As I woke this morning, I uttered the words “I will never drink again.” They were a lie, of course, and a lie that was known in the moment it was spoken. Tristan heard it in the next room and laughed.
Last night I saw Danuta for the first time in 6 years. She was the reason to live for my poor lost brother Jamie. He died just as I was getting on the ferry back. A great loss. She still lives here in the South of France, and this house is full of things. When dad left Switzerland he brought everything here. Added to that, the things that Jamie wanted from Eyreton after dad died are here and well taken care of. Jeremy, another half brother, brought things into his damp uninhabitable troglodytic cave near here, where they gradually dissolved through damp. Being here lets me walk on my father’s carpets again. And it’s wonderful to feel that everything has been taken care of.
Tristan had a self tape today for theatre. I think it came in a few days ago but he had his identity compromised via mobile so we had to rush it today. I have railed against self tape auditions in the past, but actually it’s incredible that we can be here and send good work from a phone. I would never usually be so casual about not knowing where I’ll be tomorrow. I want to be thought of as available. But I know I can make things look nice for myself or a friend on a tape – anywhere. This self tape world is new world where actors can be free to impulse travel.
We barely moved all day and we aren’t feeling any great onus to move tomorrow. I’m allowing myself to have the kind of holiday office people have, where they literally stop giving a fuck. I’m not checking my emails or responding to messages. I’m being an absolute communication nightmare, and I give no fucks.
Sorry if you’ve tried to get me. Monday.
Bed.
AlBarclay 