Slightly surreal sensation at Ladies' (they managed to put the apostrophe back in for the press night) Day. Both myself and M had space on the walls of Hull Truck devoted to our plays. It all felt scarily real. People held our fresh-from-the-printers fliers in their hands. Someone thrust a flier for M's play into my mit as we left the auditorium. Reading for my effort still on tomorrow - indeed, the venue phone me with a reminder. These are strange and very worrying days indeed. I feel the need to scream out loud and/or sing the chorus of T'Pau's China in Your Hand...
Nice weekend, despite veggie-friendly barbecue ruined by rain. Some amusing buskers in York on Saturday - a member of the public telling a chap dressed in a cloak to 'piss off' and hitting him when he jumped in front of her near Betty's olde tea shoppe. Having finished The Orton Diaries and seen Joe head to hell on Thursday night I was quite spooked to see a copy of Prick Up Your Ears fall into my hands the second I started picking through a vast box of sale books in Borders. A good omen, perhaps? A sign that one of my heroes is looking down on me? Or just a coincidence? I've already got Prick Up Your Ears, so there was no need to buy it. Just smiled back at Joe's image and placed it in a more prominent position. Other than this, it was, for once, two days off not doing very much at all. Bliss.
Listening: Arcade Fire - In The Back Seat. Watching (again): Napoleon Dynamite.
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