Back in the world

Pretty roads all the way to Brighton and now once more I must remember what it means to live in the real world. No longer will my bed be turned over and my room sprayed with freshener when I go out onto set to have smoke blown up my arse. No longer will people cook food for me overlooking the Kernow Atlantic Coast – crab and potatoes and Romanian Pinot Noir. My wardrobe won’t be selected and pressed and hung for me in a little heated trailer. I won’t be asked my welfare constantly by porters and assistant directors. I won’t be driven even short distances by talkative intelligent strange men.

Things could’ve gone south. My car key wasn’t in my pocket when it came to check out time. It wasn’t in any of my pockets. It wasn’t on the floor of my room or under the bed or in the ignition. I was politely searching around a lady sitting where I had been sitting the night before when the concierge at The Headland approached me with the damn thing in an envelope. It had been handed in the night before. He had been trying to help me out by lightening the mood ” I’ve got a spare key in London, but I don’t know where it is.” “London? Nobody knows where that is.” I’m glad of his help frankly as I had been gradually getting myself into a funk and thinking I’d have to call the production company and look in my trailer, or get the train to London and back to dig up my spare. Phew.

So now I’m in Brighton and Lou fed me healthy lentil soup and chamomile tea and friendly cat stroking and a hot bath. Bed soon as I’m up at arsehole in order to get Lou to London and then myself across town to be emergency pregnant cover on an event in the morning early. Alarm is set for half five. Oh the horror the horror. I somehow escaped early call to set for most of the filming. Tomorrow, into the no longer luxurious darkness, I’m gonna drive up to London and into what is starting to look like a brainflood pair of months before Christmas descends like a familiar grumpy snowflake.

Motivation time. Much to do much to do. It’ll keep me warm in the winter…

For now an early bed.

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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