I seem to have settled into a groove of not actually going out to any events. Well, I did go to an art exhibition on Saturday (David Remfry's Dancers) but wandering around a gallery on your own for ten minutes in Hull is hardly an event, is it? Feel so lethargic that the actual thought of stepping foot, or even feet, out of the door at night to go to 'something' just doesn't appeal. At all. The Stage have emailed me with the usual Christmas reviews request, which is typically half a dozen pantos. "We'll have to do it again, then", shout several men in dresses.
"How's the play going?" I've just been asked. "Well, I'm doing a good job of avoiding doing any of the actual writing." Which is very, very true. I do have lots of pieces of paper with play-related things written on them, though. Alan Ayckbourn writes in longhand with a cat on his knee, apparently. We've got a cat, so I'm halfway there. I've got knees, too, so I could kid myself that the play is two-thirds complete.
Listening: Dead Kennedys - Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables
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