A nice little weekend all in.
Friday saw a joyful reunion with temporary flatmate and sandy dog. We watched Fantastic Mr Fox (who knew that a pipe-cleaner puppet, albeit one with the voice of George Clooney, could be sexy?), just to provoke the dog. But we fell asleep to a female (dog's a girl) before the end. So a bit of catching up later in the weekend was required. Cracking film though. Based on a brilliant story of course which is always a good start.
Saturday saw The Great Post-Show Reunion. Rather hampered by the absence of some key protagonists. But the protagonists who did attend performed beautifully. I almost believed that they missed it as much as I.
Except horrifyingly, selfishly, inconsolably inconsiderately, it seems that life moves on. Yvonne was about to head off at the next day's crack of dawn to a Zumba training day. Hilary and Chris were mid-poetry performance weekend. Greedy Cari has two new projects - Secret Rapture and The Stantons. Gillian's busy house-sitting around Scotland. Helen had sprained her wrist from hand-standing at Whorehouse rehearsals. Tommy sidetracked everyone from the evening of grief with a claimed birthday. Matt and Umi were just back from fun, frivol and film museums in Japan. Leny has approximately six costuming projects on the go, along with a new Czech love. Neil is always nine days in a row out and about doing things, already with the next audition lined up. Ross was too busy with clients to even attend.
Let me be a w***er and quote my SR character and plaintively cry (though I bet this is a misquote): "are we not allowed a moment of grief?"
Well yes, would say Irwin if he was here, but that was not even three but nearer five weeks ago. "You have to move on."
So Hilary took off her picture perfect portrait of herself to her next poetry performance. Chris trotted off in her wake. Helen stepped out after claiming a (two children under ten) lie-in for a spot of brunch. And I resolved that indeed, it's time. I shall change my plaintive blog status. I shall not mention - unless provoked - my Tempest again.
O. Unless it's to revel in an impending profit.
Maybe I'll give myself an end of the month deadline.
Friday saw a joyful reunion with temporary flatmate and sandy dog. We watched Fantastic Mr Fox (who knew that a pipe-cleaner puppet, albeit one with the voice of George Clooney, could be sexy?), just to provoke the dog. But we fell asleep to a female (dog's a girl) before the end. So a bit of catching up later in the weekend was required. Cracking film though. Based on a brilliant story of course which is always a good start.
Saturday saw The Great Post-Show Reunion. Rather hampered by the absence of some key protagonists. But the protagonists who did attend performed beautifully. I almost believed that they missed it as much as I.
Except horrifyingly, selfishly, inconsolably inconsiderately, it seems that life moves on. Yvonne was about to head off at the next day's crack of dawn to a Zumba training day. Hilary and Chris were mid-poetry performance weekend. Greedy Cari has two new projects - Secret Rapture and The Stantons. Gillian's busy house-sitting around Scotland. Helen had sprained her wrist from hand-standing at Whorehouse rehearsals. Tommy sidetracked everyone from the evening of grief with a claimed birthday. Matt and Umi were just back from fun, frivol and film museums in Japan. Leny has approximately six costuming projects on the go, along with a new Czech love. Neil is always nine days in a row out and about doing things, already with the next audition lined up. Ross was too busy with clients to even attend.
Let me be a w***er and quote my SR character and plaintively cry (though I bet this is a misquote): "are we not allowed a moment of grief?"
Well yes, would say Irwin if he was here, but that was not even three but nearer five weeks ago. "You have to move on."
So Hilary took off her picture perfect portrait of herself to her next poetry performance. Chris trotted off in her wake. Helen stepped out after claiming a (two children under ten) lie-in for a spot of brunch. And I resolved that indeed, it's time. I shall change my plaintive blog status. I shall not mention - unless provoked - my Tempest again.
O. Unless it's to revel in an impending profit.
Maybe I'll give myself an end of the month deadline.
posted by Claire at 6:54 pm
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