Hello.
It went quite well. People liked it. Generally they liked either one play or the other. I found this interesting. (I do not know whether you do.)
Yesterday I went to see Billy Elliot The Musical. I have a job interview to be the resident director on it. Woo. (Quite frightening actually.)
My head feels like it is full of scraps of material. (That'll be all the thinking.)
Blimey.
I was on a bus (tell me if you've heard this somewhere before). I had chosen, unusually for me as I am somewhat short of stature, to sit downstairs. I did not know where I was going and wanted to be able to leap to my feet and off the bus at a moment's notice.
I digress.
I was sitting there desperately trying not to murder the woman next to me who was humming not totally under her breath but not out loud either. And sitting on me a bit. We pulled into a bus stop.
At the bus stop was a youth. You get them in London. He was wearing a baseball cap and his ear was pierced and he had some facial hair.
As I said, a youth.
He was also wearing baggy jeans.
Now I am quite partial to a bit of baggy in the jeans area, I like the way the jeans graze the bottoms of chaps rather than clinging. But if you add the facial hair/earring/baseball cap factors, I think you will guess we are not talking casual-bottom-grazing jeans.
And he had lost his ticket.
He was doing The Ticket Search, the one that frantically goes through all the available clothing orifices.
But his jeans were baggy.
And just when I thought, well, golly, I say, do you know, I think it's possible that they're going to come down, they slid swiftly over his hips and, and, and... well I can hardly bear to say it but
I saw his willy.
It was peeking out the side.
Only a flash mind you.
He obviously felt air because he immediately turned away from the bus and ceased hunting for his ticket, yanking his jeans up in a strangely abrupt manner.
What is it with me and boys on buses?
So you know how I trained as a clown? (What do you mean, I never told you that? Oh stories, dear readers, stories yet to come...)
Well, red noses are dear to my heart. And so is funny. And so are people trying very hard to make money for things they believe in. Which is why I am shouting from the rooftops:
VISIT MIKE AT TROUBLED DIVA NOW!
He is doing a lovely clever. He is compiling a book for Red Nose Day entitled "Shaggy Blog Stories: a collection of amusing tales from the UK blogosphere" (grand isn't it).
And he is asking for our funny posts! To send them to him and then they go in the book! What a Lovely Clever!
Oh visit him dearests, do, and get your funnies in a lovely clever book.
I have been wondering about it a lot, and as you know, considering chucking the whole thing in.
I am working at the moment in what is slightly wankily couched "off West End". This is a cosy way of saying not those big West End spangly venues, but not a teeny-tiny smelly room above a pub in the back of beyond either. The theatre in question is a well respected venue which takes risks and develops new work, and has won awards for doing so. It is small, it seats about 65 people, but is a proper little lovely theatre.
This lovely theatre has us over a barrel. We are not in a position to argue. If we don't do this development work we lose a) any chance to recoup any of the 1,500 they took as our deposit for a full production b) the chance to encourage positive interest in the plays which will be useful for taking them to full production later and c) the chance to do any additional fundraising. They know this, which is why they can be so entirely take it or leave it. They offered us a 30% split of the box office, we said no we want a greater split, they said no. That's it. Take it or leave it. What are we supposed to do?
I don't know, my hub has just accused me or bending over for everyone to shaft me. Have I? I don't know.
What I do know is that every day I am angry about this whole fucking mess, and every day it is making me really sad.
I wish there were more options, but it seems like this time round I really have just learnt the hard way at every single step.
Grr.
Oh how I wish I could be cheery for you my dearest readers, but the fact is, I am feeling awfully pants.
I did not die. This is good. But I am still coughing away as if my insides were simply dying to come out and have a look around.
Nothing terrible has happened. So why do I feel weighed down by big weighty things? My heart is sinking towards my toes.
*sigh*
Maybe it is The Recovery Blues.
And to be honest, I am still extremely cross that the theatre are keeping my money. It is a bitter pill to swallow (especially when I have a sore throat). And they have given us an absolutely RUBBISH deal on the box office split for the development, which would mean that even if we sold all the seats, we would still only get £500.
OH POO.
It is all just awful.
Yesterday I found myself sniffing a biscuit.
It is appalling I know.
I have not had a biscuit for eight days. I feel amazed. And I am a bit lighter too. (Only a bit, do not worry.)
And I have given up drinking on week nights! Unless I go out. Like last night.
I am concerned with my good behaviour.
It is most unlike me.
