I’m just back from Palma after a stunning week of sunshine. And what a beautiful island Mallorca is. It was a week of red wine (and variants), incredible scenery, couple of good books, lots of nonsensical drunken chat, some brilliant April Fools (always the child…) and a couple of icy cold swimming pool swims. Temperature got up to 30 degrees for our final Sunday.

In my absence, matters have been rather precipitated as the our festival show director has withdrawn. We had a reading of her play scheduled for the group monthly meeting tomorrow night and are now left without anything to read. So I volunteered the ‘Chalk Circle’ in its place.

Which isn’t quite how I wanted this to happen as I envisage a certain amount of suspicion about my choice of play which I don’t feel I’m yet armed to address. Having said this, my previous choices have been rather more radical so I perhaps don’t need to worry.

More importantly, I haven’t done much more thinking about my so-called ‘vision’. But then I’m in the rather peculiar position of having one candidate to audition in the next couple of weeks before he disappears abroad for six months. To do that any kind of justice, I need to work out at least a bit of how it might all fit together. So this hastily arranged reading isn’t such a bad thing.

I’ve also got hold of another version of the translation which contains copious notes about what Brecht meant with this and that. So I can perhaps start my conscientious reading around the subject.

From an utterly selfish point of view, the cancellation of our festival show (though don’t tell anyone – we’re not announcing it until tomorrow night) means that I may have less of a struggle to cast and crew my effort. But I shouldn’t speak so hastily. Or so self-interestedly. I’m sure my words will come back to haunt me.