Weasels

The good thing is, the show finishes early. It’s just gone ten and I’ve been done for hours. The adrenaline is processed. I’m getting ready for bed.

I love this little attic room. It was oven hot when I first arrived, but those days are not representative. Mostly it seems to be just a haven, on the edge of the wild. The meadow where I work is just a scream away. I haven’t yet found a way to come here for a nap between shows, but today is just the first day. It’ll take me some time to find my routine, if I ever find it. All that is clear right now is that it’s gonna be hard work and fun.

We made a show in like five days. And it’s delightful. Hard work though. Very like the thing I was doing in The Tempest with these guys. Get a bunch of people, do a load of random stuff, keep a close sense of the passage of time, move them on when it feels like the right time. In The Tempest though I would just have time to make ten little boats out of leaves and twigs. Then I could count down the audience, boat by boat, and know how many groups I had left. I need to find something like that for this one, as I’m constantly losing track and it’s really good to know how many more times I’ll have to do the thing I’m doing. Budgeting energy is a fine art. And I’m not very good at it as I like to just spam everything I’ve got every time.

It’s a good company though. It was Lola’s 20th birthday tonight. She’s the youngest member. She’s great. We went to the pub to celebrate with her and a little bit of me remembered what it was to go from 19 to 20… I think I might be the oldest. I’d sooner not think too closely about such things. I’m still free and able to pretend to be a badger in a meadow in Oxford every day. Lucky me.

Since I started writing I’ve got into my bed. It’s so comfy up here, and they’ve got three cats! Only one of them dares come in to my room so far. I don’t know the name or gender, but such arbitrary labels are meaningless to cats. We snuggle and they go at my hands for stroking somewhat obsessively. Current arrival time is about 8am, which is entirely manageable. Arrival comes with shouting and the immediate insatiable desire for strokes.

Two shows tomorrow, followed by a day off but the shows are not instinctive yet. They still cost. I’m going to drift off to weird dreamy sleep until my very odd cat friend wakes me up with a “yark”.

Here’s a posed photo of Badger and his little mini practice weasels. My point of reference was Sandman. “I will show you fear in a handful of Weasels”