I’ve just realised I have no clue when I’m gonna write this blog apart from gradually over the course of the rest of this evening’s work.
I’m on this big drinky event in Shoreditch and I’m stone cold sober as they all stagger around talking loudly about booze. Right now they are all over the Johnny Walker Blue Label, and she offered me a shot but I declined. Not just because I’m working although that’s part of it. Also I’ve got a fecking audition to send by tomorrow morning and no time to record it.
Theatre. With a song.
It’ll either be me in my pod hotel room tonight after work absolutely shattered, or it’ll be me after a restless few hours, awoken at 5am and rushing it before breakfast at 7. And somehow that appeals to me more at the moment, but comes with the risk of sleeping through the whole thing.
The job would be three months in Leeds. It would be lovely to be back in god’s own country. I am happy in that part of the world now. I’d probably do the old man on tour thing and rent a nice place a short drive away from town, rather than a room above a pub two minutes from the theatre. But I’d need to get it first.
And the state I’m in any audition I send is gonna be a sleepy man yawning.
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Damn it’s hard to get the cork out of these prosecco bottles.
Yeah so we built the event, now we are working the event, and later we will break the event. Blessed be the name of the event.
I’m pooped.
Ooh they’re going to feed us though. Meat. So far today it’s been three packets of crisps, a burger, pork scratchings, and a coca cola.
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Yes we get food. Yes it’s meat. We can sit outside and eat it.
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Good lord that was one of the best meals I’ve ever had on a job.
Maybe later on I’ll have some of that blue label.
Then I’ll do the audition and nail it and they’ll offer me the part and I’ll only be able to do what I did after Lamb with celeriac remoulade and a shot of expensive whisky. That’ll be my rider.
oh God my feet don’t work
–+
We don’t need to move the tables yet because dessert isn’t out but they want us to move the tables… hmm. I should have had that whisky.
The band is playing. We moved the tables. Emotion and celebration. 29 Fingers are the band. Rather than wondering which of the three of them is missing a finger, I’m off to have a finger of Blue Label Whisky. You see. I did a clever writingness. Because you measure whisky in fingers? oh fuck it.
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It’s very good. I shared most of it. I am happy. We did work to make others have fun. And a lot of that is why I’m here this time somehow.
Must remember to do that tape though.
Uptown funk?
Almost half eleven. I’m back here at half seven. They’re still dancing. Even without the whisky I couldn’t audition after this madness. Early morning singing or apologetic call to my agent or both, coming right up.
AlBarclay 