Hear me roar.

I am unsure of the wisdom of publishing An Idea of mine on here (steal it, and I shall know, oh yes I shall you little monkeys!) but here is the lion book from which I might eventually make a lion play.

Read it. It's ace.

But don't make a play of it.

Please.

Thanks.

So I didn't get a second interview. Pas de surprise. I wept, like a maiden in distress. I tore my hair and bit my pillow and dribbled. A bit. Mostly for effect.

I considered throwing the towel in. (Again. Boring isn't it.)

I considered whether I should ever have stopped acting.

I wondered whether I am actually any good at directing.

Then somewhere in between leaving the house this morning and arriving at silly temping (and possibly linked with Jimi Hendrix on ear-music) I felt better.

*smiles*

(A bit timidly.)

Hub is back from the mountains and he had an Experience. He said it was the sort of thing that makes people religious, and it was to do with him and his climbing partner putting themselves in a very dangerous situation with weather, and being saved by a shaft of sunlight which followed them for about two hours while storms raged just outside it.

These are fractious times my lovelies, fraught with the peaks and troughs of life-based turbulence.

I am clinging. Or assuming crash position. Or snatching the oxygen mask. Or just looking out the window wondering whether the clouds will take my weight.

One of these things.

In other, vaguely topical news, we were told by the Arts Council that had it been three or four months ago, we would have received funding for our show. Before the cuts. The ones where theatre money goes to people running about and throwing things in distances that are measured. All that. Heartening and yet not.