Penultimate…

I’ve got very good at making that punch now. Considering how incredibly potent it is, it is astonishing how much the audience seems to enjoy the taste of it. We could make it much weaker, sure. If this was a commercial theatre show, they’d be getting a lump of dogpoo on a washable metal slab. We couldn’t sustain the level of generosity we have if we were doing “The Bible” live on stage every night, but we could easily rework the running costs with profitability in mind and take out the boozy luxury.

Tickets are basically free, but I’m making this stuff from Kraken rum and Courvoisier VSOP. You might have read the quantities yesterday. Lucky lucky audience – but also they know it, so there isn’t even the tiniest sniff of dissatisfaction about the show. I could make the punch from much worse ingredients and it would add the same. The cost of a glass of that punch in a high end bar? You would be happy to pay twelve quid. You’d expect to pay seventeen. If you paid twenty you would mumble a bit before someone reminded you you are in London.

Time to start to bedtime. Caroline pointed out that we wouldn’t have time on Saturday to party as we had to do the break. She bought pizza and beer and we all stayed on to be positive about each other via booze augmentation and adrenaline post show. Caroline is our producer, the one who builds the teams. She comes out of the rave scene, but with a sense of order. She knows how to govern anarchy. I feel totally seen and understood by her in a way that is rare for me when mostly I feel people magnify an aspect. We collaborate well. She can help me order my chaos.

She was right to make the end of show party for us all happen today. We all got the “I love working with you” out of our system. Campbell and I then got a black cab home and they are cheaper than Uber now. After tomorrow it is over.

I have always loved to do work that is written on the wind. I’ve got this blog and maybe one day I’ll go over it… but the crap bit of the brain that seeks to look exciting can go swivel. I’m here. I exist. What’s next?

And I forgot to post this. Oh ethanol, the things you do.

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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