Not alone but busy

And then I remember there’s a team around me. I’m having a drink with Cait post rehearsal. She’s the designer. She has made things lovely on a shoestring, and tells me she looks forward to coming to work in the morning because she knows she’s surrounded by good people.

Jack and Tom and Ria are definitely good people to be in a room with. Tom knows this show so intimately now. He made it. I applaud his trust in ringing me in New York 5 years ago and offering Scrooge to me. He made the show with Alex Wright, in a pub in York. It has grown since, in many unexpected ways.

There’s so much of my life embedded in this Scrooge now. Loss and self-protection.  The chance of transformation.  This year will be a different feeling, I hope, and a chance to abandon old patterns and find it fresh, as every year it is.

We have no candles. Fire risk. Humbug.

We have a good blackout. The best we have ever had. Merry Christmas!

I went out after rehearsal and had – probably -too many glasses of wine with the designer. Now I’m home.

I’m about to lose my evenings until January.

I got access to a powerful drill today and put in a bunch of stuff with it.

The show is in traverse for the first time. It’s interesting. It brings a lot. I’m very aware of pending evening loss.

Principally, this evening, you find me writing when I’ve had so much to drink that I’m genuinely unsure of my own ability to make sense.

Met nice person.

Did thing.

Did more thing.

Hello nice person

Look me do acting.

Life life life. Mess. Life.

“They told me I was good at being sentimental at Guildhall!”


The prancing. Up until now I’ve run into a public space in a Victorian nightgown and exhorted passing strangers to get the prize turkey for Bob and his family. We’ll solve it. We already lost our candles because modern times, but I’m worried about what we use for prancing substitute. Also in past years I’ve been able to snatch a quick pint of water to down as I run out –  I’m parched by then.

I literally can’t keep my eyes open to write more. Call it jetlag. My eyes get heavy arbitrarily, and then I wake up full of beans at 3am.


The only photo I took today. I hadn’t realised how aware she was of me. He was being very noisy. I just thought to take a late night tube photo.

Now I’m going to sleep. Keep prancing. Even if they tell you it’s not practical.


I totally failed to post this last night…

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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