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I went back to that Laetiporus Sulphureous, armed with a kitchen knife, and took home as much as I could carry. That’s a lot of chicken of the woods, all in my thermal box.

This evening preparing it was work. The constant rich woody smell of it, water water everywhere and I’m cutting and sorting and weighing and testing consistency. I could afford to be choosy. Out of about ten kilo of the stuff I ended up with four that I wanted, packed into 500g freezer bags and popped into the great big chest freezer in the utility room that I didn’t know about until this morning.

Any friends wanting the fruit of my labours, I’m sure I could gift you a bag. Apparently it freezes well and defrosts as fresh as when it was frozen so there’s 8 bags of tasty foraged and carefully cleaned wild mushroom coming home in my thermal box from east Yorkshire on Tuesday. I’ve been looking for the damn things for years. Then loads of them showed up when I wasn’t looking. Gorgeous weird thing, and by the time I was done cleaning it I didn’t feel inclined to put any in my mouth so I’ve kept a little bit back in the fridge and I’ll get stuck in in the morning. I’ll have to. Just gonna sautee some with garlic and butter and a shallot for breakfast. Rich breakfast but I’m in Yorkshire. Kinda on my holidays. I can do what I want.

It’s glorious here. We go for evening walks to the river, there was a deer in the garden this morning when we woke up. Lou threw open the curtain and exclaimed. We’ve been feeding the wild birds poppadoms. This evening I tried to carry a Tesco bag full of chicken of the woods shavings to the nearest telegraph pole, but the bottom came out on the road. It looks like papaya. The texture is similar too, the good bits a bit squishy but hanging together, going towards slime at the tips and towards wood at the base. The bits I’ve kept are largely middle ground. I might have made a mushroom stock but I’m not at home and there’s enough to carry with the mushrooms themselves.

In bed again now in the peace having had a lovely relaxing evening interlaced with a panic about something at home that thankfully could have been a total disaster but for Brian. Once again that man warrants his Superman T-shirt. I think I’ll have to get him a new one.

Roscoe was the name of the horse. A right old man. Fetlocks and piebald, he can’t be arsed to trot. “You’ll mostly be stopping him eating,” she said and that’s fair. But he took me right past the biggest goddamn chicken of the woods I’ve ever seen. “Fuck me!” I exclaimed, and the lass behind me said “Oh aye it’s beautiful up here.” I was making a mental note of where the hell I was so I could get right back as soon as the hack was over, and I did.

It was so big.

One stump with loads, and nobody from the local area is collecting for sure or they couldn’t get so old. So I go for a little wander. Sure enough, dryads saddle.

Not as good to eat but they’ll go well together sauteed or even in a risotto. Stems can be hard and you want the smaller ones. I could’ve fed a restaurant for a week with that patch of woodland, but even though nobody is picking I’ve got no freezer here so I only took what I thought I could eat.

I haven’t the inclination to cook them today so they’re in the fridge overnight in brown paper and I’ll get stuck in on the morrow. I’ve been looking for those things for ages and then suddenly two mushrooms I’ve had three strikes with in one day. My third strike with the saddles so I’ve never eaten one. I have to find things and get a second opinion 3 times at least before I allow consumption, just as being dead probably sucks.

My bum hurts a bit from being back in the saddle but I could get behind living in the country and galloping around. Just need to make a bit more money. Ain’t that always the way.

I freezeframed the trailer of one of last year’s movies, just to see if I could find my face in the scene I knew I was in. There it was. Hooray. No lines in the trailer but I’ve only got about two in the movie so no surprises. A nice British comedy, releasing June 12. Deep Cover. Until I know if my lines are cut I’ll not get too excited.

There’s work to be had, money to be made. Riding those horsies again might just help pin down those period drama parts. Gotta keep adding value. Still rolling the dice. Fuck yeah.

The morning found Lou and I in the grounds of Lincoln Cathedral. They sell you breakfast in the shadow of the edifice, and it is vast and impressive. It’s rare I can’t finish an English breakfast. And the bells ring loud and old in the cathedral. It took twenty years to build, shortly after the Norman conquest, and you can be sure there’s some moron in America that wouldn’t be able to make a Lego house and thinks that because it looks difficult it must have been like aliens or I dunno ancient clever giant people.

