Hung about after Caesar last night to eat some nice party sausages, samosas and grab a word with Rob Hudson, who played a pimp earlier in the year in my play. Judging by his pleasant smell, it seems that Rob has being purchasing aftershave in bulk. He looked a bit down at the curtain call. "It's a bit draining, playing Brutus," he told me. Apparently, they were going to perform it all on a small revolving stage, 'til they realised they might all fall off. Not good given the amount of daggers being brandished. Health and safety first, even in the cut and thrust of theatre. I think I succeeded in putting Danielle off coming to any shows with me for a while. "It's boring," went her two word review. I remember Shakespeare doing that to me when I was at school, too, at the same venue (it wasn't called Hull Truck then). Odd, given my continuing dislike for revivals of any kind, especially Elizabethan gibberish, that I quite enjoyed myself. My 14-year-old self would have been with Danielle on this one, though.
York was full of people stopping for no apparent reason right in front of us while we tried to navigate The Shambles (which Sam, quite rightly, has rechristened Diagon Alley due to its uncanny resemblance to the Harry Potter street of magic wand shops. Except, down the Shambles, it's all small models of the Minster and no magic in sight) and various other shops. Dan bought herself the Little Britain scripts, which made me feel rather proud. The girl's got taste. Last night, in the official warm up for a night at Hull Truck in Asda, Scott bought Ricky Gervais's's's Flanimals. Yay, suddenly they're making all the right choices.
Music: Green Day - Dookie
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