February is letting me down. A few hardy daffodils, a few bright mornings, but largely we are in a cloud and a wet one at that. I slung out to meet a friend for lunch. She took me to an Italian place in Duke of York Square. “I’m more or less the same age as your mother was,” she reminded me, and mum has been gone over twenty years. “It’s the booze.” She was married to my uncle Peter. He clinked his way to oblivion shortly after mum, also in his fifties. I can sit and laugh at the table today. I’ll likely walk down the beach with her next time I’m in Jersey. Life is a lot more than just wet oblivion. “Would you like a glass of wine,” the waitress asked us at noon on a weekday. It’s in the culture. It’s in the economy. Doesn’t mean we have to keep doing it. More and more I’m finding the times I’m not doing it are more colourful than the times I am. Numb is numb, but just as I don’t like living in a cloud at February so I don’t like living in a fug.
Linelearner on my iPad just as you can’t have a crib sheet on set. Everyone does their work to make it look effortless. I’m sure we all have our own systems but the answer to “how do you learn all those lines?” Honestly it’s hard work to appear effortless.
It’s not yet 8. I’m scrubbed and fed and watered and I’m in bed. Alarm will go off at 4ish tomorrow so I can go and shave and have coffee and dress nicely and pack a little efficient carry bag. Been on enough sets now to know what sort of things I want. Lots of waiting around. I’ll have a book made out of paper with no batteries. Glad to have things to think about on these cold dark days.
Posted some eBay, including one awkward bugger of a package that I forgot to switch off international shipping for so of course it is going to blimming America. I had to improvise something out of cardboard, bubble wrap and old shirts I was going to take to the charity shop. All the while, three short scenes were zinging round in my head. I think I’ll have them without looking now. One more sleep, I’ll go once more before I put the light out, but I reckon I’ll be asleep at nine.
AlBarclay 