>>>>>Killing Time<<<<<

Phone friend up to check that he's still attending this 'comedy' review/leaving party with me and heading out for some Friday night beers. Until nine, he says, and then he's off down the casino and we can all join him. The casino? Why, this time tomorrow I could be completely penniless (hang on, I already am!). I feel the need to cut up all of the bits of plastic that give me access to cash before I head out. I am on the radio tomorrow, talking about rugby league. But it may end up being a sob story about how I played poker and lost my loathed Toyota. The only card game I really know how to play is clock patience. Do they do Yu-Gi-Oh at the tables these days?
Ah, the car. It recently had a new door put on. This morning, after dropping M off at the train station, the central locking refused to work and the driver's door no longer opens - I had to scurry across the passenger seat, watched by a bunch of dismayed black cab drivers. I feel a phone call to the accident repair centre coming on. Current worth at casino table: £2.99.
Trundled along to a rugby ground yesterday that will, if all goes to plan, be the venue for the play for a couple of extra nights. The function room in question is a good space with two bars and GTP reckons it's a goer, although he is now concerned about the potential clash of those unlikely bedfellows - drunken sports fans and theatre. There's a reading on Tuesday so the weekend will be spent ensuring there's a full draft to hand. Tuesday might be a mad rush and is a potential H-Bomb/nervous breakdown inducer - M and myself are running some workshops that night, and for the next three weeks. That's serious activity displacement.