It’s suddenly so crowded in London. Thousands of people huddled up in coats with shopping bags being physically dominant in empty space and avoiding eye contact. The Christmas shopping weekend. The tube is a battleground for seats and handles. All the angry people are wearing cheerful clothes. I’m going to work. I don’t feel my best and it’s all my fault. I think I consumed the best part of an entire bottle of whisky last night. Thank God there’s no Saturday matinee this week. Two shows would likely have finished me off. It’s evening and I’m angry with everybody just for existing near me. I suspect food would be a good idea but I’m not very good at it these days. I’ll force something in before the show, and then my intention (haha) is to go straight home after the show, cook a healthy meal and to to bed. Now we are officially open it won’t be as emotionally expensive doing the show, so I’ll be able to decompress without hammering myself. That’s the theory at least.
I haven’t been online to see if anyone wrote anything about the show yet. I expect somebody will tell me if they did. So long as we get decent houses for the run then I’ve got nothing to stress out about. I can actually start to relax into a routine for a month or so. Maybe see some friends in the daytime. Maybe do some work or writing. Who knows.
Show finished. What a crowd. Now I remember why we do this madness. The audience was exactly what I remember from previous years. Tipsy fun people, making a lot of noise, getting stuck in but also getting swept up in the story. God I love doing this show. Every year it’s a joy. I’m so thrilled they’ve found a way to get it back on. We had a few people in the crowd who waited around afterwards and told us they’d found us for the first time back when we did the show upstairs at The Arts and I ran out into the actual street. Now I get a face full of fake snow instead, which apparently is still lovely to witness and involves less actual chance of me being stabbed. I need a pot to spit into as I always have to come running on for my final speech with a mouth full of non specific chemicals. The packet just says it is “not toxic when ingested,” which is comforting but I would prefer them to be more specific.
I’m going to love this season. I adore the team. Apparently I adore them so much I came on to one of them when I was smashed last night, which I’m both ashamed and pleased about. It’s not usual for me to think of myself as a valid part of that world, so if drunk Al is trying to get laid again then maybe sober Al can look at some legitimate offers he would normally ignore. Game on Christmas. Bring the Scrooge. Bring the fun. Bring the love. Let’s see where life goes now. I might be a little emotionally volatile right now, but perhaps that’s because I’m alive again…
December starts tomorrow. This blog is going to be very Christmassy, I’ll warn you. Merry Christmas. Humbug.
AlBarclay 