I will finally be home in five days. I just went to meet one of my agents for lunch, knowing she would be impeccably turned out, and noticing that I still have my walking boots on, along with my brasher trousers, workmanlike ski jacket, and hiking socks. Five days before I can roll into a three piece suit and prance around my Chelsea pad like a posh Christmas fairy. Right now I still look like a pilgrim. And sure enough she looked a million dollars. Damn. Still, she’s fab. I’ve finally found the people I’ve been looking for, for twenty years. Thank God.

There are lots of Christmas pick-ups to do, some as far away as Guildford, and it’s not too late to join the madness. The Christmas jaguar is properly doing the rounds. Numbers are close to 14 now I think. The week after Christmas I can chill and I damn well will. That’s what I’m looking forward to most. A week down, and because Carol paid a week in lieu, I’ll get a paypacket on the Friday after a week of lounging around.

Meantime York, craziness, Carol and fun.

This little city is ramjammed. Everyone is Christmas shopping. Lots of people are off work now. It’s all go. Our audience for tonight almost doubled in a day. Maybe we’ll start to pack out now. After all, it’s hard to get a seat in the coffee shops. Uber is constantly surging. It’s chocka in the centre. I’m running out into crowds at the end of the show, which makes a change from a Sheffield car park with the occasional teenage drug dealer.

Right now I’m enjoying a rare moment of calm. The last few days have been bonkers. Tonight as I’ve mentioned, the agent is watching. But that’s fine because I like and trust her and the show is unbreakable so it’s not a pressure run – it’s going to be good to share it with her. But I’m getting my blog down early because I’m anticipating some booze tonight. Even though all I’ve done today so far is have lunch.

I’m in a coffee shop on Davygate. Everyone is thronging past below me with their shopping. I’ve been tempted for a while to go and get a new coat, as the only thing I’ve got is my ski jacket and Jack keeps taking the piss out of me for wearing it, but I’m home in less than a week and I blew more than I should’ve on Camino, plus this is the worst time of year to buy things. Which reminds me… I’m off to the butcher to see if I can order a turkey…

They’re out of turkeys, but they’ve got goose. I ordered one from a butcher in the shambles. I’ll have to buy a bird, sorry vegans, but i have neither the time nor the ability to cook non meat alternatives this year but don’t let it make you think I’m not working that shit out. This year, appropriately for Scrooge, it’s a goose. Brian and I will hammer out the details nearer the time. We are both crazy busy. For now, having the bird is enough. Meantime I’m awake, reading my book in the kitchen, hoping that the washing machine will finish with washing the tablecloths soon so I can hang them up to dry and go to bed. I volunteered it tonight. Sam is with her boyfriend. Jack is sick. Every year the tablecloths are an issue, but in this venue the lighting is so bright that it exposes all the stuff we can usually cover as flavor. We laid out damp rags two years running, and built it into the show. But the room is open to the public in the day as a museum space, and there’s only so much we can do to stop the cloths looking cockawful.

Anyway. The washing machine just stopped. I’m gonna find ways to hang everything…


And I did. Oh how I did. I challenge you to judge my hanging. All over it? That’s what they say. All over it. Acting hanging laundry king.

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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