We decanted into Bergie and the next few hours I was remotely supervising a big old truck load in London whilst haring up through the country to Bridlington. Long way up but we did it in stages. All went well with the load. All went well with the drive. Tomorrow they’ll unload it and I won’t be there either. I’m not a control freak at all, but I’m very used to being hands on, so it is a very curious experience to do it remotely. Still I’ve always been good at building teams, and morale. I enjoy myself in life enough that it can be contagious.

Lou and I are now about to go to bed in a rented cottage half an hour out of Bridlington in deep countryside. Without a car or a horse you aren’t gonna get anywhere here. Bergie will be our lifeline to civilisation. But tonight we had a simple peaceful meal here in the quiet : pasta with veg and pesto. The epicurean in me had no choice but to soak some dry porcini up to add, and some quick pantoasted pine nuts. Even the simplest meals respond to great ingredients, and I had no choice when I saw those porcini sitting in the reduced section. Gotta love the north.

Then the darkness fell and honestly my ability to stay awake just vanished again. I’m halfway through a job that I’m entirely supervising without being present. It’s a lesson. I had to turn down a recall for something I really wanted. Another lesson. “Right is that which happens,” Minnies grandpa used to say. I’ll take that. There’s a fertile void instead.

Sleep in the quiet. Mmmmmmm

Recall for a US tour but typically I’m absolutely committed for the next week to be out town working away from home. I’m still on my laptop, still working remotely, but you need to be in the room with Shakespeare and I can’t be in that room. I dared to hope that there would be another day for recalls, but typically my actual recall time is exactly the time Lou will start her driving test. I’m not gonna make it.

We’re in a motel outside Lincoln tonight. Halfway to Bridlington. Didn’t need to smash it all the way up the coast in one shot so I booked this place to break the journey. Damon’s Hotel. It’s all Rhett Butler and Jack Vettriano. Big lights in the carpark. Big beds in the rooms.

Alongside my burgeoning haulage empire I’ve been trying to adapt Midsummer Night’s Dream for a brief tasteful wedding experience. Nothing too showy, definitely nothing low. I like the client but have been really pissed off with the venue recently. They held back payment and have been trying to squeeze us down down down. I’m supposed to be looking at Cymbeline too, and had to pull out at last minute from Julius Caesar with The Factory to honour a clearance commitment. These are small things but they add up. It’s time to put aside my chagrin with the venue and use the peaceful days I have ahead of me to really make sure this wedding entertainment is as tidy and well prepared as the van load I’m organising remotely will be tomorrow morning.

Planning is important and I’ve spread myself thin, but I’ve got my laptop with me now and we’re about to have a week in a calm cottage where I can throw words about until we are locked in with some lovely wedding stuff. All will be well, and all will be well and all manner of things will be well.

Only a few hours drive to get here but I’m pooped. Lou is already asleep. I think I’m gonna hit dreamland and let my brain sort out all the questions and worries. “How do I include that bit with the flowers and not make it stand out strangely?” “Where and how best to bring in the best man?” “Will that 18 tonner show up on time?” “Are they gonna have to ratchet flight cases onto the stillages?” “How do I tell them best that I can’t recall for Alonso even though I’d love to do it?” “And then stitch in Puck at the end with some Prospero?” “What about the cue Script Henry?” “And the Willow Globe let’s not forget the Willow Globe,” “They better have a spare pump truck in the Newcastle venue” “Maybe Gravesend or Maidstone would be the best place for my warehouse?” “Beatrice and Benedick would go well.” “How much should I quote for that next job?” “Sweet musk roses and with eglantine…” “Is Lou saying something?” “Pallets, pump trucks, iambic, euro crates, agent, payroll, manifest, flowers”

I need to go to sleep…

A lovely relaxed weekend. I woke from the most involved dreams I’ve had for ages. I dreamt back to a man I met on the street near Waterloo station perhaps twenty years ago who was on his way to kill himself. I saw something in his eyes and asked him if he was alright, and we had an explosive and bizarre night walking the streets by the river together while he told me his things. He was a Scotsman. I remember his face. I’ve just searched his name as he’s stored in my phone with his first name and “Waterloo walking suicide watch”. It was him in my dream, clear as day. I hope he hasn’t gone back dark. I liked him. But I never messaged him again, we were from utterly different worlds. At the time that was the dynamic he needed, a stranger, a bouncing point. I still remember the look I caught as I walked past – he was in such a mess of despair.

