My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.

There's so much to tell you. On a personal level, things are not as I've still not be able to find a new job. all tips and suggestion will be given careful consideration.

I could tell you about the spider bite on my arm that looks like I've grown a third nipple. Should have caught the bugger and maybe had a new species named after me, but I was rather too involved doing the GEORF dance, alas. We were putting in a few new fruit trees to replace the poor old lemon which finally tottered over. Not that I'll see any fruit in my lifetime, but behold my optimism. Ah well, I like to think we were rescuing the wee trees from the supermarket and I'd rather see a shrubling than bare earth (unlike the neighbours whose Agent Orange scorched earth policy has to answer for my upwind dead lemons, oranges, quinces, plums, mangoes, etc).

So, theatre. At least I've still got pre-purchased tickets through to next year (though I'll have to sell my Hamlet ticket, such a cursed play for me, what with Toby Schmitz abandoning his long anticipated run as Hamlet last year, thus cruelling Toby Fest '13 forever and ever). I'll let you know when I pop it on Ebay (still holding out for a few more months, ever the optimist).

So, recent to last? Let's see if I can remember them.

There was the much anticipated and oh my god it's actually good Luke Mullins turn in The Glass Menagerie at the Belvoir. It was so well done, proof that the Belvoir doesn't always have to be a draining experience of uncomfortable silences. Just for once a little inventiveness actually worked, not clever for the sake of being clever, but bring that proper MAGIC theatre moment that so rarely happens. Here they had a set with 30s props and curtains, but they also had cameras set up and two screens, and with a fan blowing the lace curtain past a tear streaked actor gazing heavenwards, the screen would show an image that was such a piece of perfect 30s film, it was just really place and time setting more than a complete set (which the Belvoir really can't do, by simple logistics of being an old factory space). So wonderful, so atmospheric. The gentleman sitting next to me and I swooned over the effect in the interval.
( more: there was an ick factor )

She only made it worse. I've decided that is what I want on my tombstone. Sums it up succinctly. What made me think of it was that moment in the middle of a rubbish day in the middle of a rubbish week a large branch came down and managed to straddle the powerline like a wishbone, and all I could think of was, seriously?

I'll leave it there to come down as it wilt (with or without blacking out the street) because going up a metal ladder by myself to tease it down strikes me as foolhardy. Maybe I'll call the people responsible for powerlines, if I can find out who is actually responsible for powerlines, but for now, I'm just, whatever. I'll only make it worse, whatever I do.
( more: they seek him here, they seek him there... )