Getting ready for Christmas

I still haven’t got a Christmas Tree at home and thinking about it I’m gonna need a new oven. How does one replace an oven? Are the fittings standard? Is the hob part of it or separate? I’ve got a marble worktop with a hole in it. Any new hob needs to fit the hole. Is the hob part of the oven? I’ve only got a few weeks until Christmas, but I’m gonna need to be able to cook a lot. I’m not doing that with a fucked oven. Shit. Research time.

This is the sort of thing I think about as I come home from the show. Somehow I haven’t got sick yet even though I’ve shaken a lot of hands this season with audience members. The next few days will be busy in terms of working out Christmas stuff, prepping for a meeting, doing an R&D and the relentless march of the shows. But I reckon I’m going to have to learn about new ovens pretty quickly or there’ll be no turkey. Which reminds me, I’ll also need to order a bird. Ach. It begins. Not too late yet thankfully. But time to get on it.

Before the show, Jack and I eat a growing pile of pills. Omega oils, so our brains and bodies are functioning. Echinacea for the good old placebo effect. It must work if it costs so much. Vitamin C in the hopes that some of it gets into our immune system. Sucky gelatine sweets to taste nice I mean to coat our throats. I even find myself doing a vocal warm-up in our little gunpowder closet. Mostly sirening. There’s no room to roll around.

The room we change in was the gunpowder store when our building was a rifle club. If somebody wanted to they could bang us up in there when we were changing and we wouldn’t be found until somebody excavated us a million years from now. If the Christmas revelry in London turned into zombie apocalypse – and let’s be honest it’s always a genuine risk – we might be able to defend ourselves for a while in there. We have stuck advent calendars on the walls. We have done what we can to make it pleasant. Which is more than I can say for my home at the moment which is still woefully underchristmassed, not even taking into account the oven situation.

Rhys is selling trees up in Catford this season so I might go get one. Failing that I’m just going to have to throw baubles everywhere and work out which convenient place I put the lights in last year for easy finding. The last few years it has been achieved by drunk Al and Brian in one evening, alongside whoever else we can coerce. This year I’m thinking I’ll put a friend of mine to use who is staying over on Sunday night. They are, after all, a theatre designer. They understand the game of making a bad room good.

It’s going to be epic. It always is. But it’s time for me to start thinking about it now. And I’ve got all these interesting meetings running interference on my concentration…

And I’ve still got mice.

I also have a lovely accordion shaped decoration from Alice that I managed not to destroy despite having it in my pocket all day…


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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