Technically a half day today. I probably would have stayed around as rehearsals are curious and delightful. But the taxman must be appeased before he consumes me utterly, and that takes more admin and, thankfully, the help of clever people. Marie. More musically talented than me, sings with greater ease, game for a laugh – (she and I danced in windows dressed as animals in lockdown). Marie. Good at maths, understands balance sheets, can do tax things. Marie. Has a small dog… You get the sense of it. Renaissance woman Marie, capable of things that make most of us flinch. Dog poo, maths, showtunes… And helping me with my tax. We have begun a process when much of my small world was thinking about the rising iambic line, and it might lead to not being fucked anymore by my own horror of numbers.
The morning was gorgeous. This large circle of good people – we are still enjoying geeking out about this play that deepens the more time I spend with it. Always so many layers with oor Wullie. We are stripping to the meaning together and this disparate group of curious individuals is carefully solidifying into an ensemble. It’s lovely to feel. Such a long time still ahead of us, but so much to do, so much ground to cover. A wonderment with his plays is the depth of character that you can find. The deeper you dig the more there is to dig for. With just a few lines I still have a good bit of mining to do.
Now it is night time again. Once again Tom to my right in the living room, Brian to my left. Once again a slow wind down ahead of me via herbal teas.
I had a big package arrive this morning of this stuff:
Todd’s Glucose Energy Boost.
This is because of the hole in my life left by the sugar tax. When I was a child in Jersey, I was often sent to the grandparents for a night so mum and dad could have fun. Grandpa kept a supply of Lucozade in the spare room at Granville. Glass bottles with knobbly bits at the top and a piece of inexplicable orange transparent plastic wrapped round the top. If you were sick you got some in a glass, and you got the orange plastic so you could look through it and EVERYTHING ORANGE Da you’re ORANGE etc
I developed a familiarity with that glucose bomb of a drink. It used to be stocked in pharmacists only. Sugar tax put paid to it though. You can still buy bottles of aspartamine and cat piss. The last real ones went out of date in 2016. I had a stash of them at home, but wolfed them in lockdown. Todd has tried to knock it off as best he can. I will gladly give my money to him. But you wouldn’t want to drink that stuff before bed. It’s a rocket ship. Useful while I’m off the uppers. Glucose doesn’t count, ya?
AlBarclay 