Ah, Friday. Two days of rest and relaxation are almost upon us. Or are they? I'm struggling to think when I'll have time this weekend to write 15 more pages of a play in between being the greatest fun-to-be-around dad the world has ever seen. Sunday night will be the night - but while most playwrights stare into space and stroke their cats for a few hours while pondering plot twists and turns I'll be out back playing basketball and skateboarding before heading into York for more weekend fun (Danielle wants to purchase a wrist band like the one some bloke (boy) in McFly wears) and, at some point, repairing a remote control aeroplane that flew too close to a car. There's no option not to write 15 more pages, though, cos some actors are lined up to do some reading next week. I'd look a right fool if I didn't come up with the goods. "I was thinking, ahem, could you do the first 15 pages and then just ad lib the next scene until I get round to writing it?" Still, without the pressure of knowing that some actors need my words, I'd never get round to doing anything. Other than just talking about writing 15 more pages.
Spent last night in the Welly. It had been a bit of a busy day so wasn't really up for too much of anything but H's boyfriend's band weren't half bad. Or weren't half good, depending on whether you're an optimist or not. thisisull.com's reviewer made no secret of his/her reason for being there - standing right in the middle of an empty-ish floor scribbling furiously into a notebook while wearing a nifty little two-piece number. Must remember to adopt a similar technique myself.
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