Home at last

Chilling in Brighton has been delightful but I found myself unconsciously singing “Sloop John B” this morning. Time to go home. I won’t need long here to recharge. Just a night. Which is just as well as tomorrow I’m going to have to go to Hampstead and deal with the fact that my friend’s eviction extension runs out on the 6th October and right now she’s unwell in New Zealand and all her stuff is still in there. I might be needing some help if anybody is free, just to package up stuff and find a place to put it in the next few days. I have lots of boot space in my car and I’m anticipating lots of sad trips somewhere… So hard for her, and I’m not sure I’m qualified to sort her things but I’ll try. She’s essentially losing her home. In New Zealand she’s itinerant…

I came here today because I needed a touch of home, and I’m so glad it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be pulled out from under me. For many years I felt like an impostor in this flat and in this city. But now, just as I’m on the edge of leaving, I’m aware that it has an energy about it that is helpful for me. This is my familiar place. I have things here that I find healing. My eclectic altar and gohonzon. My familiar mattress. My memories, stitched in over more than a decade in these rooms. Even all the strange piles of unsorted antiques, and the costumes currently taking up too much space but even so showing their worth…

I’ve got to dress up as a waiter tomorrow for a casting and that huge haul of free costumes yielded the perfect shiny black jacket and suit. Although as I write I’m thinking that that might be more restaurant manager than waiter. Maybe I’ll just show up in a waistcoat. Still, I’ve got the options here and it’s not until 3pm. In person, which is a delight. I won’t be writing any more about it as it’s the sort of thing that comes with an NDA. But I’m really looking forward to actually going into a room to meet real live people and talk to them with my mouth and my body language. I much prefer the truth of an in person casting to the intensely curatable zoom or self tape. And even with travel to the studio it frequently takes up less time than the self tapes.

I went to a Turkish Barber this afternoon in Kemptown. I thought I’d get the grooming out of the way today so I wasn’t fretting about it tomorrow morning. I got a hot towel shave. “Take the whole beard off please.” “And the moustache as well?” “Come to think of it, no. Leave that.”

I’ve got a furry lip slug. I’m thinking it speaks to the idea of waiter. I might shave it off tomorrow in a fit of second guessing, but right now I quite like the idea of sporting a tache for a while…

I’m lucky that facial hair is all I’ve got to worry about. My poor Hampstead friend… Hopefully I’ll be able to help navigate a kind route through these rapids…

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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