Sleepy driver

Last night when I got home I carbonised some leftover pizza and then picked out the few edible bits with my fingers. This evening I was no more inspired, if marginally more successful. Baked beans on toast. Even this tired I couldn’t fuck that up. Thankfully I had stopped and had a proper lunch at Bone Daddy’s in High Street Kensington so I’m nourished already. Best ramen in town, and quick.

My phone is going constantly, usually people needing information or needing to have their mind put at rest or both. Having just discovered that my call time is surprisingly late tomorrow, I’m thinking I might do something that I never normally do. I’m thinking I might switch off my phone as I sleep. Then I won’t be woken by the buzzing of the morning message swarm. I’ll still go in to work long before my call time, but I’ll take my lie in when it’s offered, especially as I’m likely to be one of the last cars on the road tomorrow, doing my usual thing of picking up the slack. If I’ve got the energy I’ll spend it. That’s always been the way. But I’ve got to make sure I’ve got enough energy to spend.

Tomorrow is crunch time, when this huge team of people comes together and something happens. I’m really hoping it doesn’t rain in London tomorrow evening. We will be working in the dark, frequently outdoors. Everybody will be much more cheerful if they’re dry. Including me.

It’s hard to believe that I had a cleaning lady come to my flat just two days ago. My bedroom looks like a volcanic eruption of clothes. Digging around for audition clothing, finding spare bits of costume for friends of mine who are working in costume tomorrow. Getting home, immediately taking all my clothes off, and falling face down on my bed without putting them away. I’ve had the place to myself the last two nights and you can tell.


My favourite thing about this job is that I get a car for the duration. Even in this town, I find driving therapeutic. But this town really is weird to drive in.

The weekend drivers were out in force today. My favourite was some old guy in his brand new Merc. I’m in an eight seater. I was trying to get off at the lights quickly enough to nip in front when my lane got blocked. He thought I was racing him, so he powered in front of me and then stopped across both lanes. Then he pulled aside to let me pass, and then did it again. He looked at me with a strange mixture of rage and triumph the second time. I was so weirded out I just kind of … shrugged. It didn’t seem to warrant an insulting gesture. It was a kid showing me a toy. I let him go ahead and then took a different route. I’ve seen too much road rage in this city and I didn’t want the insurance hassle if he kicked the panels in. Alone. Neat haircut. Clean shaven. Expensive car. Sharp suit. Those guys have the most stuff buried I guess…

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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