Those days were curious days. There was always something happening around there. Perry was working the Pit Bar so you had a decent shot at a free pint if the show wasn’t down yet. Someone would be having drinks at one of the Vics, Kevin was slurping up the new boys on the block, Flay was putting up with my random drop ins. You always had a friend around The Cut on any given evening, particularly if you were willing to expand south to the river and the Nash. Empty buildings where we might hack together a Hamlet. Youth, hope, possibility, immortality, immunity to consequence. Now we know what it means to be broke. Fuck it. Lots of us have progeny. There are new young communities where sentences all end with upflection and opinion is fact. We have ceded our place in the shadowy lights, as is the natural order. I don’t feel squeezed out but I no longer feel like I’m the centre. Last time I was at The Pit Bar a friend of mine turned on me for no reason. We have barely spoken since. It was the end of an age of innocence.

Today I looked at a load of stillages and quoted a client for haulage. That’s the world right now for this theatre kid. I won’t be there to do the job, but I reckon it’ll go smooth and I trust my team in London even if I’ve just had to pull one member. I know my van intermediary from Paris and I know he gets the job done. I’d call him a friend as much as you can ever make friends when you’re running into a wall together on the daily.

I’ve found an events lad in Newcastle who sounds like he’s the real deal to sort the unload. We’ve got a few days to bring it together and I’ll be live for it on my phone, might even drive up to Newcastle from Yorkshire if I’m not confident. Hopefully all will be well though. It’s interesting having all this new stuff to worry about.

A month after I was upset by someone deliberately walking in peregrine falcon eggs, the St Alban’s falcons have laid a new batch. Nature is resilient. Apparently the iconic sycamore is shooting up again too. And those idiots are gonna get the book thrown at them which can only be a good thing.

It’s so boring having to hold space for people that think they should be better than nature. Every one of them will be eaten by worms and bacteria, processed back round. But while their jaw and tongue can clack and while there is this vague association between electric impulse in their brain and what we call thought, they try to maintain that there’s some kind of hierarchy in the natural world and our species is the top. And then there’s this idea that, cos we are the top, we can fuck everything up for all the other species.

I was sad to see a bird taken from a feeder I had set up by a bird of prey. But… it’s the cycle. My intervention was what served up the tasty dish for the falcon. That’s just the circle of life and, okay I thought I was providing a tasty dish for the little birds, and I was. I was also providing a little bird dish for the raptors. So be it.

I hope they’ve seriously improved the CCTV in St Alban’s, because as far as I can see there’s been no repercussions to the bag of shit who walked on the first batch of eggs. As we get more and more digital, these idiots divorce further and further from nature. Of course the treechild got someone to video himself cutting it down. What a bag of shit human he was, but you can be sure he will have his apologists online. “It’s just a tree,’ that sort of thing. It’s not, it’s a self important attitude, and its that idiocy that has brought us to this tipping point where we have almost burnt out what’s possible and we are stepping up our burning of the rest, telling ourselves that consumption is what will keep us in pace with the global markets. Governments and climate change:  “Let’s cut bits off ourselves!” “They’re cutting more bits off themselves than we are, we have to cut harder and faster!” “They can still walk with no arms! Cut more to keep up!!” “You see? No arms or nipples or bum cheeks and they are still walking. Cut more off ourselves or they’ll beat us!”

There are some great humans with the humility to see where we all fit in. We are in for a global shock before long.

I’ve run a bath. It’s done. I’m filthy.

Planning.

I had a team of 8, myself included. I couldn’t sell a screenplay about the day I had as it was 7 men and 1 woman. I needed muscle.

The guy who charges our client to open this unit doesn’t show up until ten. The tip closes at 4 and it’s half an hour. We’ve got two local units for quick shuttle processing. One is large but has a tiny door, one is smaller but has double doors. I needed them both. The stuff in them is going to different places, but that’s as maybe. With no time there’s nothing you can do. All this stuff is in store but the guy drives up from London and charges the company £650 to open a shutter. It’s fucking ridiculous.

