Quite a lot of red wine before the show last night. I’ve been staying at an old friend’s house, in the spare room. She’s married, got two kids. It was lovely to see her and I was an excuse for a bottle of wine but it went right through me. I went to bed eventually, somehow. Woke up feeling crusty and immediately drove to Leamington Town Hall to support her. She protests there every week. Palestine. Just an hour in the freezing cold. I got stuck in.
I remember using the word “genocide” in a car to my half brother, somewhere in France. Rupert jumped on it. It’s a loaded word, sure. I asked him when he thought Israel would stop. “Well that’s the interesting thing,” he said, before talking generally about the roots of the conflict without answering the question. It’s still being styled as retaliation, although I think the figures are about 500 to 1. My friend read a list of names of children killed, with their names. Including Israeli children. The organisers of this protest are Jewish. Lots of names.
I stood hungover and shivering and occasionally people honked, occasionally they swore. Caring is hard. In the light of something like this it is much easier to shift it. “What about…?” Hostages. Israeli dead. “What about if I don’t change anything?” Doing fuck all is comforting, as I can testify after about ten days of playing Baldur’s Gate 3 with Brian.
Coffee after and then I could feel myself crashing. I love my friend and her family, but sometimes I like to have a door I can shut for good. I knew she would be hosting me if I stayed. So I told her I was gonna drive home, and booked a room at Swan’s Nest. It’s just over the river from the theatre. I checked in, went up to my room and passed out.
A few hours later I was normal again. I followed my beaten track into this town. My first time here since Othello. I went to Bardias, got my coffee on a discount as they remember me. Went to The Duck, and brought a picture of Colin, my friend’s husband who used to be up there and was taken down. The landlord agreed to get it back up. Glad I could help with that.
I walked past my old cottage. A little pang. I’ll be back.
Now I’m in my lovely hotel room. Just had a shower, wandering around with no clothes on, spreading out. I’m glad I got one night with a friend, but I needed to commune with myself.
I’ll probably be up early, go and get one of my Stratford breakfasts. See some friends before I go. I’m not gonna sink into being here though. This trip is money out, not money in. This town again though, that company again. A real pleasure to breeze through and remember what turned out to be one of the happiest jobs of a long career so far. Twelfth Night was gorgeous as well, and this production is very funny but responds to the deep vein of grief in the writing.
It’s so cold and dark in the world. I can’t work out how to switch off the extractor fan. But I’m happy to have this little strange room, and I got a lovely curry from Thespians and they discounted it automatically as well. I like this town. I’ll sleep well in it.
AlBarclay 