Penultimate night party

We are all going to have a party tonight to celebrate the end of The Tempest. It isn’t the last show, but it is the party. Tomorrow post show they (and we) will have to break down all the things that have been constructed in The King’s Centre. All the truss and the drapes and the steeldeck, the minirigs and fans and tables and chairs. The costume rails and the dressing tables and the trolleys and the hazers and the lights and gels and microphones and amps and soundboards. The extended infrastructure that supports the visible work that we are all doing. Actors are like mushrooms – (and sometimes toadstools) – the visible organs of a complex invisible mycelium. The display part of something much bigger and more complicated.

I want to see this company of mushrooms off – aka get drunk with them tonight – but I’m booking a taxi to Oxford Station from Ginny’s at 7.50am in order that I can get to rehearsal on time on Thursday. I don’t want to do a day of work in that hot room in Brixton while being hungover and cranky, especially with a final Oxford show on Thursday evening, even though I’ll have the wings of final night adrenaline truncating time once the show actually starts. I have to get there first. And it’s tiring enough rehearsing plus doing a show before bringing last night’s booze into the equation.

Nevertheless I’m writing some of this blog early. I usually write shit down on the train back to London and use the Oxford train to just sink into senseless oblivion for a wee while, and contemplate nothing. But good to crack the back of it. On which subject I hope Trinculo’s back is better…


Now I’m strolling down the towpath north to Jericho, writing as I walk.

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Hopefully I won’t fall in the canal. I thought I’d steal a march as there seemed to be a great deal of faffing and it’s a twenty minute walk to Bookbinders. I’m not in the mood to destroy myself but now we’ve finished what was a slightly damper and more reluctant show than usual I think I fancy a wee dram. I’ve booked a cab for 7.45 tomorrow morning. Hellfire, this has been a glorious job, this is the last night we will have before some of us – very probably myself included – will vanish back to London asap after the show goes down. I want to raise a glass with them despite risking exhaustion as a consequence…


Drunk Al is thrilled. He had a great night. There were songs, some of which he joined in with. We had a musical night. How lovely to have a musical night! All of this joyfulness lands firmly on one actor: Simon Spencer-Hyde. A glorious human if ever there was one. Secretly rehearsing songs when there was time, just to bring out a beautiful night for all. This evening was a validation of the extent to which I am surrounded by glorious humans on this job. We were even joined by actors from other companies. A big mash of glories. But I’ve only got 4 hours to sleep. Zzz

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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