me. I was only ten. She loved the things. Dolphins and seagulls. Very sixties, but the message of flow and freedom. Flowing is not about banging your head against something until it smashes. It’s about changing with the current, freedom, vigour, speed and joy.
Back to the classic, good old Hamlet puts it best to his old friends: “There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.”
I had a moan, a good read a good walk and I bought a clockwork mouse. Now another read – in honour of my mother I’ll see if I can dig out some Richard Bach – and a sleep. Pickle will be nibbling my toes in about 6 hours. Here’s a boy with a dolphin, being dynamic, flowing, rolling, shifting. And possibly drowning.