Blog silence generally suggests something large has kicked off. In this instance it has been staging The Cleansing Of Constance Brown in Birmingham, an undertaking spectacularly more complicated, expensive and fraught than I had ever imagined it would be.
Testament to these rather strained circumstances, are a series of rather poorly encoded stress-dreams:
1: Having the rather robust and functional mobile phone I currently have replaced by an inferior and rather flimsy model against my wishes.
2: Marvelling at a fighter jet with flapping wings (“that is an amazing thing, how the hell does it stay aloft”) seconds before its twin male pilots grow over ambitious and pile, sickeningly, into a rooftop and explode in a fatal ball of flames.
3: Being shocked and upset that a well known theatre promoter who we work with is in fact signficantly younger than I am.
4: Being rather more upset that, because the show required it, I now have an artistic, but spectacularly ugly brown tattoo covering my entire left fore-arm.
Still, all’s well that ends well. The shows passed off smoothly, we even had the time to examine, re-make and finally cut the Spa Scene, re-introduce The Orange Billowing Mass and make a host of other, smaller changes. Audience numbers were great and their responses tremendous, no planes have crashed, I still have my phone, my youth and unadorned fore-arms.
Who could want for anything more?