This heat. Yesterday I was making over my friend’s flat. I changed the sheets, aired everything, made it lovely, plumped the pillows. It was half two in the afternoon. Terri from airbnb messaged me to say she wouldn’t be there until 4.30. The window into the bedroom was open. I curled up in the breeze, closed my eyes and fell asleep on her beautiful clean plumped bed. “I’ll just close my eyes for a second.” I woke suddenly to the buzzing of the phone in front of my face, still clutched in my fist, like no time has passed. “I’m here!” 2 hours. Gone to busy dreams.
30 seconds of feverishly pulling black hairs off the pillows and replumping and airing everything. 30 seconds of hauling on my shorts and sticking my feet into unlaced shoes and she’s at the door. Thankfully there’s a good breeze through the flat.
Then I went to Hyde Park and played ninjas with Ivo. I think the powernap helped me keep on running from tree to tree even when the energy coffers should’ve been empty. “Let’s run again.” “Ok Ivo. That’s definitely the best plan.”
Today it happened again. I took a coldstream guard’s uniform to the dry cleaners, got home, tidied my room, did some writing and fell asleep in the heat. It’s easy to do at the moment because my room is not a shitshow. Pickle curled up next to me and we simultaneously catnapped on top of the covers. I was woken by Jack at the door. I was glad of the nap.
Jack and I have been slowly making Beowulf for ages. We’ve both got lots of other stuff on but we needed to reboot the work because we care about it. Jack played some guitar on my roof, I realised I absolutely must buy a new accordion (My old workhorse fell out of a Luton in the rain after Christmas Carol and has been forever destroyed). We are starting the long road to making something we fucking believe in.
It’s another thing to think about. August might be a quiet month in this town. Not going to Edinburgh, though, can sometimes be valuable in my industry if you’re not on the list. “We need an intelligent posho.” “Just get Bunty.” “Bunty’s in Edinburgh.” “What about Runty?” Runty is in Edinburgh too.” “Can’t we fly one of them?” “No, I’ve asked. They’re too busy up there.” “Well, we will just have to say that we can’t cast it. Without Bunty or Runty there really is nobody else that can play that part. Tell them to move the filming.” “We can’t.” “Well there’s nothing – literally absolutely nothing we can do if we can’t have Bunty or Runty… unless … Funty?” “He refuses. New father.” “Tell them it’s impossible. They’ll have to rewrite the part.” “Or maybe… Maybe we can *ORGAN SPIKE* see some different actors????” *cut to two terrified people in an office* *Enter Al Barclay* “So you’re Al … Barcty? Barty? Alty Barty?” “No it’s BarCLAY. It doesn’t end in “ty.” *I told you so glances.* “Well, I suppose we have to see what you’ve prepared anyway.” *Al removes a full size Alpen Horn from his trousers and blows it. A herd of buffalo crash in mooing and knock down the building. Al is swept away riding one of them, naked now and laughing maniacally. The two casting directors remain, sitting in the same two chairs amid the devastation, normalizing. Pause.* “Interesting fellow. Reminds me of Punty before the incident. Shall we give it to him?” “Do you think he always has the buffalo?” “We can ask his agent. Tea?”