Tuesday, May 31, 2005

A new scene penned for the play last night. Then some general sprucing up and editing to trim some lengthy speeches down but, in reality, little more than Ctrl-Xing some lines. A great feeling of satisfaction as I sent this 'final' draft hurtling down the telephone line. Then a sense of disappointment as it bounced back three times. Hull Truck's email was broken. Such is life. Unburdened of this two act joy I now await the start of rehearsals. I've messed it up as much as I possibly can - now it's down to other people. I suppose now's the time to start getting nervous.

Humber Mouth (Hull Literature Festival) brochures arrived today. I'm in it twice, as is M. We both got a free tea towel (!) for being involved and an invite to the opening down a brasserie. I'd provide a link to the website but they've not updated it yet and it's currently all very 2004.

The Rakes were pretty nifty at the weekend and I found their front man and a few of their songs to be quite exciting. Saturday was a busy day though (Ikea to pick up some missing parts, shopping for clothes, constructing a bed) and, by the time the band arrived, I don't think either of us were really up for it. In a rather predictable move attention seekers The Paddingtons hopped on stage for a hideous indie supergroup kind of thing at the end of the gig, joining The Rakes. A character in my play is based on The Padds' guitarist Josh's dad. Despite my best efforts, the chant of "your dad's in my play" wasn't picked up by anyone else in the Welly.

Just as I started looking forward to a night off I realised, after flicking through my diary, that tonight we're off to see Ayckbourn's new thing Improbable Fiction in Scarborough. I really need to sleep, not drive adjacent to (hopefully! the other route is over) cliffs.

Spent the part of lunch that wasn't drinking a pint with a photographer outside a quayside pub trying to seek out the Arctic Monkeys ep, which I thought was released today. All to no avail. Ended up ordering it - something I've not done for about ten years. Like a complete compulsive fan boy I've ordered the thing on both CD and vinyl. £5 seems quite a small price to pay. The guy behind the counter took one look at me and said: "Arctic Monkeys? What type of music's that?" I felt too old to explain. Noticed that lots of girls' jeans in town were looking very Nathan Barleyesque - ie, too much pubic bone and hair on display. It's not nice, ladies. The shopping mall is also doubling for a youth club this week.

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