The first thing I did on arrival in my digs is worked out how to switch the heating off. Then I could sleep under my lovely birthday quilt.
Now I’m just too cold. I get home to a place that can be warm and I want it to be warm.
I went to Billy the Butcher today and bought a good rib eye and some sausages for a fraction of what I’d end up paying in Chelsea Green at Jago’s. We are not in London anymore, and not being in London perhaps means I can shift my habits regarding avoiding central heating until November.
We finally got into the theatre today. It feels like a good working theatre, and not as awkward as it exists in my memory. I was fixating on how it’s neither proscenium nor thrust, and thinking about all the sightline issues I’d have to think about if I was assisting, but I’m not. I’m not building, I’m not assistant directing, so I can just do acting and leave all that stuff to the stuff people. It’s like a crazy new freedom. And Tim really fucking knows what he’s doing. The next few days are about me waking up fully and absolutely challenging all my complacencies to make sure I’m part of a team that honours this remarkable piece of writing with this extraordinary cast in this beautiful historic place.
It’s a ghost town in the evenings though. I walked out of my final song call at about half ten. I went looking for a shop that sold toothpaste. Even Sainsbury’s and Tesco are gonna be shut after the show. I was moseying around in my coat and hat looking energised and curious and I got approached by a lady flyering for the “gentleman’s club”. It’s open until 5.30am. I’ve actually heard of this place by reputation – past companies have organised deals where they can sit round the corner where you don’t have to see boobies and use it as a slightly more expensive late night dive for a company birthday etc. This team doesn’t feel like the sort of team where that’ll happen. But here we are, Shakespeare town. It seems the only late option is a strip club. Or someone’s digs, and it takes a certain type of maniac to offer their digs as the party house. I’ve done it before. I’m not doing it this time. I’m crap enough at tidying. And I like sleep.
It’s warming up in here as I write. I might get clever and set times so it isn’t going all the time. In a flat this small it is quick to make things toasty. I don’t like not having toothpaste. I’m tired and it’s late and I only finished recently and I’m still not sure it makes any sense for us to ever be making live music invisibly. This is theatre and we are singing in a box full of microphones. Might as well be recorded. But that’s for the artistic team. I’m just a drone.
AlBarclay 