GUIL: So you've caught up.
PLAYER (coldly): Not yet, sir.
GUIL: Now mind your tongue, or we'll have it out and throw the rest of you
away, like a nightingale at a Roman feast.
PLAYER: Took the very words out of my mouth.
GUIL: You'd be lost for words.
ROS: You'd be tongue-tied.
GUIL: Like a mute in a monologue.
ROS: Like a nightingale at a Roman feast.
GUIL: Your diction will go to pieces.
ROS: Your lines will be cut.
GUIL: To dumbshows.
ROS: And dramatic pauses.
GUIL: You'll never find your tongue.
ROS: Lick your lips.
GUIL: Taste your tears.
ROS: Your breakfast.
GUIL: You won't know the difference.
ROS: There won't be any.
GUIL: We'll take the very words out of your mouth.
ROS: So you've caught up.
GUIL: So you've caught up.
PLAYER (tops): Not yet!
It's taking me a long time to catch up, times being what they are. But I know that the longer I procrastinate, the less likely it is I'll ever catch up with anything.
On Thursday sion_a and I went to see Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead at the ADC Theatre. We were also, surprisingly, joined at the last minute by hoiho; I suspect the amateur players would have been flattered to know that somebody drove 100 miles just to see them.
Like all critics I'm a director manquée, which is to say I'd make a thoroughly manky director; but it's a play I know well, so I'm quite fussy about how it's done. ( Collapse )
Friday was the last day at work in the Mill Lane office, so most of the day was spent packing, or rather shovelling everything into labelled crates and secretly hoping that the whole lot would accidentally get lost/burnt/exploded/eaten en route. The atmosphere was very much like the last day of term at school, when hard work goes to the wall and time is spent tidying desks, playing games, or just generally arsing around. There was certainly a lot of arsing around.
On Friday lunchtime I did something I'd never done before: ( Collapse )
On Friday night there was a PARTY chez the_heiress and strange_powers, which other people have already written about. ( Collapse )
Eventually addedentry and I headed back to the big smoke for more fireworks and a gig. The fireworks were magic, and the gig was great: the people who've written about the party have done better gig writeups, but I would just like to say that The Free French were fab. I think rhodri is only trying to reassure us mortals when he claims that playing bass and singing at the same time was difficult for him; I suspect he could have actually done both and written funny LiveJournal posts at the same time.
Most of Sunday was spent shuffling books and CDs and boxes around, before a frantic dash to Regent Street to try to see the Christmas lights being switched on. ( Collapse )
Dinner at Wagamama was delicious and provided me with some sustenance for the night drive home; really, though, it was words and music that kept me going along the dark roads of the M11, just as it's words and music that keep me going through the week.