I walked past Claire the security guard this morning, wearing my nightie. She’s on the door for “TV Dinners” which is the Gingerline show running next door. She’s going to be security for our show too next week. She also looks after the late night bar crowd. I was part of that. Oops.
“You must be hanging today,” she says to me, baldly. “You were hammered last night. At least you were having a good time. I’m surprised to see you working this early.”
I don’t remember talking to her although frankly I think she’s great. She’s tough as boots, only about 5 foot tall, and could easily beat me in a fight despite being a fair few years older than I am. She’s definitely right too. I think I inhaled a bottle of wine, portioned into large glasses, charged for at Mayfair prices. It was a big night by mistake. I think of it like decompressing after the tour. I was feeling atrocious this morning. BUT it’s the first night since I’ve got back that I haven’t bounced out of bed at 3am thinking it’s afternoon. So I think I might have fixed my lag through liberal application of red wine. Why didn’t I think of it earlier? Ugh.
It’s confusing at the moment. We have an open dress for Carol on Sunday afternoon in Mayfair. Come if you fancy – you just need to ask. We have to run it with an audience -although because the chef is expensive you’ll have to bring a packed lunch.
It’s an interesting version this year. We are playing in traverse for the first time. We have more opportunities for subtlety, but sightlines are a fucker and lighting is weird. But … we have some things better than ever. We had a dedicated designer with actual skill. Our stage manager is a brilliant. Many of the corners we cut in the past are turned properly now.
But I’m confused because I’m still holding Twelfth Night in my head. Sunday I’ll be Scrooge. Monday and Tuesday nights I’ll be Sir Toby Belch. Then Wednesday I’m Scrooge again. And then the snowball, as we roll into the run of Carol, night after night, dealing with the issues of the day. Dare I say it, I think this will be the easiest version I’ve ever done. I won’t be freezing cold. I don’t have to run into the street and risk getting shanked for being a lunatic. I’m hoping I’ll stay healthy. Acoustically it’s so clear in that space – I can speak very softly and still be heard throughout. Haze stays. The smokey bits will hold huge atmosphere so long as the humans who see haze and think smoke don’t start actively coughing.
I’m not going to be the best communicator but if you get this in time and you fancy a Sunday afternoon Carol where you bring your own picnic, we need numbers. It’s 12.30 right by Bond Street station. And if you want to see five clever people make delight with Twelfth Night then that’s on Monday and Tuesday in the evenings. I’m glad to be back in the uk and busy. And I’m off to sleep.
Here’s a shot of it under construction…