Too tired to make sense

I’ve been dayjobbing today with another actor. We both care very deeply about our dayjob when we do it – and anything we set our minds to really. We bonded over being told we care too much about things. But what is life if you don’t give your all? Even if it’s not your primary.

100% we both only do it because it pays and it’s flexible, and it’s short term enough that we can keep the acting as our primary focus. But I had lovely dayjobs pull back from me when I’ve made it clear they aren’t my primary focus. One time a dayjob went very sour indeed, for reasons I’ve attempted to hack together but never truly fathomed. There’s nowt so strange as folk.

I’m grateful to this workshop company, and to one individual in particular who juggles endlessly shifting needs and who knows she can call me the day before the work and rely on my full attention if there’s nothing else in the diary. She is a hero and makes things possible for many actors I know to tick over. I can take work with her knowing she’ll move mountains to make it possible for me to get to a casting. I had no idea I’d be busy yesterday morning. One of my mates booked an audition. I got a call last minute, and a rentacar sent to my flat.

I drove to Portsmouth last night and slept in a twin room in a Premier Inn with Tom, an actor of about my age who I’d somehow not met until yesterday. I checked in under the name of the absent guy. They didn’t want ID. But I was thrilled if was a Premier Inn.

I hate to have the nuance, whilst I’m sorting all my uncle’s bills from The Leading Hotels of the World (a book that was his travel Bible.) But hell – I’d sooner stay in a Premier Inn than the other two major chains because the mattresses aren’t made of toast and you get a solid breakfast. Our breakfast was laid on by Beefeater, who are big in Portsmouth, but who are too tight to lay on nice coffee. I wolfed down everyting they could lay on as it beats egg sandwiches and nescafe.

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But I’m back in town now and I’m signing off early as I’m thoroughly exhausted. Enough driving/sharing/teaching. I was in a twin room last night and that’s never a good sleep. I’m driving back to Portsmouth tomorrow, weirdly. It’s already too late. Bed. Bed . Bed.

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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