Tube back from Mansion House. I remember discovering this station when I was at Guildhall. Realising how much easier it was to get here from Fulham Broadway and walking than to Moorgate or Barbican. No Citymapper app in those days.
My journeys into drama school were full of quiet internal hopes and dreams. “If I walk this side of the column I’ll be lucky,” that sort of thing. “Where do you think of yourself being in twenty years?” That’s a question I got in my recall at Guildhall. I remember it well. “Twenty years? I guess I want to be known in the industry to the extent that occasionally I get asked to be in something at the RSC or The National. I want to be filming small parts and working in theatre. Occasionally a big part on film. Working. That’s where I want to be.” “That’s surprisingly modest and realistic compared to what we normally hear,” they replied. And here I am. Got a few more years before twenty. National Theatre isn’t on my bingo card yet. Jobbing jobbing jobbing.
I have a few friends who use me as an Uber. I really like the arrangement. They need a thing moved and them with it. They know how much an Uber is. They ask me if I’m free. If I am they get a friend instead of an Uber. I can be flexible and help with carrying. They pay the same and get more. I get money and no cut taken. Everybody wins. That’ll be my tomorrow.
Today we did Alice again, and it is unseasonably warm. I’ll be dead before the world dies so I guess I can enjoy the heat. We are in such a pickle though. The people with money can direct the narrative, and Al Gore got it right calling this general warming “Inconvenient”. ManBearPig will come back worse than ever, you can count on it. Meanwhile I’ll be on South Bank in my tights at the end of November.
My make-up arrived in the post so now I’ve got Guyliner on and I feel like Johnny Depp. I’m gonna run a bath and get rid of that. It’s nice for the work, it makes me feel a bit sexier, but make-up generally is a right faff to get off. I’ll end up regretting it.
AlBarclay 