Well, it went pretty well. There weren't too many laughs in the sterile environment of one of Hull College's shiny new drama studios, but the early doodlings of my script mostly work and I think it had sufficient levels of the unnerving effect I was after. It's now back to the laptop to write the rest, in the hope that, one day, there might be some money in all this. As our director friend pointed out to the room, having early drafts of work read aloud can be a tortuous experience for writers, akin to stripping naked and running around town on a very cold day (I paraphrase, but that was the gist of it). The actors were very responsive and made some nice, ego-stroking although seemingly genuine comments. One of them had seen Off Their Trolleys back in summer, said he loved it and had got excited at the prospect of reading some of my work, which was a tremendous compliment and made me feel warm, gooey and like kissing him, even though he was unshaven. The actors were far more articulate than us writer types. I can talk for England until it comes to the point where I have to explain my work, then I realise how much of a freak I am and how close to insanity I might actually be.
So, there we were at the college and who should we bump into but Maggie Hannan, her of City Arts fame. Les Murray, Aussie poet, was in town to do a reading and Maggie and the arts posse were looking after him. But I fear that Maggie has developed an unhealthy preocuppation with refreshments. As a small handful of Blockheads gathered, Maggie got twitchy that we would be at the coffee she had paid for before the poetry fans. She won the minor scuffle, we backed off and skulked away, refreshmentless, into our own little room. This is the cut and thrust of the literary world for you. We'll know next time there's a venue share to take packing up. I trust Maggie will leave a comment to defend herself :-)
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