Waxing lyrical

Jack is screwing around with candles. Everything always gets covered with wax on this set. Everything. Wax on your clothes. Wax on the pages of the ledger. Coins and carpets covered in wax. Wax on my arm, dropping hot as I’m talking. Wax on the tablecloths, that we scrape off with knives before the show. Wax all over my hand in the dark. Wax on the armchair. Wax in the mug, on the table, on the ring, on the walls, in my hair, on my slippers. Wax wax wax.

Sixty people in tonight. I think I’m coming down with a cold. Either that or I was snoring all night last night. I hope it’s the latter. All I know is that my throat hurts and I feel tired. It’s a Friday too which means it’s likely to be carnage in here. We’ll need to have our wits about us. The next two days are likely to be full on.

Jack and I are in hours before we should be. We’ve been attempting to do maths with seats. Sixty is about as many as we can fit. We reckon we can cram them all in, so long as it’s not the Sheffield Hamburger Appreciation Society Christmas drinks. I’m letting him do the work right now though. I’m sitting in Scrooge’s chair talking to you while he cuts candles. Call it character research.


There are only 4 more shows in this space, but we are still adjusting things obsessively like the pair of geeks we are. We think we have solved the problem of wax all over the tablecloths, without going too far in the direction of nobody being able to see my face. We got some tea light holders from Poundland and Jack is shoving tiny little mini candles into them. The show doesn’t start for two and a half hours, and all the traps are already set. Music is playing. The spider festoons are casting their warm glow over me in my comfy chair. We always make a home. This is the best one yet, as we aren’t sharing it with another company and its not freezing cold. Manchester was a bit like this, but back then we were treated more like actors, and we weren’t involved in the build. Oh how times have changed. It’s great to have ownership over the space.

York is looming next week. A totally different show in a totally different room, with a guy that runs the space who keeps changing the rules. A new host of questions which will have to be answered live. It looks like I’ll have to run the bar through my iPad. We won’t have any tricks, we will have no darkness and no silence. We have gotten very used to being able to hold simple moments in candlelit silence. I fear these will be the last few shows this year where that’s possible. And then it’s back to London, to uncertainty, to home, to day jobs, to friends, to January.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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