And Brighton again. The Fantastic Human Spring!!! Marvel as it boinggs all over the country – nay – the world!
I’m sick. Throat is hurty. Feeling run down. I’m trying not to cough all the time, and I’m feeling a little bit sorry for myself. Usually after a show I sleep for a bit instead of running all over the place. This thing has been stalking me a few days in the cold oily dampish maschinehaus of the Kirk. Post show slump. All the accumulated late nights and deep breaths of dusty air and shouting. A couple of days down? Just the ticket. I just had to get as far as Brighton and now there’s a warm soft bed, a fluffy cat and a Lou.
I have to stop myself from obsessively testing my voice as is my habit when I’m laryngeal. I’m not in the middle of a long run outdoors so actually I can just be silent and careful. I’ll likely not manage the silent bit but I’m sure Lou will be delighted if I can keep it buttoned. She’s surprised when I can do it long enough not to interrupt her.
Around Chessington on the M25 Lou began in her yogic way to remind me how pain and discomfort is a response that can be observed and converted. I’m aware of this but it’s also nice to have a good whinge.
Rest is the best thing now and its likely possible. I haven’t seen my diary but I’ve a strong feeling I’m done with everything but nuts and bolts until after Easter. I’ll be shuttling up and down London to Brighton and making sense of where I’ll be earning my crust come summer.
Early bed. Snooze. Everything better in the morning…