Gravy

Oh dear. It’s been a good full day. But it hasnt occurred to me until I’m plenty of wine down that I have written no blog. I made an excellent gravy, but also made the fatal mistake of overextolling its virtues, to the extent that my friends were so poisoned to its virtues that some of them avoided it entirely, thinking my praises the raving of a madman. Maniac fools, spamming their judgement on one of the tastiest things ever to have entered their kitchen. If there’s one thing I know, it’s gravy. They threw away half a pot untasted. We all have things we come to regret. They’re good people. It’s not for me to mine the extent of their folly. But God. The lack of that particular gravy will haunt them forever. Right there – that was the motherlode. But as is so often the case, they didn’t know what they had. One of them even used a single ingredient as a reason to dismiss it untasted. Life is long, and opportunities knock and pass, knock and pass…

While I was rehearsing today, a Cream Egg dissolved in my pocket. Sticky creamy yuk all over my pocket. I licked my phone screen clean and realised it tasted nice. I’ve quarantined that pocket.

We have been rehearsing in French and English. I never thought I’d end up as the French expert. But that’s a part of it for me today, learning the princess in the beautiful “elbow” scene of Henry V. There can be only two of us and there are many scenes. Most of them are written for two men as per the period. It’s weird playing half of one of the only good scenes Shakespeare wrote for two women. But in terms of the fact that they can’t afford three actors, I’m happy to be the male in this duo. I lost a job once that might have been changing in terms of career, and was told “If we’d employed you, there would’ve been more men than women in the cast.” As an unknown to that big company, I ate that yuk happily as it aligned with my 50/50 hopes for my future industry. Even if it hurts me – and it can do – this is a period where a lack of balance must be positively addressed and I’m very aware I’m the wrong demographic. I’m curious where it leaves me, who was told I’m “too dark for my posh english accent” as I was leaving drama school. Another piece of advice was “learn to speak Farsi or something and you’ll never stop working as a terrorist.”

Bullshit. I’m an English person with slightly darker skin. “You’re not from round here,” I’ve been told a few times by peelywally faces . A large part of my heritage is Spanish, forced out by Franco. I understand why my grandfather wouldn’t have the language spoken in the house, having walked some of the execution routes on Camino. On the flip, my father identified as Scottish but lived in Jersey and the IOM. I lived there too. I wish I could activate a UK career and move back home to Jersey. Maybe one day soon. Meanwhile I’m staying in Margate with people that matter to me.

Bring it. I could sell perfect gravy out of the back of my van in Margate. But I’d have to make sure people knew it was legitimately amazing or they’d just waste it…

Here’s my bedroom.

20190407_002127

It scared the shit out of me last night. I woke up and thought I’d been kidnapped…

 

 

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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