Friday, June 10, 2005

Tai Chi class swelled to double its normal size last night, thanks to some free publicity from yours truly (all the newcomers no doubt turning up due to a rather attractive image of me in a ridiculous pose accompanying the words). Sadly, there was no sniff of free tutelage for the remainder of my life by way of a thank you. Instead, just a thank you. Which is, I suppose, thanks enough, given the amount of complaints I tend to generate. Post Tai Chi we've settled into a rather predictable groove of heading to this pub to compete in the very annoying 'Quizgo' - which is, as if you couldn't guess, a part quiz part bingo hybrid. No matter how many answers we answer correctly we never manage to form the necessary winning line that provides us with the opportunity to shout 'Quizgo' and claim our measly four pints or, if it's the end of the night, £40. More annoying, though, is my developing in-depth knowledge of sport. I keep getting the sporting answers correct at the quiz, I've written a play about rugby league and there's actually a sniff of a short play-related interview on testosterone-charged channel Sky Sports rearing its head. This from the kid who spent much of school life deliberately leaving his PE kit behind and hiring out his Adidas United to someone who was actually interested in wearing them. No doubt I shall be joining the works cricket team next and popping my name down to manage a five-a-side football team when that annual inter-work tournament rears its head. I've been thrust into a mans' world. Must start cross-dressing or something to re-address the balance. I feel the need to write something along the lines of "you can take the boy out of the man but you can't take the man out of the boy". But not sure how that fits in (perhaps the boy said this to the man?). Things appear to have taken a turn for the peculiar. Too much K W Diaries perhaps.

I started to keep a hand-written journal yesterday re Kicked Into Touch. While the reader will be indifferent to discover that there will be much about the rehearsal process on this very weblog, it is apparent to me that I can't write and record the forthcoming process for my own records with too much honesty here without becoming very pretentious, boring and, more likely, facing serious legal action. When my Roald Dahl-style archive centre opens posthumously feel free to dip in and out of my Moleskine then. But, if I remember to charge the batteries for the digi-cam, I will post a few piccies of cast and crew for your consumption.

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