The alarm woke me at 6. I stumbled into the bathroom and hacked stubble off my face. Then to the kitchen. Coffee in my pants. Back to the bathroom, open a box, stick a long thin cotton bud right up my nose. Probably full of nanobots. Wiggly wiggly. I can still feel it. It’s worse on the way out. Stick it into solution and drop it into the lateral flow.
I did a piece about lateral flow tests a while ago. I was dressed in angora in summer with great big glasses and an even bigger Northern accent. We were teaching people about antibodies through the medium of llamas pegging and minigolf. Get that fucker past the arts council. It was fun. At least I knew what to expect as I blearily watched the liquid go over the control line and then no second line. What a surprise. No Covid. Do I get a certificate? No.
I drove to Ealing and parked in the car park of a Baptist Church. “Parking with permission only,” it said. I gave myself permission.
I walked to a condemned office building by the station.
Actors. Six maybe eight of us. In the same room. Doing an audition.
I don’t know how to do that anymore. There I was at ten in the morning and it’s a workshop. Last time I just panicked and shouted. Oh God I hate auditions.
Movement first. Good. This is something I like. I’m always happy to be put into my body before I have to act. My journey has long been about that. You can tell from these blogs that the intellectual bit functions. How do I marry it with the primal bit? I commit to movement type stuff. It’s why I love theatre.
Lots of crazy physical shit. Then I’m ready and I’m A so I’m first and I realise that even though the speech I chose is on theme for the workshop it’s meant to be spoken by mister sexyboy. Still, commity time and it all happens somehow and eventually I’m back in the Baptist Church car park wondering what the hell just happened.
I drive home and tidy and look after the cat and the hands on the clock move inevitably closer to evening and there isn’t enough time left there just isn’t and at ten I get the snake and I wrestle him downstairs.
His tank was made for fish. It is exploded at the back as if it was shot, and has been mended by Mel with a plank of wood somehow. I always worry when I carry it. It could never carry water but it holds Hex well enough. The cat chaperones me out and it goes in the back of the car. Off into the ULEZ and I drop it off with Flavia. Last night I dreamt that Mel came back from New Zealand and tried to feed me a mouse instead of Hex. Last night I woke myself lunging for that mouse.
I don’t tell Flavia of my dream. I pretend to be all ordered in my head. We change the newspaper and I teach her the basics of snake/mouse interaction. She is sufficiently determined that I know Hex will be well looked after. Hex takes a mouse very quickly like a good little boy. I think he’ll be happy there, up on a pedestal.
I return home to a cat triumphant that the only rival to his affection is gone gone gone. We have snuggles. He falls asleep content.
My legs know they’ve been working. I’ll be after the cat before long.
I don’t know if this one will land. They’re seeing plenty of people. Nice though to be in the frame. It’s a funny old job. And I was so happy to be in that workshop I mostly forgot it was an audition at all just for the joy of process! BRING ME PROCESS.
First it’s time for Jersey though. That’ll be a slowdown for a while. Then, who knows.
AlBarclay 