Coldest day of the year, apparently, with Wind Chill. Americans love simplification and buzzwords. -10 temperature. They say: “Real feel” -25. Celsius. Real feel. Oh go suck a pig. But yes. It’s COLD.
I have a heated gilet. It’s like being wrapped in an electric blanket. The cut of it is bollocks, it makes me look like Mark Fuckerberg. But unlike him it does something useful. Still it takes ages for all of us to get kitted out to go outside. And my gilet is liable to short itself out at a moment’s notice. I’m of the generation that worked out if the battery was flat by putting your tongue on it. I left my best electric blanket on the bed when Brian moved in and told him about it. He took it off without trying it. It still makes me sad for him thinking about what an inherited seventies safety hangover is denying him in the modern world. I trust that my gilet isn’t going to kill me. Even if it overheats itself. Modern electric blankets are incredible things and you won’t get a tickle even if someone pours a whole litre of water on you on purpose. But we were taught to fear the things, and conditioning is hard to overcome.
My new boots – lent by lovely Brian – give me blisters UNDER MY TOES. Anywhere else I would keep wearing them and weather it. But I need to be good at moving for the show so I’m in my trainers and thick socks for the short term. Wet feet beats hobbling actor.
We are in the Decio Theatre here at Notre Dame this week. Last time in 2019 we were in Washington Hall with the bats. This theatre is kind to actors and good for Shakespeare. The stage is right on the seats, the acoustic is tuned for students who can’t project, we can do nuance here.
We built the stage, settled in, and started on detail work again. And we worked longer than we had planned despite Scott trying to stop us – bless him. Bunch of enthusiasts, we are. I am proud to be part of it and it will keep growing and growing and growing as we keep going and going and going.
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I wrote that in the pub. I’m home now in my weird little room. We have been watching the college football final, but American Football doesn’t suit my particular set of neurodivergencies. It’s too bitty for me to settle my interest into so I’m always distracted in the gaps between plays, and even though now I know what I’m looking at and how it all works I get switched out in the play breaks (for instance into writing my blog like I did tonight)
Here we all are in the Decio. Joy to come.
AlBarclay 