Mission Do-Nothing Accomplished.
I languished in my room as the morning ticked away. Occasionally I refilled my flask. Periodically I went to the loo. Morning became afternoon and I saw nothing but darkness.
Hunger and the lack of a toaster finally drove me into the grey streets of St Helier. Mizzlepizzle. The good ship Jersey is frequently in a cloud. So it was today, and I with it.
What to eat? It is a Sunday. Everything is closed. Decent coffee people are all with the children at home. The Macdonald’s Orcs never sleep. I wandered towards the sea and the great big new waterside complex and sure enough there was a TGI Fridays for my nineties throwback sensations. I had too much chicken. The service was so scripted I wanted to howl at them.
The only light I saw was on the walk to my meaty luncheon. Now I’m in my room. Darkness once more and I start tomorrow at a very reasonable 10am. I might go down and purchase a nightcap pint. “You won’t sleep now after sleeping so long,” says Lou who doesn’t know I brought a bottle of Actifed with me. That’ll be the velvet sledgehammer I need so tomorrow I can wake up and be charming and vital and full of ideas and the leading man that St Helier needs this Christmas.
Bergman is currently more of a burden than a delight, moving from expensive car park to expensive car park, but he will come into his own in the evenings this week. Rehearsal time coming so I can sling myself all over the place in the evenings, and I hope to do just that. Lots of island, not much time.
AlBarclay 