Oh life!

Back to the usual extremely mundane, grindstone. Sigh.

It's a funny life I lead. Months of wandering from one office in central London to another, wearing business suits (BIGGER SIGH) picking up phones, putting them down again, then all of a sudden I'm exhorting a small group of people in a contained room to slide down a wall with their eyes closed describing their favourite food to the strangely hypnotic melodies of Nick Cave.

And I don't think I will ever get over the terror of putting something you have made in front of real actual people. People who might point and shout obscenities and laugh in a mocking way. Or who might even get up and just plain walk out. I want to eat my own arms at the thought.

Thankfully nobody did any of those things last night. Instead they laughed in a "how terribly funny and delightful" way. That was nice.

But, feedback forms. Do you know about these? They have started springing up at the end of shows over the past five years or so (maybe longer, but I've only been doing it five years). They are like little questionnaires that the audience fill in at the end. "Which bit did you like best?" "Which bit didn't quite work? "Which of the actors would you most like to snog?" That sort of thing.

They're ridiculous.

But for stupid and annoying funding reasons you have to do them. And when you read them they are always entirely polarised, completely different and nothing like anything any normal human beings say. Feedback forms. Utterly useless in every way.

Grr.

(A selection of useless feedback may follow. That was a warning.)

PS. HOORAY! I have discovered some Truth! You can discover it too here. I feel more at peace with my wibbly-wobbly existence now. And I might even enjoy the bastard business suits. (I shall certainly chuckle quietly in the knowledge that they cost me £7.99 from a Clapham charity shop. Ha ha! Take that capitalist flunkeys!)