I have gone over budget on this massively, and I did it as I had the sense that there would be value in what I was taking. The costume will be the thing I never regret. But I am close to 100% certain that our mardy northerner went in there and emptied the flight cases. He’s cherry picked this stuff for himself. He’s a magpie. It worked to my advantage today to an extent, as he took all the Dolavs off my hands. I could have sold them easily enough for £1000 as a job lot or £120 each but I haven’t a place to turn them around and he does. I’d have taken them to Canterbury where I have space for them, but we had a van break down so his acquisitive nature (I just got back and he’d taken them inside) worked to my advantage as it saved me a van load. Really you need a forklift for them, and a warehouse, they are bulky to move and store. He grabbed all the pallets too without comment, and a huge pile of metal chairs with my blessing. He’s the one restricting the hours of access. He’s the reason I have to rush the job and just go hard to the dump. And he’s taken out the small stuff that has value to solve in his sweet time as he has access. I can’t sell IP stuff, and I’ve still got a van day plus two worth of problems to solve now. There’s an alien sarcophagus we couldn’t dump as it is IP. It’s in a storage unit and when there’s more time I’ll likely have to go in and break it up but that’ll be another two people employed plus tip weight. I’ll combine it with loads of other things we didn’t have time to process so put into the store.  It was absolute junk we took today and that’s fine as we were largely tip running anyway. But… it’s junk because Andy has organised the piles and skimmed. I’ve got all these empty flight cases in storage. I don’t think they were empty when we first arrived. Why would they be when they’ve just come off a show? Nice to have the cases, sure, might help balance things financially. But there’s fuckery here, my darlings.

I’m happy though. We stormed through it. There were all sorts of contingencies we didn’t expect, the tip took the piss and told us they had to process our beautifully separated wood as if it was general because they were “full of wood”. Ditto our metal “couldn’t be properly recycled as it’s not pure”, and the time pressure we were put under of £650 a day meant it was just better to pay tip weight than scrap it. Bastards at the tip. But I did the job the client needed and he need never know the fact I got fucked on tip weight, or my suspicions about Andy.

I know more about this game now. There was no gold in there for me but the costumes, but… there was silver – it’ll take work and I’ll have to be efficient if I’m gonna mine it, but I’ve got costs to recoup now. They’ll be worth it if I can pitch and win the next job there at a sensible price, so long as Andy hasn’t already skimmed off all the value off the next job. (Spoiler alert:he probably has.)

Oh god my body is tired and tomorrow will be the hardest one. More and more, I’m thrilled that Lou and I have a week in Bridlington coming up where I’ve cleared the decks. She’s on a driving course with a test at the end of it, I’m just driving her to the driving.

I’m feeling connected to my body right now but not in a nice way, I just ran a hot bath for myself to help with the aches. Today was just about moving things from a local store to a bigger store in Canterbury, so the local storage locker to the job is empty and things like cables that are heavy and have scrap value can be put there temporarily and save me having to pay tip weight for something that, with more time, would balance positively. I’ll have some work to do after Bridlington. I’m looking forward to the time winding the spring back.

My head is so full and my body is so tired right now that I’m not sure how capable I am about making sentences. So even though the flat is full of food I’ve ordered myself a pizza on deliveroo. They cancelled my first order as there was no dip and now it is running later and later, but if it doesn’t show I’ve got a flat full of food anyway. I’m just being lazy as I’m tired.

It’s lovely to be here with the cats. We are just going to drift off together. Everything smells of burnt toast though so perhaps I’m about to have a stroke. More likely a downstairs neighbour had a mistake. Christine got evicted yesterday, and left on her own terms before they pushed her but I’ve ended up agreeing to look after all her gubbins. I’ve got multiple storage units at the mo and it is just another problem to solve but I don’t really want it, I’m just crap at saying no… I’ve asked her please only to make me keep it temporarily. We will see.

Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow. Big day, let’s see where it goes.

The Guildhall. A warren of historic and beautiful rooms, with high ceilings. This is the third year I’ve done this conference so I have a handle on what will be needed when by now which makes it less stressful, but it’s a long long day. Sometimes we can come in and clear it up the morning after the job, but not this time. This time we are here until the bitter end. It looks like we will be on the go until 4am. “Do you want some beer,” ask the suppliers from time to time. “Absolutely not.”

