“I’ll be in bed by 8.” I said to Tristan. He had come to lend a hand as I tried to get as much of the stuff from the van as possible into a temporary storage. I’m off to Jersey tomorrow. Up at around 4.30am to drive to Portsmouth in time for the ferry. I needed to empty the van as much as I’m able so it can be used to move set on the day I get back from Jersey. I’ve rented a car from Enterprise to get to Jersey because I’ve not had time or cash to fix the bloody jag yet. My poor friends in Sussex have had it sitting wounded in their driveway for way too long now. This whole Jersey business has turned into an expensive logistical nightmare but there’s light at the end of the tunnel.
I haven’t even thought about where I’m going to sleep in Jersey yet. I’m there for a few nights. I have to clear my poor uncle’s effects out, and speak to some people. I was going to look around online this evening for a place to stay or perhaps I’ll find time on the ferry if there’s internet. Frankly I’ll probably just try and sleep in the hire car, at least for a night or two, if I can find somewhere where I won’t be arrested for vagrancy. It’s a strange thing to contemplate on the island where I was born – the fact I have no home there now.
My early bed plan has been shattered. Minnie is in a show and I’ve consistently failed to get myself there every night of the run in spite of my best intentions. I’ve been distracting myself with work, exhausting myself with play and forgetting myself. But I’m not going to miss her first run of a show since she became a mum. She rang me this afternoon and told me it was ok if I didn’t make it. To hell with that. I’m on the tube. My head is swimming. I will leave right after, get home and crash hard. Then tomorrow morning all I have to do is get that bloody boat.
Unless I’m going somewhere, I’m not giving myself time to stop at the moment. It’s probably not healthy. I’m eating terribly as well. I’m writing this on the tube so I can sleep faster after Min’s show. I’m really excited to see her work again, so that’ll keep me awake I reckon. But I’ll be sure to message her telling her that I’m definitely leaving as soon as the play ends. I want to feel reasonably human tomorrow morning. I really don’t want to miss that boat. But I’m excited to get the chance to support my wonderful friend. She works with her whole heart and her whole body. And she has been fundamental to keeping me from sinking into despair in the dark times. It’s downstairs at The Hampstead, a great little studio space where I’ve seen friends do good things before. I feel a bit tired and a bit sick, but I’m glad I’ve made it…