Uncle Banquo

Another crazy arts space in another railway arch. This time it’s called “Matchstick Pieshop”. They sell pies. They do cabaret. There’s weird stuff outside.

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It’s owned by a cat. Humans run around pretending it belongs to them. It really doesn’t.

Cats have always come to me. I must smell. The amount of times someone’s cat has jumped into my lap and their human has said “That’s weird, she never normally does that.” Now Pickle is in the equation too, so my shoes smell of cat. The owner of the arts space immediately came to sniff my shoes. He spent most of the show sleeping apart from a perfect slinky moment to end the first half of the show.

We were doing Macbeth again. It’s my old friends at The Factory. Our last show before a week’s residence at Theatre Clwyd in Wales. A lovely way to get into the groove before money comes into the equation and changes the air for everyone. It’s a playful company and it was a playful show. I had a great time and so did the audience. The company was bound together, listening, playing and challenging. Exactly the best atmosphere for an interesting show and I was pleased to be part of it. Unless something changes I ain’t going to Clwyd. So I’ll take my adrenaline hit where I can. Doing a Factory show is a very efficient way of mainlining adrenaline. You just don’t know what the fuck will happen, but you also know something will happen and I’ll be in front of a paying audience. We are hitting more than we are missing with Macbeth, and the room is very alive. I’m proud to be involved, and getting better at partitioning my time. Often in the past I haven’t been able to think of anything other than the show I’m doing. I’m getting much much better at compartmentalising. I did some driving for Tristan and Tanya. I’m doing a lot of driving for no profit at the moment, with my time on the van running to an end. They needed some stuff moved, I got lunch. It’s still a lunch I didn’t otherwise have and their stuff is moved now.

Then I went home, washed, made sure I had my keys, and put on my trainers with a suit so I could look sharp but still run around. Leaving the flat I realised my trainers were too far gone, turned around, quickly changed them, rushed back to get to the theatre on time and locked myself out of my flat. Fuck.

Brian is in America.

Thankfully Mel who goes out with Brian has spare keys. She’s out tonight, in Brixton, getting hammered with the girls and dancing. I persuade her to bring them in her clutch bag.

Having done two hours of Shakespeare, darling, I get an Uber across town to some underground cavern. It’s a birthday night. It’s all women. It’s throbbing. You have to show ID to get in. She’s there, having a ball, thrilled to see me. She introduces me to her friends and one of them almost reacts with dry heaves. I try to explain to her that I’m just collecting keys and I’m really good mates with Mel but she’s terrified to let me come within 3 foot of her. So I get Mel a beer to say thanks, and get distracted by something (the exit). Everyone is smashed here. I’ve got my keys. It’s a win.

Now I’m almost home.

Perfect to have a keyholder who is as unpredictable as I am. I’m glad she has a set. Most of my friends are kidded up now so they can’t take receipt of post show Al and help him home. It was hilarious being a momentary half welcome part of the Saturday night Brixton brigade even if I felt like my friend’s weird uncle…

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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