I had a chicken mango tikka sandwich from the co-op, and a bag of dry roasted peanuts. I think they might cut us into the food the delegates are eating though which will be a treat. I’m gonna have to write this piecemeal throughout the evening.

—

There’s a lot of booze going on up there. A room full of publicans. We have cleared out the basement now where they were all meeting suppliers and getting involved with all their mailing list shenanigans. “Spin the wheel of booze!” T-shirts and hats and lanyards, goodie bags and branding and swag. I’m on the way out with booze so I’m probably only gonna go home with things that Brian and Maddy might use. Don’t want to encourage myself. I’ve been given two loaves of bread. Hell yeah. “Bread is expensive these days,” he tells me.

—

Two plates of chicken with truffle and a single asparagus stalk. I’m gonna load up on appletizer so I don’t curl up and fall asleep in the corner. My feet hurt.

—

Flagging. It’s half ten. Hour and a half before it all goes boom again, right now they’re all dancing and so long as I make sure the slops are slopped there aren’t many potential problems. Shimmy has this very well organised, the bulk of the work is in the prep. Best take that fucking easel down, it’s not like they’ll want the table plan anymore.

—

Geezer at Mirabeau just gave me a lovely bottle of rose just cos I sorted some bits out for him. That’ll go in the fridge and maybe one hot summer day it’ll come back out again.

—

Time for DJ Ben. But where the heck is he?

—

He’s up. Starting with Freed from Desire. I’m relaxing for a moment with Joe who I shared with in Saudi, Ffion and Shimmy. Overlaps of bits of my life. There’s something in this habit I have of saying “yes” to whatever the fuck is possible even if it’s only just possible. We are in at the end of a vast leather table in a room full of silver and ghosts.

—

This is so well organised. I need to up my back end game with the ambitious stuff I’m starting out with. Front end I’ve got sewn up. But both faces would be a coup.

—

Last tune. And he’s gone with Bohemian Rhapsody. I’ve already pulled up the floor for Mirabeau. Venue are much more active than usual. Might not be up all night.

—

They are hammered. It’s hilarious.

—

2:11. Got swag. Almost too tired to carry it back to the purple palace. I wonder if I can take a load of Asahi 0% on a Lime bike knackered and not fall over.

What a lovely mix. Ffi and Hanna,  who I’m thrilled to have brought to the attention of D3. Then Cam and Joe who I met in Saudi back in the day, solid lads and we all pulled hard together to legitimise what was almost certainly wishy washy moneytimes. “We packed down everything so carefully, there’s no way they could have hidden drugs in that pack,” says Cam, and I know it. When I wasn’t driving I was ruining my hands with those lads, rolling and unrolling those unforgiving tents. Everyone on that Global Crew was honest and straightforward.

The primary scientist on the legacy project fired every single corruption alarm I have ever had. He was the embodiment of “scientists say” when the scientists say things that are specious and unscientific but that meet the desires of whoever is paying them. I know scientists well, I stay close to my brother Max and he gives a fuck and keeps company with people who give a fuck. It would be incomprehensible for him to deliver bad science in order to serve some sort of social or profit driven agenda. He is the perfect brother for me and my magical thinking and my work in corrupt industries. None of that crap makes sense to him. I need that grounding from time to time.

There’s a little square of green about one minute from my bed where I used to pretend to be a mini golf world champion for a delightful mad treasure hunt. Someone even dobbed me in once for suspicious activity. This part of London, it used to be full of people, it has become a desert. The fact the police were called cos of some benign idiot with a load of golf clubs?! In Brixton for every few square meters there are three people on different substances and one person carrying. But… London is London and I’m thrilled to be back here, connecting with all this stuff.

I took a photo of my little lawn. Here’s where I would set up a mini golf course and make people play competitively.

At a broke time in my life, that was a hugely helpful and welcome project. And I feel very comfortable with my life as it has fallen out. And today I’m working with D3 who, after Kester introduced me to them, have brought great joy into my life. I’m happy to have helped them find good workers in London, and the work they’ve given me has helped me make sense of what’s possible. Long may my friends keep being employed by them, and me as well.