Ahhhh tech. The long slow rehearsal where the focus isn’t on you. It’s looking ace and now I’ve got all the noise out of my head around the shared history and so forth I’m really remembering what a delight it all is. There’s plenty of tech compared to most other versions. Still some bits that might need to be solved live but there’s never been a version of this show where we haven’t kept tinkering. It’s why it’s still alive after all these years. 9 years with me now. And we’ve finally got all three spirits into it.
It’s half eleven and I’m finally home in my room. I didn’t ask them to, but they turned my room over, which leaves me feeling a mixture of emotions. We open on Wednesday and I’ve been ill. My bedroom is an agony of tissues, with unwashed socks and pants draped artfully about the place. I expect they were after the pint glasses that I had smuggled up from the bar last night so I could have a bath and a couple of pints at the same time. Multitasking. I would never have knowingly invited a stranger in to clean up my mess. Still it’s nice to have clean sheets.
Back at home the plumbing is exploding again. The loo is profoundly blocked and has been for almost a week. Frank has been diligently plunging to no avail. I put it out to tender today and some guy did exactly what I hate about living in Chelsea. He came having been told that a plunger didn’t work. He didn’t bring a chain or a snake. He just sucked his teeth and told me he’d have to take the loo off the wall and it’ll be another £350 on top of the £95 he has already charged me. When I told him no, he dropped it to £320 like he was giving me candy, and when I still told him no he raised it again to £350. It’s the Chelsea Tax. I’m surprised he didn’t offer to replace the taps, or to change the loo to a new one.
I’m likely overly careful. I’ve had some really shit experiences. The boiler guy who took out my immersion without my wanting him to and charged me for him to drive it off and sell it. The windows guys who nicked my window weights (and then a drunk friend for cutting the ropes on two of my windows making them basically unusable in the process of ascertaining that the weights had been nicked. Armies of boiler engineers. Team Know-how and the Christmas oven fifty year old mouse dropping debacle that caused me 4 months of pain in my shoulder.
I just wish that everything could be working fine and maybe if I had thrown money at that guy it would have been, but people like that are not averse to inventing another issue next and keeping the joint dripping until there’s nothing left. I’m not spending my entire Christmas wage on him when if I was in London I’d probably be able to clingfilm my arm over marigolds and stick it all the way down until I got the fucker in my hands. I can’t ask Frank to do that. But I reckon a good chain would get it. It’s cat litter in the u-bend that’s picked up whatever else went down there. If you can’t get it with your hand you might get it with a chain… Although I guess it hasn’t been taken off the wall for 200 years. Maybe there’s Viking Treasure in the u-bend too. Might be worth doing. I just can’t fucking countenance how much they want for it.
While I was on the phone sorting this out in my dinner break and swearing freely I got the evillest look I’ve had for a long time from the woman alone at the table next to me. I think it was a combo of Jersey things.
Mobile phone. (They shouldn’t exist) Swearing. (What would jesus think?) Arguing about money (we should just pretend it doesn’t exist cos we have it all.)
If they had known that I was also on the phone to a trans man they would likely have exploded.
Hey ho. Lots to do. Life is good. Let’s get this show on the road and I’ll find an honest plumber tomorrow I’m sure. I’m told they do exist. In the 1700’s people would sell maps to “El Honest plumber”. I still believe. I believe!! I do!
AlBarclay 