Piles

Spent the morning in rehearsals. The piling rigs and heavy plant are getting perilously close to the theatre now. I fully expect it all to come crashing through the roof just seconds before the curtain goes up on Sully, a play that would otherwise have been the theatrical highlight of the year, if only its writer, cast and team of directors hadn't got stuck under all the rubble. There've been times when we've been in the theatre and the place has felt too close to collapse for comfort, the lighting rig shaking as if it belonged at an AC/DC gig. There's not much I can do now when I attend rehearsals, so I just sit there and get impressed by everyone around me. I watched a nicely trimmed down Act I run through, had a quick chat, arranged some tickets so I can go along and watch the real thing and then we headed off up the coast to Bridlington. I was served a Whippy ice cream by a well-dressed boy who can't have been a day over 12. He attempted to charge us £4.70 for a 99 and a single scoop ice cream. This is the north of England, I wanted to tell the little lad, we don't much like your fancy Cockerney prices. I persuaded him to give us £2 back in return for not alerting Social Services. Best overheard comment of the day came from the mouth of an 80-year-old, who was complaining that "the town looks a bit dated to me". She may have stank of urine herself, and be mere days from death, but I couldn't help but agree. Noticed that Ken Dodd is playing the 3Bs in June, someone I've always wanted to see but never not round to. Given that Doddy's approaching the end I better get myself back to Brid for one of those before it's too late (I saw Keith Richards in the days before he Jet Skiid out of a tree, you know, so I usually time these things correctly).